by Mark Wandrey
They were arrayed in an arc to either side of Vat, to make sure none of them would overlap their fire on their neighbor. Sam led a group of five villagers and had armed himself with an M3 for this operation. The Garand’s small magazine and long reach were not the right fit for a close-range ambush. Lech had the other five villagers and his own AK-47. In all, thirteen guns poured bullets into the lead trucks, chewing them apart. Dozens of men were mowed down before they could touch the ground.
To the side, firing across the advancing trucks, was Artyom. Vat had almost changed the plan, but the crazy Russian was better with the machine gun. So Artyom had his new girlfriend, PK, and they were dancing to their favorite tune. The drug had taken away the pain and left him more than a little high. However, he seemed to be handling the weapon well. Unlike the last time, he was aiming more carefully, working the muzzle back and forth over the crew compartments while avoiding the cab and engines.
Bafguur and his scouts were concealed among the burning huts, the scouts with their native weapons, Bafguur with Sam’s Garand. The hetman had taken a liking to the venerable WWII rifle, so he and his men were dealing with the drivers of the trucks.
The ambush was only underway for a few seconds before the driver of the third truck realized what was happening and tried to change directions, plowing through one of the burning huts in an attempt to escape. He found a “roadway” between huts and accelerated, only to go up in a ball of flame from one of the improvised landmines Sam had set.
The men who’d managed to get out of the trucks were firing at anything that moved. Vat saw one, then another of the villagers go down. He took a knee and started picking off the enemy survivors. He felt a tug at his side and ignored it. Close. His Grease Gun was empty, so he reloaded it. Then again, after an interminable time.
Eventually, the survivors threw down their guns and put their hands in the air. “Cease fire!” Vat yelled in Ktoran. The villagers were incredibly disciplined and stopped shooting far faster than he expected. “Secure the prisoners,” he ordered.
Before the battle, Vat had explained to Bafguur how his people needed prisoners to interrogate. It was part of the agreement for the soldiers’ help. He went around and checked on his people. Five of the ten villagers had been hit. Two were dead, one didn’t look like he’d survive, and two had minor injuries.
Artyom had been shot again, twice. Neither hit was life-threatening, and the Russian had no idea it had happened. The drugs were apparently still in his system.
“You’re bleeding,” Sam said and pointed at Vat’s chest.
He looked down and saw the side of his camos was dark with blood. He unbuttoned his shirt and saw a shallow crease in his right ribs. The tug he’d felt hadn’t missed after all. He wondered why it didn’t hurt, and then he felt the pain. “Shiiiiit,” he hissed. Yeah, now it hurts!
“I’ll get the healer,” Sam said.
“No, let her take care of the others.” Vat dug out a compress from his first aid kit and pressed it against the wound, which felt like someone was holding a hot brand against his side. Sam looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine, damnit. Let her take care of the seriously injured.”
“As you say, sir.”
Salsaliin came running up and looked around at all the dead and wounded before spotting him. She raced over, and he held up a hand.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“I can see that.”
He was a little annoyed she didn’t seem worried about him, but realized she was distraught. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Ooshwelo.”
“Oh no,” he said and ran. Salsaliin and Sam both fell in behind him. He raced toward the huts where the few who’d stayed behind were sheltered. Had they not gotten all of the satrap’s forces? Had some circled around and attacked from behind? He didn’t have enough people to leave a rear guard and was kicking himself for not doing it anyway.
Including the aged woman, there were another six villagers who, for one reason or another, hadn’t gotten clear with the rest. Vat had left Salsaliin and Miizhaam along with Illapt and Tevweret to guard them. If the satrap attacked…
He reached the Atii’s tent and found no signs of carnage. He slipped inside and found everyone was fine except Ooshwelo. Miizhaam was cradling the ancient woman’s head in her lap and humming. She looked up when he entered and spoke.
“I think the excitement was too much for her,” Miizhaam said.
