by Mark Eller
"It's why I brought torches," Autumn told her, "though there really isn't much reason for them. This passage only goes one way. We'll encounter a few turnings, but no branches. Even in total darkness, a person can't get lost or even hurt much. The histologists don't usually bother with torches anymore. They just carry some wood in and build a fire where the cave widens out and gets taller."
"But what about the smoke?"
"There's a vent. It was mostly grown over, but we managed to clear it out." Autumn smiled, remembering just how big a chore it had been. Now that job had given her a feeling of accomplishment.
She handed a torch to Amanda.
"You better lead the way," Amanda said. "I'm not fond of closed in places.
"Sure thing. Caves and dark don't bother me." Though they should, Autumn had often been told. Being held prisoner in a pitch black cave by a hired killer should have given her all sorts of problems. Of course, the people telling her this didn't know her very well. Felicity Stromberg knew her, though. She once told Autumn she had seldom spoken to someone with such a strong will. Autumn's mental strength would not allow past events control her future.
Amanda moved aside. Crouching low, Autumn entered the cave with the torch held before her. She stooped her shoulders and bent her head toward the floor so it would not hit the ceiling. Fortunately, she was short. She did not want to think about making this journey if she were taller, say as tall as Amanda Bivins.
They made it around the first two sharp bends and then a gradual one before Amanda gasped out.
"Miss Turner, could we take a rest. My thighs are killing me."
Well, Autumn thought, the woman mostly sat behind a desk. It was likely she hadn't done more than lift a pencil in a long time.
"We're in a straightway," Autumn said. "We can rest here." Sitting down, she carefully folded her legs beneath her. This part of the cave was mostly debris free, so there wasn't much around to dig into her butt. After studying the walls, she stuck the torch's base into a wide crack about six inches above the floor.
Turning her head, she looked briefly at Amanda and had to stifle a laugh. No wonder the woman sounded tired. The ceiling was so low Amanda had to bow her head even when sitting. Many times in the past Autumn had silently reprimanded her father for giving her a serious case of short. Now, she decided, would not be one of those times. Four-foot-ten didn't seem so bad after all.
Amanda studied one of the crude charcoal drawings on the cave's wall. Only inches from the floor, the drawing stopped eighteen inches from the ceiling.
Relaxing, Autumn leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. "There isn't room for people to pass," she told Amanda, "so we have to keep this rest short…just in case one of the others leaves. Meetings are rather awkward."
"Understood," Amanda answered.
"And already too late," Leona Harbor's voice said from nearby. "Autumn, I agreed to let you help out sometimes. I did not say you could bring guests. There isn't enough room."
"It's my fault," Amanda instantly broke in. "I was bored, so I asked Autumn to bring me."
"And who are you," Leona asked coolly. Autumn opened her eyes to see her duck-walking closer.
Shock coursed through Autumn's system.
"My name is Amanda Bivins. I am─"
"Aaron's lawyer. Yes, I know. Miss Bivins, this site is not here for entertainment. This is a serious scientific--Autumn? What is the matter with you, child?
For maybe the first time in her life, Autumn found herself lost for words. She made a vague gesture with her hand. "Ahh."
"Child?"
"The roof," Autumn finally managed while wondering how many head bent trips had been made through this passage. How could they have missed it for so long? "It's painted."
Leona frowned. Silently cursing, the woman awkwardly maneuvered herself until she lay on her back. The silence grew longer and heavier.
"By the Lady and Her Lord," Leona finally said in a broken voiced whisper. "It is painted."
* * *
"As far as I'm concerned," Leona said firmly several hours later, "this place is now a major find. I've never heard of a site with such extensive artwork. The colors are more vivid than they have any right to be, so there's something to be discovered there too."
"Definitely religious in nature," Aidan pointed out. "Several figures can only represent deities. They are too large, too impressive when compared to the other figures, to be anything else."
"So religion was a factor for them even back then?" Amanda asked. "It's hard to believe the Lady and Her Lord showed themselves so long ago."
Aidan shook his head. "Madam, it is true worship of the Lord and His Lady is now almost universal except for this growing cult of the One God. This universality is, historically speaking, a rather recent thing. Our Gods did not show themselves to us until two and a half millennium ago. Any Gods represented here are…"
Sitting back in her chair, Autumn listened, an almost lost figure in the cafeteria tent at this late hour. Theirs was the only group in attendance. Most people, being sensible, were long ago in their beds.
She was entertained by the different turns the conversation had already taken, not to mention amazed at how her discovery had been missed for so long. The histologists were both amused and ashamed at the realization of their cultural bias. Examining the cave's ceiling never occurred to them because nobody ever painted on ceilings.
Leona spoke up. "Aidan, you're forgetting something. Not every oversized figure represents a deity. How about the statuary of the Micotanians or the carved mountain figures of Emperor Niglese? Those carvings are hundreds of feet high, but we know for a fact he was human."
"He thought himself a god," Aidan rejoined. "He's the one who razed Loritan, destroying every temple devoted to the other gods and essentially putting all other priests out of business."
"Why ever would he do that?" Autumn asked.
"He had a vision," Aidan explained. "In the vision he discovered there were two gods, one a big mula-mula god, the other being him. As far as Niglese was concerned, everyone else was doomed to a pointless existence followed by total oblivion when they died. Only he and the other god mattered."
"He went out into the desert and built a new capitol city," Leona continued. "He called it Niglese, named after himself. He built temples and statues, and it is said the architecture bettered anything ever seen before."
