by J. Naomi Ay
"Don't you?" Puna asked, glancing sideways at the bombs.
There were seven of them stacked on Miltan's desk, all neatly tucked inside their locked cases. They were perfectly safe that way, Rosso had assured her. Each device was no larger than a lady’s handbag and no heavier than a bottle of perfume.
Seven women would put them in their purse and fly off to their intended destination, where panic would ensue, and destruction would reign.
"What difference does it make?" Miltan yawned. "Rosso always gets what he wants and we're here to deliver. By the way, he specifically asked for you."
"Me?" Puna squeaked, spilling all the coffee from her cup. "To do what?"
"Deliver one of the bombs, dear. It's your turn to make a stand. You always wanted to have an impact, and now you shall make a big one. I’ll miss you, darling. We had a lot of fun.”
Chapter 17
The Holy One’s champion shall again be born in the body of a man and shall be the son of my son and together, the son of my enemy’s son. His task shall be not easy nor quickly to pass, for the Evil is strong, and the people are weakened. But he the Lord’s champion shall be victorious again and for this he shall be rewarded by the presence of his companion who has forever dwelt by his side in the Heavens and in the battles of all the earths.
There was nothing there in all the books that Tuman had read which specifically said he would return. There was that word ‘again’. That definitely implied multiple visits, but Tuman had always interpreted this phrase to mean over the course of several millenniums, or maybe even longer. Certainly, he wouldn’t show up twice within a single century, would he?
“Did you find that boy yet?” Rekah asked as Tuman once again departed the Temple, now only two days before the Holiday would commence.
Tuman had planned to use this time to rehearse the sacred rituals, practice the ancient prayers, and in between, sleep as much as possible. Now, his mind was constantly churning, questioning the Great Father’s words, as well as the true identity of the snake, the boy, and the bird.
“Perhaps, they are nothing more than as they appear,” Rekah continued, walking beside his son as they traversed the darkened village.
Although, both moons were in ascension, the Days of the Golden Moons coinciding with the Holiday’s first night, storm clouds gathered on the horizon, blanketing the neighboring mountain crests with a steady deluge of rain.
“I haven’t found the boy,” Tuman snapped at his father. The events of the day, and the long hours spent on the cold stone floor of the sacred altar, left him far more irritable than satisfied. In fact, his knees were quite pained, the chill having seeped into his bones and worked its way up into his spine. “I assume he’s home or has run off again. Has Hannah arrived? Perhaps, she has seen him.”
“No one has arrived,” Rekah replied, holding his hand out to catch a drop of rain. “Did you say Hannah? You mean that girl from Shrotru? I always thought she would have been a good match for you, but then, Shika interfered and there you are.”
Tuman snorted as his father’s comments were not worthy of any other response.
“You’re right. You have obviously done far better as a single man,” Rekah continued. “This must be why you are so desperate to look after this lost boy. I suspect you are considering adopting the lad yourself.”
“He is alone and in need of a family,” Tuman declared. “I am only doing for him what I would do for any orphan. He shall stay with me only until someone more suitable can be found.”
“Apparently, he prefers the cold, wet forest to your company. Would you like me to join you in searching for him?” Rekah offered, his face showing more excitement for the task than Tuman felt.
“No, thank you, Father. If he is not home now, I shall wait a little longer, but in either case, there is no need for you to venture out. Stay by your warm fire with a blanket on your knees. I can manage alone as I apparently have a guardian eagle watching over me.”
Tuman knew his father would only be riled by this apparent snub, and indeed, Rekah raised his hand as if to smack the younger man.
“Between you and that foul Seesi, I grow weary of being treated like an elderly man. When the Holiday has concluded, I shall challenge you to break a horse.”
“There is no doubt you could do that far quicker and better than I. Now, go home, Father. I shall speak with you again in the morning.”
Begrudgingly, Rekah left, his shoulders slumped, but not from age. Having to return to his overly warm house, and overly protective wife did not please him in the slightest.
