by C K Burch
“I dare not forget that aspect, but what is the point of living forever if one has nothing to spend?” Thomas scoffed.
Dust knelt beside Jack, ignoring her brother. “Alright captain, edge of the city, and Ryder can move quicker than we can. Where to from here?”
“Unless Ryder's attention has been drawn to the precious material in the construction as well.” She glared at Thomas for moment, who remained ignorant. Shaking her head, she withdrew her journal.
Dust chuckled. “I'm gonna lean more towards him focusing on that honey, just in case.”
“Of course. I was only attempting to – ” Jack's voice ended in a bracing halt. The word to came out as tuh, her sight transfixed upon the pages of her journal. Stark horror reflected back on her face; her jaw hung agape, her eyes were wide, her skin paled a shade. One of her hands flew to cover her mouth as a weak moan of sickness rose from her throat.
Dust quickly glanced to where her gaze had struck.
The pages on Shambhala – including her map – had been torn out.
“Ryder,” Dust muttered, and he balled his fist in anger. The bastard had been planning his betrayal even more extensively than Dust'd imagined.
“But how?” Jack exclaimed. She flipped back and forth through the remaining pages hurriedly, as if expecting them to reappear magically by doing so. “I never left my journal alone. I couldn't. No one had access to it but I!”
Thomas leaned over and frowned. “The dickens are you on about?”
“Ryder stole my pages! And my map!”
“So what? If you hadn't left it about, then this probably wouldn't have happened.”
“Except that I did not! It was with me at all times! I took it onto the flight deck, I studied it in my quarters, I – ”
“Didn't you sneak some of my finer bourbon out for a nip one evening? I hate to be the logical one of us both, dearest, but I doubt you had your satchel and clutch with you whilst you were sampling my spirits.”
“That's not the point, Thomas,” Jack growled. “He went through my possessions. He stole something irreplaceable to me. And now he is using my work to get ahead of us and win the Amrita!”
Cairn appeared distraught while listening to all this, as though a pebble of thought had slipped into his mind and was causing some irritation. Then his face bloomed, and he grinned, and he turned to Jack with triumph. “Your memory, mum! You've got that!”
Thomas rolled his eyes and groaned. “Sweet Christ, not this again.”
Jack immediately shrank into a self-conscious posture and chided the lad. “Now's not the time, for that Cairn.”
“One moment,” Dust interrupted. He turned to Jack. “What about your memory?”
“It's nothing.” Jack spoke a little too quickly for honesty.
“Look, if you have any kind of advantage, we're gonna need it.”
Jack sighed. “I – I, well, I've a slightly photographic memory.”
“Slightly nothing!” Cairn spoke quickly with the exuberance of youth. “Mum's got a damn near perfect recollection of anything anyone's ever done ever if she's been round it. Words read and sketches drawn, anything she looks at is good as preserved! We're sorted, guv! All's we need is follow her.”
Dust grinned. “Is that so?”
Jack appeared defeated. “It is.”
“It is not.” Thomas sighed. “Look, no doubt Sissie here has a knack for recollection, but photographic is a bit of a stretch. We're still quite up the creek without a map, regardless of how much she's studied anything.”
“It isn't always accurate,” Jack agreed. However her protests seemed less as though she were downplaying her own talent, and more latching onto Thomas' dismissive tone. “I'm not quite good at remembering every single detail. I have the map in mind, I can see it, but if I get turned around, it'll only make our situation worse, not better.”
Dust knelt beside Jack. “Have you ever done this sort of thing before? Navigating terrain, that sort of thing?”
She nodded, briefly, hesitantly. “Moreso when I was younger, but yes.”
“You think you can lead us through where we need to go?”
Jack began to look at Thomas for confirmation, but Dust quickly placed himself between the two and gave her a soft look. No need for the abusive chiding of the older brother to hold sway with this.
After a moment of contemplation, Jack finally nodded with some confidence, and said, “Yes, yes, I believe that I can guide us. It's a large city, to be sure, but the landmarks we need are the ones I focused on, and....I can do it. I know I can.”
