The Lost Sisterhood

by Anne Fortier

  “No!” I threw my arms around him. “I won’t leave you here like this!”

  Nick looked at me pleadingly. “You have to. I’m counting on you.”

  “Enough!” Reznik tore my coat from Nick’s shoulders and sent a shock wave of pain through my scalp as he yanked me away by the hair. Then he yelled an order to one of his men, who went to our rental car, got in the driver’s seat, and drove the vehicle off the road into the ditch.

  Reznik turned to James. “You’re a fucking idiot. Now we have a hell of a mess to clean up. Just pray al-Aqrab doesn’t find out who did this. Better buy yourself a one-way ticket to Mars, little Lord Moselane.”

  I glared at James, disgusted with this slithering snake of a man. Although Reznik had long since taken his gun away, James still stood with his arm half-raised, apparently frozen in place. “I didn’t mean to shoot him,” he whispered, the words barely audible. “I just—”

  “Too late!” Reznik gave James another whack on the back of the head as he walked by. “Let’s go find that notebook. We’ll deal with the body later.”

  That was how we left Nick: crouching in the bloodstained snow. The next thing I saw was the dirty backseat of a car as the men shoved me inside, headfirst.

  “All of this is your fault,” said Reznik, getting in after me. “If you had given me the notebook in the first place”—he grasped my face with one hand, looking into my eyes with a mocking smile—”we would all still be friends.”

  I said nothing. It was all I could do not to throw up when we sped down the road, leaving Nick behind in the freezing darkness.

  The drive was a blur to me. I told the driver exactly where to go with unthinking certainty, while the only thing racing through my mind was Nick’s blood, draining from his body as fast as his warmth, leaving him helpless against the arctic night. He had been shivering when we left him, and he would shiver for a while longer as he fought off hypothermia. Then the shivering would stop. And that’s when I had to be back there to save him. If I wasn’t, his body would shut down, organ by organ, until there was no life left.

  When we finally drove down the bumpy path to the Amazon hideaway, I was so frantic with impatience I leaned forward to push at the driver. “Keep going! Faster!” As I spoke, the peeling house façade and boarded-up windows became visible in brief flashes, and the ghostly effect of the place was enhanced by the erratic flicks of our headlights and those of the two vehicles behind us.

  “That’s it?” Reznik leaned forward, peering at the run-down building. “It’s an empty house.” He stared at me, twitches of anger pulling at his eyes. “You little whore—”

  I was too distressed to hold back my fury. “Nick is freezing to death back there!” I exclaimed. “Why would I lie to you?”

  Getting out of the car, Reznik took stock of his men and instructed the three drivers to stay behind and keep the engines running. Then he jammed the muzzle of his gun into my back and made me walk ahead up the stone steps to the front door.

  I had no idea what awaited us inside. Pitana had not divulged this part of the plan to Nick and me. How would a mere handful of Amazons—most of whom were barely of age, not to mention Otrera at eighty-plus—fare against a gang of heavily armed brutes?

  When I had knocked several times without result, Reznik shoved me aside and banged on the door with his fist. Then, when there was still no answer, he tried the door handle … and found the door unlocked. As James came to join us, Reznik grabbed my shoulder. “Go, go!” he hissed, pushing at me to enter the house first.

  With a tentative “Hello? Professor Seppänen—?” I stepped across the threshold and entered the dark house. Because the cars outside were idling with their headlights on, greeting me as the door swung open was only my own shadow, stretched out across the wooden floorboards. The hallway was all but empty. Every piece of furniture had disappeared, including the rifle rack. The only object left was the umbrella stand.

  Frazzled as I was, I nearly cried out with frustration. The Amazons were gone. Their headquarters had been compromised, and the planned ambush had been nothing but a way of getting rid of us. I felt my chest tightening; never had I felt so forsaken. Even James’s betrayal dwindled by comparison.

  Reznik poked me again hard with the muzzle of his gun. “So, where is it?”

  “I don’t know.” I looked around, trying to figure out what to do. “It’s so late. I’m sure Professor Seppänen has gone to bed.”