“I yet live,” Ooshwelo spoke, her voice barely a whisper. Miizhaam caressed the ancient woman’s forehead. “Did you succeed?”
“Yes,” Vat said. “Some of the fighters died, but the satrap’s forces are defeated.”
“I grieve for the warriors but sing for the victory.” The words were full of the non-complying speech elements. Vat wished he had the recorder handy, then hated himself for the thought. “I wish to die at the Daaj. Will you take me there?”
Salsaliin nodded.
“Whatever you want,” Vat said.
“Then hurry, I don’t have much time left.”
“I wish I could go,” Vat said.
“Then come; you have earned it.”
* * * * *
Chapter Sixteen
Miizhaam went out and arranged to have a whinnie brought with a large saddle usually used to move families. It was fitted with a platform in front of the rider where children could sit. Ooshwelo was tiny and frail; there would be more than enough room.
It took longer than Vat thought it should, so he left Salsaliin with Ooshwelo and went to help. The villagers seemed indifferent to Ooshwelo’s condition. It was not the attitude he was expecting. He found Bafguur and explained what was happening.
“There aren’t many Atii,” he said, then shrugged. “Maybe the sooner they die, the better.”
“She wants to go to the Daaj,” Vat said. Bafguur made a face halfway between a frown and a sneer. “She wants to die there.”
“Kejern,” Bafguur called. “Get some whinnies for this man.” He looked at Vat. “I do this for you.”
With the girls’ help, he got Ooshwelo bundled up and onto the whinnie. She was shivering though the evening wasn’t cold.
“I’m coming along,” Salsaliin said.
“What about Miizhaam?” Vat asked.
“Just my granddaughter and you,” Ooshwelo whispered.
Vat made a face. It would be more difficult with only one person to help. And there was still the risk of more enemies who hadn’t been swept up in the ambush. As they prepared, the village healer packed Vat’s bullet graze with the same stuff Artyom had received. Now Vat understood why the Russian had screamed bloody murder. It hurt. By the time she was done torturing him, the whinnies were ready, and the three left. Ooshwelo told him what direction to ride.
“Southeast,” she whispered. “Look for a craggy hill.”
Salsaliin rode alongside Vat. He kept a hand free to be sure Ooshwelo didn’t fall off. She was so still he couldn’t tell if she was alive. “Do you know how far?” he asked across the darkness to the shadow of his riding companion.
“Not far,” Salsaliin said. “The Atii are never far from the Daaj.”
He burned with the desire to question her about it. She shared the speech elements which had brought Vat out on this fateful journey, no doubt learned from her grandmother. But now, riding in near darkness with an old—no, ancient—woman near death’s door, he began to think Murphy was right. Chasing his wild hunch had been a waste of time.
No. He shook his head. It wasn’t a waste of time. The enemy forces would have slaughtered the village and taken the women away for their fun.
“Are you okay?” Salsaliin’s voice drifted to him from the darkness.
“Fine,” he said. “Just…conflicted.”
“I don’t know of an outsider ever being invited to the Daaj,” she said. He could see her looking at him, staring, and wondered what she was thinking.
The whinnies had excellent night vision and with the
ir low to the ground gait, were smooth to ride, not jostling like a horse, even when they ran. There was just a little more side-to-side motion at slow speeds.
They climbed a slight rise, and he spotted a hill, not more than a big pile of rocks rising into the sky, backlit by the rising moon. He immediately recognized it as the same hill they’d flown over on their way in.
“Is that the Daaj?” he whispered to Ooshwelo. She didn’t reply, but he could feel her breathing, so they continued onward.
Vat was afraid “not far” meant an all-night ride, but it turned out to only be a little over two hours before they encountered the house-sized boulders. Ooshwelo finally spoke, but he missed most of it and had to stop the whinnie so he could lean over and put his ear next to her mouth.
“Look…for…the…black…rock.”
“Black rock?” he asked. It was dark so he wasn’t sure how would he spot a black rock in the middle of the night. He asked her but she remained silent. He could barely feel her breathing.