Dust grinned and clapped his hands. “Sweet mother, but you're amazing. Let's get moving.”
As they both stood, Thomas threw his hands up in the air with cartoonish acceptance. “Well, fine, if this the way it is to be, but you'll not find me relying solely on Sissie's recollections of a silly drawing just to get us ahead. Which, by the way, wouldn't have been stolen in the first had she not been carousing drunkenly with – ”
Dust's patience thinned out, and he reached forward and jostled Thomas roughly by the collar. He reached into Thomas' coat, discovered the flask tucked into an inner pocket, and he promptly withdrew it. Pausing for a moment to take a hefty draw from the flask as he'd promised himself, he then tossed it back over the edge of the ravine, where it clinked and clattered as it somersaulted down the incline towards the bottom.
Thomas looked as though Dust had just tossed his newborn son down into the valley.
“Shut up,” Dust growled. He roughly backed Thomas against the pillar to emphasize his attention. “I'm going to use big words to speak to your pretentiously posh brainpan. I am so ridiculously tired of your insidious narcissism, your clear and despicable lack of manners. From here on, you'll display common courtesy towards your sister, and you will quit your antagonistic behaviors with me. Get me, Tommy?”
“You – you – you beast!” Thomas' face turned red, and veins stood out on either side of his forehead. Teeth bared, he began to rant. “You dare speak to me in such tone? I am a British Lord! I have rank and title and wealth and land you, you sullen ape, you have only the day as it comes and nothing more! How you could even dream to speak to me is beyond me, how you could dare to think you are little more than a trifle in my attentions is ludicrous!”
Dust drew his pistol and placed it beneath Thomas's chin.
Jack stepped forward to protest, but Dust held out his free hand and she stopped.
Thomas, for his part, immediately quieted and turned ghostly pale.
“Out here,” Dust began, “your title and wealth mean nothing. Less than. Out here you're just meat, a walking cadaver, soft and fleshy and ripe for some predator to swoop in and snap at. Out here nothing is going to take your 'lordship' seriously, because you are simply fruit on the vine. And the only thing out here which stands in the way of those beasts and your bones is the barrel of the gun in my hand. One pull of the trigger right now, and I make the hunt easier on the predators out there and give them something to snack on while the rest of us make our way forward. Or: I can use my weapon on the predators chasing us instead, and prevent your costly life from being taken by a prehistoric monster, so long as you're a good boy. You get to choose which of those outcomes you prefer.”
Thomas glanced over at Jack. “Do something, please,” he whimpered.
Jack did not answer. Her arms were crossed firmly over her chest, and she looked as though she were wrestling with herself.
“Sissie!” Thomas pled.
“He's right.” Jack placed her hands on her hips. “I'd care for Mister McAlan to spare your life, but he is right, Thomas. Out here we're little more than meals if we're not careful. We must rely on each other. If not, we're all doomed. I believe I can guide us to the chamber of Amrita. I know that I can.”
Thomas opened his mouth to argue, and cut himself short as Dust shoved the barrel a touch harder against his skin.
“Your words,” Dust warned, “should be quite mindful.�
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Thomas swallowed – a difficult feat when one had a gun to one's underchin.
“I believe,” he spoke softly, “that I shall defer to your generous wisdom.”
Dust smiled. Then he removed the pistol from beneath Thomas's chin. As he did so, he reached for one of the pouches on his harness with the opposite hand, retrieving a fresh magazine, and then proceeded to reload his previously empty weapon.
Jack, Cairn, and especially Thomas, all stared back with blank astonishment.
Dust holstered the pistol and clapped Thomas on the shoulder with friendly earnest. “You can be an alright guy when you put your mind to it, Tommy.”
“Rather.” Thomas rubbed his shoulder gingerly.