  Turning to his men, Reznik gave instructions to search the house. Two were sent into the congregation room, two into the library, and the rest upstairs. Then he nodded at the door to the dining room, which was straight ahead and slightly ajar. “What’s in there?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. It was just the three of us now—me, Reznik, and James. My head was racing with possible ways of escaping the two of them and leaving the house.

  “Ladies first.” Reznik took me firmly by the arm, his gun digging into my ribs as we walked across the floor together.

  The dining room was almost dark. The headlights outside that had made the entryway so bright were helpless to illuminate more than just a few feet of the long dining table, which, in the murk of night, appeared to continue indefinitely in either direction.

  Just then, we heard a noise from upstairs, right above our heads. It was the sound of a rushing scuffle … then a muffled shriek … then silence.

  Stiffening, Reznik pulled out a walkie-talkie and barked a question. There was no reply.

  “Turn on the lights!” he said, prodding me with the gun. I heard in his voice he was beginning to have misgivings about the place, and it didn’t help that no lights came on when I flicked the switch. “Try again!” he sneered.

  “Shh!” said a heavyset thug of a man wearing a ski cap and pointing a gun—he was one of the four men who had searched the rooms downstairs and who had now rejoined us.

  Everyone listened intently.

  The house was perfectly still. The only noise to pierce the impression of utter abandonment was a faint neigh from outside. The sound drew a grim curse from Reznik. “Out!” he barked, pushing at everyone. “Out, out, out!”

  Just as the men began to back up, however, the front door slammed shut behind us, and we found ourselves in total darkness. Too shocked to act on anything other than instinct, I ducked out of Reznik’s grip and moved away from the men. Pressing myself against the wall, barely registering the pain when I hit my head on one of the coat hooks, I could hear the cursing and trampling of heavy combat boots as Reznik’s goons tried to locate the door, and then suddenly …

  A blinding burst of light from above and a horrible, frenzied whipping sound engulfed us for several seconds, reminding me of nothing I had ever heard before.

  Shielding my eyes from the violent rays of light, it took a moment to make out the bodies lying sprawled on the floor by the door, pinned in place by dozens of arrows. It was a grotesque, sickening sight. Most of the arrows had been aimed at their heads and faces above the armored vests. Already pooling on the floor was the blood streaming from the gruesome wounds.

  The only two men who had not been hurt were Reznik and James, who both stood pressed against the wall to the dining room, hidden, as was I, from the eyes of the archers on the gallery right above us.

  It took Reznik a moment to fathom that all his men were dead, upstairs as well as downstairs, and that we were the only three left alive. When his eyes met mine, his face became so contorted with fury he no longer resembled a human being. “You tricked me!” he growled, charging toward me along the wall, staying clear of the archers’ target zone.

  I didn’t even have time to wonder about his intentions. The gun in his hand and the livid expression on his face were all I needed to reach out for the umbrella stand. Fortunately, the rusty old rapier was still there.

  Unprepared for the sight of me holding a weapon, Reznik kept coming forward without seeming to register the danger. “Come on!” he barked at James, who was still pe
trified with shock. “We’ll use her as a hostage!” Still pointing the gun at me, Reznik reached out for my arm with his free hand, but I managed to get the rapier between us.

  “Don’t you dare!” I said, my voice so calm it surprised even me. Somehow, holding a weapon I knew so well made me able to think straight again. “I’m going back to Nick—”

  “The fuck you are!” Reznik forced the blade aside with his arm and aimed the gun at my face. “You’re coming with me.”

  At that moment, a woman armed with a machete emerged from the door to the dining hall right behind him. Pitana. She did not charge Reznik, but pulled back silently, realizing the danger I was in.

  That was all it took. Reznik glanced over his shoulder to see what had caught my eye, and I lunged forward, disarming him with a thrust to the wrist. Crying out with surprise and pain, he clutched the wound with his other hand. The gun fell to the floor with a clatter, right between us.

  Roaring with fury, Reznik bent to retrieve it, but I kicked it aside. I was so focused on keeping Reznik away from me that I didn’t grasp what James was up to until he darted forward and picked up the gun.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I cried, when he pointed the gun at me and began backing toward the door, striding over the dead bodies.