“What did she say?” Salsaliin asked.
“Look for the black rock,” he said, straining his eyes against the gloom. The moon was directly behind the hill now that they were at its foot. He thought frantically until he remembered he wasn’t from this planet. He had technology. Cursing to himself, he dug into his pack and retrieved the big flashlight stashed there. You didn’t think about using them in a combat zone. There was no faster way to get a permanent hair parting than by firing up a flashlight.
“Oh!” Salsaliin squeaked and covered her eyes.
“Sorry, I should have warned you. It’s called a flashlight.” He played the beam over the mound, taking a few seconds to adjust for the stark shadows it threw into the crags between the rocks. After moving the flashlight around for a minute, one of the rocks reflected like a mirror. It surprised him almost as much as the flashlight had Salsaliin.
He got off the whinnie and walked to the rock. As he got closer, he understood why it was throwing the beam back; it was a massive piece of volcanic glass with a sheared, concave side facing him. The rest of the rocks that made up the hill were sedimentary, like the majority of the planet. Or so he’d been told, anyway. There were some volcanoes, but they were thousands of kilometers away.
“I found it,” he told Ooshwelo. “It’s a big piece of black volcanic glass.”
This time she only managed one word. “Behind.”
Realizing she was near the end, Vat took her down from the saddle. She was as light as a feather, and all skin and bones. Very, very old skin and bones. He doubted she weighed 30 kilos.
Salsaliin followed without comment. After a few steps, Vat almost tripped over a rock. “Take the flashlight and show the way?” he asked her.
“Yes, of course,” Salsaliin said.
Vat waited while Salsaliin looked around to the back side of the rock. “There’s an entrance here!” she called excitedly. He went to examine it. In the V-shaped space made by the obsidian rock leaning against an even larger boulder, a tunnel was clearly visible. More interesting was the unmistakable evidence of tool-worked stone steps.
The entrance was large and there was plenty of room. He had Salsaliin play the light around the cavern. One side sloped down to some steps, the other led to a chamber. They went to the chamber—it was one of the satrap caches, a huge one. At least a dozen trucks were covered with tarps, and there were stacks of gear as well.
“This is the Daaj?” he asked, confused. “This is a satrap cache.”
“No,” Ooshwelo whispered. “Below.”
“What do we do?” Salsaliin asked.
Vat looked around one last time. “We go down,” Vat said, gesturing for her to go first as he followed, carrying Ooshwelo.
On the surface, it was around 29 degrees Celsius, as cool as he’d seen it at any time, down from a high of 36 that day. Only a couple steps beyond the hidden entrance, the temperature began to drop. Salsaliin used his flashlight to provide illumination for both of them. They reached a bend, and he spotted cuts in the rock wall. A cool wind blew through the holes and out matching ones on the other side.
“Why does the air smell wet?” Salsaliin asked.
“It’s a moisture trap,” he said. “There’s an aquafer down here somewhere.” She looked back at him, confused. “An underground lake.”
“There are no lakes this far south,” she said.
“They are underground,” he said. “Murphy said they were likely here, but we didn’t have the tools to drill for water.”
Down they went, passing through four more switchbacks, each with another moisture trap. It was ingeniously built. The multiple traps made sure very little water leaked out from the exit. He recalled seeing a boulder near the entrance. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it were the perfect size to seal the entrance for when the Searing came. No doubt the Kulsians thought it was a great place to hide their equipment, too, but why hadn’t they found the Daaj? He couldn’t believe nobody had gone down the steps while hiding their gear above.
The tunnel finally leveled out, and they followed it for a short time. Parts of the passage looked natural; others were carved by tools. There was no sign of rock drills or explosives. This had all been excavated by hand with nothing more than picks or other small tools, swung by manpower. Or something else? Had R’Bak once been the home of a non-human species?
