At first, he thought it was a hallucination. But he soon began to believe the gods were rewarding him for his loyalty. After another day, it also became clear where they were going. He had a decision to make. Take them then or wait until they got closer to the Master’s farm. Both choices had pros and cons. If he took them early, he could play with them for a while. Watch Crusoe suffer. The idea appealed to him. At the same time, he knew keeping two prisoners would mean a lot of work and little sleep. He decided to wait.
Somewhere along the way, Cassa had been spotted. He watched Crusoe release his bird, which flew in wide circular arcs, presumably looking for him. Cassa could have shot it down, but he decided to ride ahead of them instead, cutting a wide berth through the plains at night until he resumed the road several miles in front of them.
There, he waited and bided his time.
The opportunity came two nights later when clouds filled the horizon and a gentle rain began to fall. Crusoe had propped up a tent underneath the single tree on the hill. There would be no releasing the bird tonight.
Crusoe stood watch the early part of the evening. Hours later, the girl took over. That’s when Cassa made his move. He slipped quickly through the tawny corn until he reached the base of the hill. He looked around for the girl. She was nowhere in sight. He approached the tent carefully and pulled back the flap. He heard Crusoe wake. His words came quickly, “What’s wrong?” He got nothing more out. Cassa brought the club down with a muffled thud.
The girl was gone, not that it mattered. Cassa had decided to kill her anyway. Now, he had the prize he’d been seeking for nearly a year. As he pulled Crusoe from the tent, all Cassa could think was how happy this would make the Master.
The mute sister pushed quietly through the bracken to find the noise she’d heard hadn’t been caused by a human intruder, but a hairy one. The opossum hissed defensively from its warren. She saw why. Her pouch was distended, her teats visible even in the darkness. She was days away from giving birth. She eased away.
She was halfway back to the tent when she heard a noise, high and pitched. At first, she thought it was the wind. Then, it came again and she realized what it was. She was running full speed with her blade in her hand by the time she ascended the hill, chest thumping and filled with dread. She pulled the open tent flap back, trying to ignore the shrieks and calls of the bird as it screeched from within its cage.
Crusoe was gone. She felt something sticky on her hand. Blood, smeared across the tent flap.
The mute sister spun in the rain looking for tracks. She thought she saw what looked like drag marks in the mud and followed after them. They lead down the hill to the cornfield fifty meters away. As soon as she slipped inside, however, she realized it was too dark to see anything.
Chest heaving, she turned and turned, but there was nothing she could do. Crusoe was gone, and she was alone.
Chapter Forty-Two
A Walk Among the Trees
She stirred from fathoms deep. Submerged in perfect night, settled heavy in the warmth of the Goddess’s bosom. She was at peace. And yet something called to her. Not a voice, but another kind of warmth. It pulled her back toward the cold, toward the light. At first, she fought it. Gradually, she gave in and swam until she opened her eyes.
“You’re awake,” the man said, looming over her.
He was alone. Face scarred, eye milky. He was a stranger, yet there was something familiar about him. Then she remembered.
“Crusoe,” she uttered, voice scratchy as if she swallowed a fish bone.
“Yes,” the man said, not unkindly. “They call me Pastor.”
She swallowed “Where is he?”
“He’s running an errand. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. Can you sit up?”
Impossible, she thought. And then he reached out and it was easier than she expected. She was in a room surrounded by machines. Unlike Sweethome these looked like starlight.
“Where am I?” Friday asked.
“You are in the Medica in the City of Glass, in the Badlands of what was once South Dakota. My home.”
She remembered. Her hands moved swiftly to her swollen belly.
“Your child is fine,” Pastor assured her.
Friday looked at her arms, pulled back the gossamer fabric to see her legs. They were clean of all blight.
“You healed me?” she asked.
Pastor chuckled. “Me? No. The machines did. I merely gave the order.”
“How?”
“Nanotechnology. It’s a process by which very small robots scour your body for things that should not be there. Then they simply pull them apart and voila.”
“And you’re certain our child is healed?”
“As certain as I can be. I’m no scientist or doctor. But this,” he patted the twinkling lights above her, “isn’t your average juicer either. If it says you’re organic, you are. Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can get you anything you want. Within reason.”
“I want up,” Friday said.
Pastor laughed. “Up it is.”
Once Pastor had fetched Friday clothes, they walked through the streets of the city. Friday was again mesmerized by the sites around her, though she noticed some of the citizens gawked while others looked at her with hostility.
“I am not welcome here,” Friday said.
“Don’t worry about them. They just haven’t seen anyone pregnant in a long time.”
“I had not noticed before. There are no children. Why is this?”
“It’s … complicated.”
“How? First, you find a mate. Then—”
Pastor laughed again, this time drawing odd stares from those around him.
“I’m familiar with the process, trust me. Though a little out of practice.”
Friday eyed him again and asked, “Where exactly is Crusoe?”
Pastor looked around before smiling. “Let’s talk a walk outside.”
After passing through the gates, they entered the great forest on a well-trodden path. Almost immediately, Friday felt her tension ease away. The chirping of birds and smell of wet earth were like a boon. Friday reached out to touch the leaves as she passed.