  “Come on!” James motioned frantically for Reznik to follow. “Let’s get out—”

  The sentence ended in a cry of pain. For the second time, the gun fell to the floor with a clatter. An arrow from above had struck James right in the hand, penetrating his palm, and he doubled over with groaning agony.

  “Gentlemen!” roared a voice of great authority.

  Looking up, I saw Otrera—my terrible, beautiful great-aunt Otrera—standing on the gallery with her bow raised, the string still vibrating from the perfect shot. Around her stood a group of young Amazons, among them Lilli.

  Opening her arms, bow and all, Otrera said to Reznik, “You wanted to find us. Here we are.”

  I did not wait to see Reznik’s reaction. Without another second’s hesitation, I bolted across the floor past James, picking up the handgun on the way. Barely stopping, I tore open the front door, so eager to get out I stumbled over the threshold and fell down on my hands and knees on the gritty stone steps.

  I got up, still clutching the gun, but felt a hand grasping at my ponytail and realized that Reznik was right behind me. Twisting around, I hit him in the face with the gun and managed to pull my hair out of his grip. His eyebrow was spurting blood as I turned and started to run.

  Despite his wounds Reznik followed me down the steps and staggered after me through the snow. “The gun!” he growled, his voice as forceful as ever. “Give it to me!”

  Two furious snorts and the rapid thudding of hooves made us both jump with fear. A horse and rider, blending into a single black magnificent form, came galloping out of the woods and pounding right between us—so close the rider’s long leather coat whipped me across the cheek. I saw her face for only a split second as she rode by, but that was enough to recognize Penthesilea, the Slavic woman who had masterminded the ambush.

  Squealing with triumph, Reznik bent down to pick up something she had tossed into the snow right beside him when she rode by. A revolver.

  His fingers closed greedily around the weapon, and yet I was not afraid. You moron, I thought as I backed away from him. Don’t you know Amazon rule number four? Never kill an unarmed man unless you have to.

  Before Reznik could fire a single shot, Penthesilea turned in the saddle, raised a long gun that had been concealed by her coat … and a deafening blast threw Reznik and the revolver backward, into a snowbank. All I could see of him were his hands and feet, but I knew that neither they, nor the man himself, would ever stir again.

  “Morg!” A frenzied call stirred me from shock. James stood on the threshold of the house, waving wildly. “Come back! Please!”

  I turned and ran.

  Clutching my own pistol with both hands, I raced down the driveway. Expecting Reznik’s brutish drivers to be barricaded in their vehicles, armed and desperate, I was relieved to find that they weren’t. Both the cars and the van were empty, with the front doors left open, and the only signs of Reznik’s three remaining men were the bloody furrows in the snow where they had been dragged away.

  Getting into the last car—a brand-new SUV with leather seats—I fumbled around for the key and finally found it on the floor, smeared with blood and melting snow. I was so agitated I could barely control my hands and feet, but managed to get the car started and in reverse before backing up as fast as I could out the winding driveway.

  Once back on the main road, I began retracing my route with breathless urgency. The only thing on my mind was Nick, waiting for me minute after agonizing minute.

  The image of him crouched in the snow in silent agony was so powerful it had stayed before my eyes all this time. And when I finally approached the spot where we had left him, I fully expected to see him kneeling by the roadside still, huddled against the cold.

  But he wasn’t there.

  Getting out of the car I turned about myself several times, yelling his name at the top of my lungs while the frosty ball of panic rolling around in my stomach grew bigger and bigger. The snow was no longer falling, and the forest was absolutely quiet—certainly quiet enough to convince me no one was responding to my calls.

  Running over to our rental car in the ditch, I pulled open the door to see if Nick had crawled inside for shelter. He wasn’t there, either.

  Only then did it occur to me to look for tracks in the fresh snow … tracks of someone walking, or crawling … but the headlights that were my only source of light made everything so bright it took me a while to discern that there was, indeed, a fresh pattern—a single tread mark—going down the road toward Suomussalmi.