He remembered reading a report of the strange healing plants and unusual animals. Someone had noted a lack of seemingly uniform evolutionary trends, though the same person noted nothing on Earth would evolve in a region burnt to a crisp every 88 years. So who was to say what such an environment might yield?
They came to a dead end. A boulder was wedged against the tunnel, fitting the opening almost perfectly. Had there been a cave in? he silently wondered.
“The roof must have fallen in,” Salsaliin said.
“…push the black rock…” came Ooshwelo’s tiny whisper.
Still carrying her in his arms, Vat moved to the boulder and leaned next to it. A tiny cool breeze brushed his cheek from around the edge of the rock. There was no way he could move this it, it had to be at least ten tons or more.
“…push…” she repeated.
He had Salsaliin shine the light around again. Like before, they found a piece of black volcanic glass in the wall. He pushed it, and the boulder moved.
“Shit!” he gasped, backstepping just fast enough to avoid crashing to the floor and sending his delicate charge flying. A slight whoosh of even cooler air passed him. It was no more than 17 or 18 degrees inside.
“It’s a door!” Salsaliin said.
Regaining his balance, Vat walked through the opening and examined the “door.” The boulder was just as massive on the inside and appeared perfectly balanced. He could move it with a fingertip. “Better close it,” he told Salsaliin, who nodded and gently pushed the boulder closed. It settled into its niche with barely a sound. How old is this?
After traversing a short passageway, similar to what was on the other side of the door, it opened up. Salsaliin shined the light around…into a massive chamber. No, chamber wasn’t the right word. It was a cavern hundreds of meters across. The roof was covered in stalactites and was fifty or more meters up. They were inside the hill. As she moved the light along the roof, it left a pattern of glowing phosphoresce behind.
“…shut off the light…”
“Do it,” Vat said.
They were plunged into complete darkness, but after a few seconds, a glow slowly grew. It continued to grow until they could see each other again, then details in the distance. Finally, it was as bright as dusk, enough to read by if you strained your eyes. Somewhere, he heard the drip of water.
“What is this light?” Salsaliin asked.
The illumination had a faintly greenish-yellow tint. Not unpleasant, it reminded Vat of an old CRT computer monitor. “It’s bioluminescence,” he explained. “A fungus growing on the walls. The flashlight made it shut off.”
“Welcome to the Daaj,” Ooshwelo said. “I am home.” She sounded better, as if coming there had given her a temporary burst of energy.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Take me to the Piik,” she said. “The hall.” Her almost skeletal hand emerged from the wrapping and pointed. He followed the hand and, to his surprise, saw a village of buildings. They were built in orderly rows, made from the same stone as the hill above and around them. She was pointing at the largest building, long and wide but lower than most.
“What is this place?” he asked as he walked, Salsaliin following behind them.
“The Daaj is where we came from. Homes made long, long ago.”
“By the first exodates?”
“No,” she said, looking up at him and smiling. “Older. Before any of them.”
He was about to ask another question, but they had reached the building. There were openings with no doors, and holes for windows as well. Inside, it was bare except for a large stone table. “On that,” she said, pointing again.
Vat gently set her on the table. He removed his combat vest and bundled it to make her a pillow. “What now?”
“Now I go to my rest,” she said. She reached and took his hand. “You were meant to find this place because you came to me at just the right time. Your sacrifice to save my tribe confirmed it for me.” She reached with her other hand and took Salsaliin’s. “You, my dear, are now Atii. Raise your child as one and use the Daaj to protect the people.”
With the last of her strength, she put their hands together. There was a small amulet she’d passed to Salsaliin. It appeared to be carved from stone, rather like a pyramid, or a pile of rocks. She patted their hands gently and closed her eyes. Vat leaned close, but there was no breath. She was gone. Salsaliin began to cry.
Vat left her to mourn her grandmother and went outside to explore. The buildings were all open designs, made to allow as much of the bioluminescent light in as possible. It appeared doors and windows had once held fabric to close them off, but it was hard to tell. Everything felt incredibly old.