“Robinson left the city a little over two weeks ago,” Pastor said once the city fell from view. “He went after the one you call Saah.”
Pastor saw Friday react and reached out to her. “It’s too late to find him even if you wanted to. And he chose to go.”
“Alone?”
“No. The one he calls the mute sister went with him.”
Friday was only slightly relieved. Though Crusoe had said the girl was strong and good with a bow, she was also prone to reacting emotionally rather than instinctually.
“Why would he do this? We’ve been evading this man for nearly a year.”
“We were told the virus Saah infected you with came in a vial. One of two?”
Friday nodded.
“They want the second vial. Unfortunately, traveling beyond the borders of the city is forbidden, so they made an agreement. They would heal you and your child. In return, Robinson would retrieve the second strain of the virus.”
“Why? What do they want with it?”
Pastor hesitated. “To study it, I suppose. By the time you arrived, yours had mutated several generations. The fear is this strain is far more dangerous than its predecessor.”
“Why not destroy it?”
“That, my dear, is a very good question.”
Friday studied him. She could sense there was something he wasn’t telling her. “Even if Crusoe finds Saah, he has men and Renders. Two cannot hope to defeat so many.”
“Normally, I’d agree with you. But I just so happened to sneak a few things out of their armory for him. While they might not guarantee victory, they will help even the odds.”
“And you say he left two weeks ago?”
Pastor nodded.
“When is he expected back?”
“Not for another two weeks at the earliest.”
Friday’s eyes fell to her belly.
“Don’t worry. With a little luck, he’ll be here for the birth of your child.”
“Crusoe doesn’t believe in luck, and neither do I. He survives because the Goddess favors him. You should pray this continues.”
“I should pray? Why?”
“Because if any harm comes to him, I will burn your city to the ground with you in it.”
Pastor wanted to laugh, but he saw her sincerity. “I see now why he fought so hard to find you.”
They continued up the trail, both weary, but unwilling to turn back. Both had so much to say.
“Crusoe said when he left you, you were near the Atlantica?”
“Yes,” Pastor answered. “At the beginning of winter.”
“So when did you come here?”
“Early spring, I think.”
Pastor grunted as he started up a steep incline.
“Fortunate you were so quick to find it. It took us much longer.”
Pastor glanced back briefly. “Maybe your Goddess favors me too.”
Was he mocking her? She wasn’t sure.
“I would like to ask you a question.”
“By all means, do. I haven’t had someone as beautiful as you to talk to in a very long time.”
Friday ignored the complement. “You wear the clothes of the city. You know the paths of its forest. You use its machines freely. You call them ‘my people’ in one breath, then say ‘their armory’ with another.”
“You’re quite observant, Friday, but that’s not a question.”
“Who are you?” Friday asked.
Pastor reached the top of the rise, overlooking a field of golden grass beyond. He took a heavy breath and stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I thought I did once. Out there with your husband. It’s strange how in the middle of all that chaos, a person can find clarity on some of the simpler things.”
“It’s not strange at all,” Friday said. “Your people live behind glass where they cannot touch. In towers where they can only see. Here, life is anything but simple.”
“You don’t know what they’re capable of. Of all the things they can do.”
“Then why are you here and not among them? Why have you not healed this,” she reached out and touched the scar on his cheek. He froze at the touch of her hand. “I think it is the same reason you left these on me,” Friday pulled up her sleeve revealing one of a hundred scars that remained on her body. “They are the roadmap of a life lived well.”
Pastor didn’t argue but neither would he look at her.
“You are afraid of something. What is it?”
Pastor was about to open his mouth when he saw a shadow flit by overhead. Was it one of Lysa’s birds?
“Missing lunch,” he said eventually. And then he smiled again. “I know of an apple tree just up ahead. Honey Crisp. I’ll let you have one if you promise to keep it to yourself.”
He winked at her and continued walking. Friday hesitated before following.
Chapter Forty-Three
What Waits in the Shadows
The beast smelled like rotting meat. At least where Robinson’s head lay, bouncing over the side of the lumbering brute, its dense, matted hair clumped with dirt, sweat, and blood. His rider had bound Robinson to the saddle, legs hanging off one side, head and arms off the other. The ropes cut into his wrists and ankles, leaving them both bloody. Several times an hour he arched his back as much as possible, trying to get the blood out of his head and extremities. A few moments of relief lead to prickling waves of pain. Worst of all, the man refused to give him water.
The masked assailant ran alongside his bison, using some type of flute to compel it forward whenever it tried to rest. He dragged behind him an old fabric tarp carrying something heavy and round.
By the end of the first day, every part of Robinson was sore. Midway through the second, his arms and legs had gone numb. He tried to gnash through the cloth stuffed in his mouth. It only left his mouth bloody and raw.
The one positive was he was still headed to Saah. Only now, it was as a prisoner. His hope of slipping in to steal the vial unannounced was gone. What would Saah do when he saw him? Would he kill him immediately? He doubted it. The man he knew—the Tier that once usurped a kingdom—reveled in his cruelty. More likely he would torture him first. The thought brought dread, but Robinson had suffered through similar horrors before. The physical thrashing by Trog in the caves. Joule’s psychological torment underground. To save Friday and their child, he would need to steel himself for the time to come.