Dust turned to Jack and Cairn who were a reflection of opposites. Cairn, who had probably never seen anyone stand up to His Lordship in such a manner, was grinning from ear to ear with his fists balled together in excitement. Jack, meanwhile, possibly still sore over their row in the jungle over Thomas's potential expendability, had her arms crossed over her chest still, a scowl on her features, glaring at Dust. Perhaps he might need to sort out an apology at some point or another for holding her brother at gunpoint, but the current situation was moot. They needed to move or be moved upon.
“Shall we?” Dust offered, bowing slightly and gesturing for Jack to lead.
Jack glared back for a moment. “I'm beginning to understand your reputation,” she spat. Then she strode forward with angry footfalls, saying nothing more. Thomas, still nursing his shoulder, turned and followed closely behind his sister for safety – a welcome change.
Cairn followed, but stopped and grinned up at Dust. “Quite rugged, guv! His Lordship had that one coming!”
“Sure did,” Dust mused. He smiled in kind, but now wondered how much rebellion Jack had in her spirit towards her brother, and how much blind endearment there might be still lingering in her soul. For now he saw that a part of her, still yet conditioned by her family to be loyal despite their heavy restrictions and judgment of her person, could turn and defy that which she'd labored over if her bonds to family were pressed too harshly. Too far to one side, and the daughter might take prominence. But if she could keep her focus on the path ahead, then that which had caused her to rebel in the first could spur her against submission.
He hoped her rebellion would win out.
***
Past the the outer wall was a wide set of stone-and-gold stairs that rose as a gentle incline, ascending towards the city proper and through the inner wall. Along the steps a curious transformation took place: where the outer ruins had been dominated by overgrowth and green, here the stonework was clean, less fragile, smoothed with age but sturdy and without the life of the jungle overtaking it. Indeed, the outer wall seemed to have halted any progress the lost world had made towards the buildings; the only intrusion upon the city were vines strung high from rooftop to rooftop, impossibly so. Perhaps they had been draped over the streets the same way the net of vines had been knit across the ravine.
Entering past the inner wall's archway, they were greeted by a smiling figure of Vishnu high above them at its apex gazing down upon those who would visit the city. Through the archway the city streets were free and clear of plant life. Beautiful, mostly-intact ruins rose high above them, in dome-shaped architecture that again reminded Dust of stupas, but also in squat, square pyramids that angled towards a plateaued roof, with steps navigating the sides in zig-zags. Before them was a large courtyard, offering pathways to either side and straight on.
Rushing water sounded somewhere from within the city, which was curious. Perhaps there were canals that fed the city's water supply. Dust remembered the waterfall at the lake, and now imagined that had spilled out from Shambhala itself. Curiouser and curiouser.
As he took in the construction, noting the various figures carved in relief – Vishnu, Brahma, and Shiva, implying each of the gods had a hand in the construction of the city – the use of gold revealed its prominence, as both sealant and material. Inlays, capstones, sometimes entire sidings glittered even in the downpour, rivulets of waters streaming along the precious material before being absorbed into the stone around it. Perhaps this was why the dilapidated ruins seemed to remain as sturdy as they did. Of interest were the columns that stood twenty, sometimes thirty feet tall, constructed at regular intervals along the street. Jutting forth horizontally from the pillars were golden poles, held outward over the street as though they were meant for hanging from. There was no other impression than that, though Dust was damned if he knew why.
“There's two sections of the city,” Jack said as they investigated their surroundings. “We're in the outer city currently, which revolves as a circle around the central inner city. It's there where the lords of this place gathered and we should find the Amrita.”
Dust remembered the drawing of Kalachakra Mandala she'd shown him back in Cairo: two outer rings, four towers. She'd drawn that from memory. Impressed with renewed confidence in her navigation, he turned his attention to the environment. Dust knelt and touched the stones of the street; quite smooth. Age had nothing to do with that kind of wear.
“Looks like someone still uses the roads here,” Dust stated.
Jack knelt beside him and nodded. “We're not alone in the city, then.”
“I'm not seeing any reason to think that this area of the city is abandoned.”
“Whereas before?”