Tuman chuckled a little and spent an extra minute or two upon his porch, telling himself it was only to see his father safely down the village street. He paused at the threshold of his door, listening carefully to all the sounds inside. Was that a foreign hissing, a gurgling, an intake of air, or was it simply the wind as it blew in through the fireplace flue disturbing the otherwise, silent room?
“Arsan?” Tuman called, gently closing the front door. “Arsan, have you come home? Are you here?” Tuman’s calls were rewarded with only a tiny meow from a feral cat who had jumped on a window ledge in search of food. “Ah, you see,” Tuman told the cat. “It is perfectly safe in here now. If there was a snake, surely you would warn me of his presence.”
The cat purred as a response, and then, settled down comfortably in the window box. Tuman made to stoke the fire, to coax the tiny embers into a warm and inviting blaze, all the while glancing about the room for the boy.
A short time later with soup bubbling in a pot, bread and cheese laid out upon the table, and the cat enjoying a bowl of cream, Tuman sat down to eat, unconcerned by the boy's missing presence, or so he made himself believe.
When the wind howled in the pines and the rain pelted like tiny stones against the window panes, Tuman sat by his fire, his mind unsettled and filled with doubt regarding the eagle, the snake, and young Arsan.
“I must determine what I saw,” he told the cat who had joined him on the couch, stretching out in Tuman’s lap and demanding her belly be rubbed. “I must know what brought the snake, and the eagle. I must discover who is this boy. I know he is not one and the same. At least, I believe it so. If only there was an explanation, but I have read every word in the Holy Books. From the first through fifth, I am certain I did. Or did I?”
A sudden realization struck the High Priest. Jumping from the couch, he startled the cat. Now he paced in front of the fire.
“There are five books, are there not? No! There are six. The last one is small and unfinished. I have overlooked this tome and all the wisdom within. Where could I have possibly mislaid it?”
Tuman resolved to find the missing book even if he had to scour the Temple from basement to rafters, something he promised to do the following day. Now satisfied that he could find the answers, he once again curled upon the couch to sleep, his eyelids growing heavy and his thoughts wandering.
"He is not one and the same," Tuman repeated while the storm raged outside, and the fire in the hearth burned down to the embers again. The room grew cold and drafty as the wind swept beneath the door and rattled the windows with a whispery voice.
"What?" Tuman bolted upright, uncertain if he had been asleep, and not entirely sure if he was awake right now. "Arsan, is that you?" Holding his breath, Tuman willed his tremulous heart to steady. He listened carefully for the sound of his name, which he was certain he had heard.
"Tuman," the wind called, sounding like a child’s voice.
"Where are you?" Tuman jumped from the sofa, emptying his lap of the cat.
“Tuman,” the voice called again, this time from outside the door.
"Are you in the forest?" Tuman demanded, crossing the room to gaze into the dark shadows of the trees. “Arsan, are you out there? Please come in.”
"Tuman!"
“He must be hurt,” Tuman reasoned, fetching his coat. "I'm coming, Arsan. Don't fear. I shall find you."
Tuman stepped out into t
he blustery storm, briefly considering whether he ought to fetch his horse. No, it would be unfair to subject the poor beast to these wretched conditions. Let her remain in her warm, dry stall throughout the night. On foot and alone, Tuman would search the forest and the steppes for the young lad. Surely, he would find him before morning broke.
Hannah and Marik had taken refuge in a cave. While the rain formed a torrential sheet in front of the narrow entrance, Hannah made a fire just inside. It smoked quite a lot at first as the tinder was damp, forcing Hannah to use her small bag to fan the flames.
"See Marik," she instructed. "We do this to stay warm and dry and to keep the wild animals away. Someone put a hole up here in the ceiling just for this purpose. Maybe they lived here long ago during the Great Father’s time."
"I'll kill all the animals," Marik replied, squatting near the flames. He held out his hands to warm them over the blaze. Fire reflected in his young face, sending transient shards of orange, red and yellow to slither across his pale skin. "I can break their necks if they come here. Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll kill anyone that comes near you.”