Oddly enough, Robinson spent much of his time thinking of the mute sister. Pastor had assigned her to protect Robinson, and within a week, he’d been taken right out from under her watch. Doubtlessly, she would blame herself. She would also pursue them. But would she be able to track them on her own? She had no way to command Scout. Not without a voice. And Robinson had seen no sign of the bird. He assumed she was still in her cage, patiently awaiting his return.
Day bled into night, and the trek seemed to have no end. Early one evening, Robinson woke to find them on the crest of a fertile basin where a farm sat nestled in a grove of trees, smoke rising lazily from a modest farmhouse. A large barn sat in the center of a dirt field some meters away. The long, painful ride had come to an end. A new one was about to begin.
The bison’s lumbering came to a stop. Then Robinson’s captor cut his bonds, and he fell to the ground, nearly passing out from the agony of muscles that had knotted in place.
The man in the mask rang a bell, and Robinson thought he felt the earth move. Then a shadowed figure appeared at the barn and blew a note on pipes similar to the one the masked figure carried. His kidnapper hauled Robinson to his feet and dragged him across the field and to the barn.
“Well,” the shadowed figure said. “I must say, I am impressed, Cassa. I know the Master will be too.”
Robinson recognized the voice. He squinted. “Mr. Dandy?”
Viktor raised the lamp, revealing his fair face.
“It’s Viktor now,” he said. “How are you, Mr. Crusoe? I must say, you look frightfully less well than you did when we last parted. Of course, you were in the midst of one mighty kerfuffle then too. I’m happy to see you survived.”
“What are you doing here?” Robinson asked.
Viktor smiled. “Come in and I’ll show you.”
Cassa tied his bison to a rail near a trough before pulling Robinson into the barn.
Once inside, Robinson’s hands were shackled, and he was kicked to the floor. Then Cassa dumped Robinson’s weapons on a table desk laden with an array of ancient, disassembled equipment before reaching for a pitcher full of water.
“Would you prefer to wash first?” Viktor asked Cassa. The masked man ignored him and drank.
Three lamps illuminated the barn, which was bisected by a large set of sliding, reinforced doors. Robinson looked around, noticing several motionless bodies in a pen nearby. It was obvious they had been experimented on.
“My apologies for the unsavory aroma,” Viktor said. “You see, I was not expecting company.” He pulled a pocket watch from his waist and flipped it open. “Feeding time is in a few hours. I do hope you can put up with the effluvia until then.”
Robinson didn’t know who or what would be fed, so he asked, “What are you doing here? What is all this?”
“This is my laboratory,” Viktor said, chuckling. “Sounds so theatrical, doesn’t it?” His smile quickly faded. “But I feel it’s an important distinction to make. These days so little effort is made in the name of advancement. Within these walls, we test the boundaries of science. And by we, I mean me, of course.”
“What kind of science requires live victims?” Robinson asked, stretching to get some feeling back into his extremities.
“Oh, I don’t know. Every form since man first stood on two legs? I’ll spare you the recriminations of naiveté. The truth is I
’ve had nothing but non compos mentis to converse with these past few weeks, and it’s been taxing. Of course, there’s been the Master, but these days he’s…” Viktor felt Cassa’s eyes on him, so he said, “preoccupied.”
“I seem to remember you had a penchant for the tinkering arts. You were a reader as well, if I’m not mistaken. Tell me, did you ever read Frankenstein by Mary Shelley? It was a nod to Zeus’s creation of Titan. No? Pity. There are some interesting parallels I’d love to discuss. The important thing is I’ve done it.”
“Done what?”
Viktor leaned in giddily. “Beaten God.” He laughed. Then the barn door opened and Saah appeared.
“Are you talking about me again?” Saah said.
“N-no, Master,” Viktor said. “Merely prattling. Look who’s returned?”
Saah emerged out of the dark, his focus on Cassa.
“Welcome back, my son. It’s good to see you. I take it you were successful in your study of the city?”
Cassa nodded.
“He was successful at more than that, Master,” Viktor said. “He brought you a gift.”
Saah turned and saw Robinson on the floor. At first, he had no reaction. Then, a joyous smile lit his face. “Robinson Crusoe. How are you, young ser? You look like you’ve had quite the journey.”
“Tier Saah,” Robinson said.
“I see you’ve recovered some of your manners. Though, you were never the paragon of courtesy to begin with, were you? For the record, I no longer go by Tier or Regent. These days, I am simply called Master. Though for an old friend like you, Vardan is good.”
If Saah’s civility confused Robinson, he was determined not to let it show.
Saah turned to Cassa. “You relieved him of his weapons?”
Cassa nodded to the weapons on Viktor’s desk.
“Good,” Saah said. “You look tired, friend. Go clean up and get some rest. You’ve done well.”
Cassa nodded. He glanced at Robinson before he left.
“Good lad,” Saah said. “Would have made a fine IronFist. Did he abuse you?”
Robinson Crusoe 2246: (Book 3) Page 27