“Before, the ruins were overtaken by the jungle. Here it's clean. Either the plants won't grow over the stonework, or it's being kept clean intentionally.”
“By whom?”
“Or what?”
Jack blinked. “I'm not sure I understand.”
Dust looked up as the rain came to a bracing halt. Above them the clouds were breaking into a renewal of blue sky, the sun high and luminous. “Well, if I'm reading this the way I think I am, then we might figure out the answer to that sooner versus later.”
“You believe they've gotten out of the rain?”
Dust smiled. “Wouldn't you?”
Jack began to speak, but rather nodded in appreciation. “Fair point. Perhaps we should move quickly, then.”
“Perhaps. Lead on, captain. I'll keep watch.”
Jack took the lead, pausing every here and there to take stock of the street, the intersections, the buildings. At intervals she would pause and close her eyes as though she were crafting a séance, holding palaver with the spirits for guidance. Then, just as blithely, she would renew her steps, redirecting their course. Oddly, it was deathly still within the city. Beyond the streets they traveled still came the echo of rushing water, its source yet unknown, but growing in volume as Jack took corners and changed direction. Aside from that, their footsteps, though muted by the smoothness of the pavement, were loud enough that it would have attracted the attention of anything lurking near the shadowy archways and doors they passed. Dust continuously checked each one, noting that very few held cobwebs or dust or signs of disuse. This was a living city, but the inhabitants were conspicuously absent. Sensations of being watched prickled the back of his neck, but he did not draw his pistol just yet; until it was necessary he would leave it holstered. Perhaps those voyeurs might see it and realize it a weapon. Silence and serenity devilishly dominated the day, dancing in light and shadow, and the further they traversed the more Dust thought he might go mad with anticipation.
Around the next corner, the sounds of a babbling brook became louder. Jack peered around the intersection warily, and paused in her steps.
“This was very much understated in the texts,” she spoke with some awe.
Dust and the others caught up to catch the same view. Before them, sluicing through the city streets, was a wide canal which swept rushing, clear water towards the south. This confirmed Dust's theory about the source of the waterfall. He marveled at this, gazing at how much wider the canal was compared to the street, how crystalline the water itself was. As it coursed along, creating w
aves and splashing slightly over the edge of the sluice, Dust noted large fish which resembled salmon. The prehistoric swimmers were pink and grey, with pointed fins. They appeared to have no issues with the current, holding steady near the bottom of the canal, which was possibly six or seven feet deep. As they approached the edge for a better look, Dust looked up and down the length of the waterway and noticed turbines which spun in the current at various intervals. How very interesting. He could not tell what, if anything, the wheels were attached to mechanically, but he'd not seen technology of this kind in an ancient city in quite some time. Fascination crept over him, but to investigate would be to turn away from the objective. Perhaps if they came across one organically.
Off in the distance, the echoing pops of gunfire could be heard.
They all looked up at the sound it. Seconds later, the staccato renewed. They could hear nothing other than that – no engines, no screams nor shouts. Then it was silent. If the echoes could be heard over the sound of the waters, it meant that Ryder and his boys were closer than previously recognized.
“Maybe Ryder has made introductions with the locals,” Thomas offered warily.
“Could explain why we haven't gotten the welcome wagon,” Dust agreed. “They heard his crew approach, and sought them out. We should probably take advantage of the distraction.”
Jack looked at the canal. “We need to cross this. But I see no bridge or steps to get us by.”
Dust looked up and around, hoping that some of those streetpoles were close enough that he could reach out with his whip and swing across. There were none. Up and down the length of the canal on both sides, no streetpoles. Many had been placed along the street before, so why not here? Damnable logic.
“We could cross this easy,” Dust offered. “Current's not bad.”
“I'd rather not,” Thomas returned, rather quickly.
Jack shook her head. “I'm not uneasy about the current, but there might yet be creatures in the water we've yet to encounter. While these were once meant for irrigation, the disuse has no doubt allowed some sort of underwater beasts to slip in. We'd do best to continue on and discover a bridge of some kind.”