Hannah didn't respond, although she grew concerned. At this tender age, Marik was already frightening her with his aggression, but it was more than just his threats to kill. Hannah believed he was fully capable of doing as he said. What would happen when he was older and grew angry with her? What would he do if she ever loved another man?
“I won’t think on this now,” she told herself, leaning back against the warm cave wall and studying the ancient hieroglyphics above Marik’s head. Indeed, they were from the olden times for they depicted a primitive spaceship crossing the stars. In another panel, the ship had crashed, and several people were shown wandering around these familiar hills.
“Look Marik.” Hannah pointed. “Look at the picture over there. See the men riding about on horses? When you get a little older, I’ll buy you a horse of your own. Would you like that?”
“I don’t like horses,” Marik snapped, jumping up. “I don’t like these pictures either. I don’t like this dirty place, and the smoke is getting in my eyes. I want to make my own pictures.” He reached into the fire and extracted a stick. With the charcoal on the end, he scratched across the archival drawings.
“Stop it!” Hannah screamed, her voice echoing off the cave walls. “You’re going to destroy them!”
This only seemed to embolden the boy, as he liked nothing better than to destroy everything around.
“No!” He grabbed a second stick and ran deeper into the cave.
“Marik,” Hannah whimpered, having neither the strength nor fortitude to fight the boy again. She was tired, hungry and wishing she were home. The problem was, she had no clue where or what home was now. How many homes had she known that had come and gone? “Marik, please,” Hannah begged. “Come sit down and try to sleep. Be a good boy and don’t fight me in this.”
“No!” Marik’s voice echoed in the dark. His small footsteps pattered on the ground until they pulled up short, and the child let out a cry. “Mama! Mama! I’m afraid! Come here.”
Hannah scrambled to her feet wondering what the boy had found. She had previously scanned the cave for animal droppings and signs of life. Although she was fairly certain there was nothing dangerous in there, she grabbed her torch and a large burning branch from the fire.
“Where are you?” Hannah scanned the rear of the cave.
“Here.” Marik was standing by the back wall, staring up at an enormous drawing that almost appeared to be staring back. Although, his dim torch and hers left the cave in ghostly shadows of flickering firelight, Hannah immediately recognized the visage painted there.
“Kari-fa,” she breathed as she realized the portrait was more than a thousand years old, yet exactly depicted the man’s face, his long black hair and brilliant silver eyes.
A chill swept down her spine, for this could be none other than who it was, and the Great Father in his writings had known it all along.
“I hate him!” Marik exclaimed and tried to pull his mother away. “I don’t like this cave. I want to leave. Come, Mama, let’s go home.”
“It’s raining,” Hannah whispered as if the sound of her voice might bring the painting to life. Slowly, with Marik’s arms about her waist, she backed away. Those silver eyes had struck her as wicked even when she had been married to the man’s son several years ago. Now, they seemed to follow her wherever she went, their light shining brighter as she drifted further away. “What do you want from me?” she called. “What have I ever done to you?”
“Mama?”
“Hush, Marik,” Hannah snapped, waiting for an answer.
“Mama, I hate this cave.”
Marik wrestled from her grasp. He burst out into the storm, into the pitch black night, and windswept forest. The child disappeared into the trees whilst Hannah stared at the cave walls.
“Leave me alone!” she cried, her voice reverberating back to her, as she grabbed her bag, and ran after her son.
It had started out innocently enough. Both Hannah and Tuman had been wandering around in the dark. Although the rain had ceased for the time being, a heavy fog had enshrouded the forest such that when they happened upon each other, they both screamed. Tuman raised his knife and Hannah her kit bag. She also said something along the lines of, “Get the hell away from me, or I’ll decapitate you with this.”