  I felt a rush of hope. Had a motorcycle picked up Nick?

  Getting back in the car, I drove on as fast as I could, following the tread mark. Only when I reached the city limits did other patterns begin to weave in and out of the one I was following, and yet, thanks to the late hour and the scarcity of traffic, I was able to follow it all the way through town to its only logical destination.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  And a man may say, who sees you streaming tears,

  “There is the wife of Hector, the bravest fighter

  They could field, those stallion-breaking Trojans, long ago when the men fought for Troy.”

  —HOMER, The Iliad

  THE HOSPITAL WAS A SLEEPY PLACE, WITH JUST A HANDFUL OF PEOple on the night shift. When I stepped through the emergency room door everyone on staff looked up. I guessed from their wide eyes I was no pretty sight.

  As soon as I had confirmed that Nick was really there, a sympathetic nurse walked me to a small waiting area with a dozen empty chairs. “There is warm water for tea in the thermos,” she said. “I will tell Dr. Huusko you are here.”

  “How is he?” I asked, studying her face to glean whatever knowledge she had. “Is he okay?”

  She looked away. “Dr. Huusko will speak to you.”

  I have no idea how long I sat there, anxiously waiting for news. There was a radiator right behind me, hot to the touch, but I still couldn’t stop shaking. The night’s events had chilled me to the marrow, leaving me almost catatonic with shock and exhaustion. I didn’t even have the wherewithal to get up and wash my hands, even though they were still sticky with Nick’s blood.

  When Dr. Huusko appeared at last, he didn’t walk up to me right away but first stopped and peered at me across the waiting area. And when he spoke, it was in a voice so deep it sounded like a rumble from earth itself. “You better have a good story for me.”

  I rose on stiff legs, looking in vain for a soft spot in the doctor’s face. He was the sort of looming, oaklike man who gave the impression of having withstood several ice storms and lightning strikes, and to whom human beings such as I were little more than a passing annoyance. “Please tell me he will b
e all right,” I said, the words nearly clogging in my throat.

  Dr. Huusko pointed at his stethoscope. “This is not a crystal ball. This is science. But science is on our side.” He finally walked up to me. “If I was not a rational man I would say your boyfriend has a guardian angel.” He showed me what he was holding in his hand.

  It was Granny’s bracelet. Or rather, I assumed it was, for the head of the jackal was so distorted it didn’t look like an animal anymore.

  “This was in his trouser pocket,” Dr. Huusko explained. “It stopped the bullet. I’ve never seen anything like it. It probably saved his life.”

  “But he was bleeding,” I whispered, fighting back tears of confusion and relief.

  Dr. Huusko looked at me with dismay. “Of course he was bleeding! How do you think it feels to have this punched into your tissue with the power of several hundred pounds?”

  I looked into Dr. Huusko’s eyes, anxious for him to confirm that Nick was out of danger. “So, will he be all right?”

  But now the doctor’s face hardened again. “He’s in a coma. We shall see. He had severe hypothermia. His heart stopped; I don’t know for how long. There could be cell damage.” Dr. Huusko’s furry eyebrows contracted even further. “With no oxygen flowing to the brain—”

  I didn’t faint, but everything went dim for a few seconds. “Can I see him?”

  “When he is stable.” Dr. Huusko fished something else out of his lab coat: Nick’s cellphone. “This was in his other pocket. Maybe you would like to call someone. The woman who brought him here said she was his mother, but she didn’t tell us anything else. We tried to detain her but”—Dr. Huusko grimaced—”she didn’t want to stay.”

  I PACED THE HALLWAYS, almost too sad and shocked to cry. In the end I sat in the empty cafeteria with Nick’s cellphone and the mangled jackal bracelet on the table in front of me. A lonely neon tube was buzzing over the empty food counter nearby, occasionally blinking as if it was just about to burn out. For some reason it brought me back to my trailer compartment in Algeria, and I was briefly assaulted by pointless thoughts of turning back time to a point when Nick and I were still at odds, and where I never in my wildest dreams would have imagined sitting in a hospital like this, crying over him.