Tuman, having recognized a woman’s voice, and jumping immediately to the correct conclusion that it belonged to Hannah, dropped his knife. He held out his hands and said something along the lines of, “Kari-fa, Hannah! What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”
The response was an odd recap of Marik’s rambunctious, intermingled with a description of the missing Arsan, along with a quick summary of everything that had occurred to the both of them over the last two decades.
Eventually, it was concluded that due to the lack of visibility, the chances of finding either boy were virtually nil. The chance of locating the cave with the illustrious painting on the wall was also near zero, as Hannah had no clue from which way she had come. It was resolved to remain where they were beneath a giant and somewhat dry cedar tree, resting comfortably on Hannah’s blanket until the morning lightened and the fog burned off.
By the time that happened, neither boy had reappeared, which was less of a concern to both Hannah and Tuman, for they were quite busy.
Tuman, being the High Priest had lived a somewhat celibate life for a dozen years. Although, it wasn’t required in his profession, it did make him a less appealing candidate for matrimony. His opportunities had been limited to those seeking out an alternative to their own husband. There was also an older woman or two who had been looking for a meaningless fling. Being with Tuman carried a sort of spiritual blessing, or at least that’s what the women thought.
Hannah had also been celibate for slightly less than a week, and although she had been distracted by Marik and his issues, the length of time was nearly as difficult for her as the years had been for Tuman.
Once the awkwardness of their meeting had been overcome, as well as the spurious attempt at trying to sleep, Hannah and Tuman found themselves eagerly reenacting their previous engagement when both of them were barely out of their teens.
At the time, Tuman had been very drunk and recalled little of the meeting way back then. Hannah, at the time, had figured Tuman, being the eldest of Rekah’s sons, was the highest point on the de Kudisha totem pole which she could climb. The intervening years had brought both enlightenment and forbearance to both, so this uncomfortable and damp coupling upon the forest floor proved satisfying in surprising ways.
Tuman was glad there was a woman, who once again appreciated something other than his spiritual blessings. Hannah, on the other hand, recognized in Tuman both security, and a way to advance her cause. Scaling the de Kudisha totem pole again would give her legitimacy as a princess of Karupatani, and Marik Korelesk, his step-son would then have the proper q
ualifications to reign over the planet Rehnor.
Chapter 18
Luci was sitting at the dinner table staring forlornly at the Waist Watcher chicken dinner. It was a new recipe, and had sounded pretty good, although it was missing some key ingredients such as gravy and mashed potatoes. Actually, the chicken was too dry, overcooked by at least a half hour, and the vegetable garnish was limp and over-boiled.
“Were these supposed to be par-boiled?” Luci held up a sagging carrot, now devoid of its bright orange color, and drooping from her fork.
“Par-boiled?” Marie repeated, sitting down in her own chair at the head of the dining room table, which could, and did easily seat twenty back in the day. Luci sat next to her, one chair to the side, having relinquished the head at the same time as the duchy. “Did I overcook them?”
“I’m afraid so, but no worries, dear. They are delicious.” Luci quickly placed the sad root in her mouth and forced a smile to her lips. Following which, she attempted to cut a small bit of the rubbery chicken. “I fear I shall need a sharper knife.”
Now, Luci rose to her feet and went into the kitchen to fetch a pair of carving blades. There, she discovered the maid sitting upon a stool, eating her own supper, and watching the vid. Unfortunately, the maid’s dinner, which had come from a heated can, looked and smelled far more appetizing to Luci than her own back at the table.
“Ha! Look at that,” the maid exclaimed, pointing her spoon at the vid. “There’s your granddaughter, Princess Angelica about to slide down a zip-line. Oh! Look now, there’s a bunch of piranhas below. Ha ha! They won’t be able to fit all of her between their jaws.”
Luci smiled politely, having neither clue nor interest in what a zip-line was, and what exactly Angelica was doing upon it. She regretted that the girl never spared a thought for her young sons. Ber-Kie were really such congenial and clever fellows. This evening they had gone out with Loran to New Mishnah. There was some kind of tournament taking place at the Chunk of Cheese where rumor had it, the Imperial Princess Sara would attend.