"Wow, it must be an awesome place." Almost, Autumn could picture the buildings rising up before her.
Aidan shook his head no. "His subjects didn't like the idea of him being saved while they were worse than damned. Led by the out of work priests, they revolted, murdered Niglese, and abandoned his city. Drifting sands claimed it in less than two hundred years. All this took place a couple millenniums back. Niglese was rediscovered about fifteen years ago, but only a small part has been excavated."
"How sad," Amanda said.
"Every empire and emperor falls eventually," Leona reminded her. "Autumn, you have a thoughtful look. What is it?"
"I was just wondering," Autumn started.
"Yes?"
"Did anyone else notice there seems to be just as many men as women in those paintings? Were things different back then?"
"I noticed," Leona said, "and no, so far as we know, the female to male population ratio wasn't all that different. Still, I wish I had a study of those paintings to set on this table so I could look them over all at once. It might allow me to understand them better."
A happy humming filled Autumn. "I can do that. I'm real good at drawing, and there are a lot of colored pencils on the site."
Leona became all smiles. "Could you? I would sure appreciate it."
"Glad to," Autumn answered. Goodbye little yellow measuring tape and goodbye to the marking pencil, too. This job might actually be interesting. At the least, it would be useful.
"I have a question," Amanda broke in.
"Ask it," Leona encouraged.
"Maybe this is more of an observation than a question. I noticed the paintings begin as occasional pastel and beige murals. I also saw they became more numerous, and larger, as we proceed toward the main chamber. New shades are added until they almost burst with color, and there are so many paintings they actually intermingle."
"And?"
"And I wonder if it might signify something. I wonder if there is something special about the chamber."
Aidan suddenly stood up. "I'm for bed. I want to get an early start."
Leona canted her eyes at him. "So these pictures make that big of a difference to you? You didn't seem very excited before."
"The place makes me uncomfortable," Aidan admitted. "There's something in the chamber I don't want to find." His eyes appeared slightly haunted. "I can't relax in there. I can't think."
"I can," Leona said softly. "In fact, I find it comforting."
Chapter 11
Gunfire rang out.
Carefully raising his head from behind the barricade, Aaron peered at the vice-mounted rifles. So far so good. Unlike rifles from previous experiments, these breeches seemed to be in one piece. In fact, both rifles appeared perfectly normal except for the twine attached to their triggers. The other end of the twine had been in his hand only a few moments earlier.
"As you can see, these cartridges managed to contain the explosive force," Rebecca Conway, the director of his research facility, said. "Unfortunately, their quality is not as good as the originals you gave us. These can be used for no more than one firing."
"One is better than none," Aaron told her as he peered down range to see if the bullets actually struck the targets. They had, but the bullet holes were nowhere close to the center. The powder formula would have to be tweaked to fit these new cartridges. "How long before you can get them into production?"
"Months," she replied. "These were hand poured. The tooling for the machines is being made, but it'll be a long process." She ran a hand across the back of her neck. "We're having better luck with the cannon and your other designs."
"Did you find a way to bore them out?"
Leaning a hand on the top of the barricade, she shook her head. "Yes, but not really. It takes too long to bore out an opening in a solid brass core. It can be done, but not in the time frame you're demanding. We do have an idea for a different design. It's simple and much quicker."
Raising a questioning eyebrow, Aaron waited. Rebecca gave him a thin smile.
"We don't make a tube at all. What we do is use bar stock. We apply a slight curve to two sides, bevel the other two, and then bind it to a lot of other bars that are treated exactly the same. The end result is a round barrel made up of many parts."
"But it won't stand up to the pressure," Aaron protested.
"It will, and it does," she explained, "because we will bind them into a tube shape with thick bronze rings. We drop the loosely bound bars in a nitrogen bath and put the rings in a forge. When the one is almost melting hot, and the other is minus a hundred degrees, we slip the rings over the bars, pulling them together, thus making a barrel. The bars expands as they warms up, and the rings contract while they cool. The final binding will be stronger than any weld."
Aaron nodded thoughtfully. "What's our time schedule on those?"
"Pretty good," she answered. "We have ten completed models and many more than ten people training on them."
"Don't make them too large," Aaron warned her. "We have to consider transport."
* * *
Kim sat, legs crossed, back pressed against a lone tree, waiting for the night to be washed away by a new day's sun. She waited, feeling empty inside, wanting to be filled with something not cold, calculating, or deadly. She wanted to feel something other than a sick desire for revenge.
He was here, in this encampment. She could feel him, though she was not tuned enough to focus on a single location.
But there was no need for such focus just as there was no need to wake him. He was here, and that was enough. For now. Later, when Aaron touched her, the empty holes would be filled.
"Perteet Pteeerrrrr Perteet"
"Shhh," she admonished Zisst, her Zisst, held tight in her arms. He was part of it, was Zisst. He was a part of the triangle, it, her, and Aaron Turner. She was the empty pit. They were the vectors which poured the One God's strength into her. They gave her peace…for a time…until the restlessness built again; until her need demanded she go out once more, demanded she not stop searching for the man who fathered her.
"Perteet," Zisst said again, snuggling its head against her, inviting her to hold it tighter. She pulled it in closer, hugged it harder and harder, so hard if Zisst had been anything but a God blessed animal, it would have been crushed.
Trickling from the animal, it seeped into her. The Power. The Strength. But not enough. She was a poor vessel. Through Zisst, the One God's presence touched her, filled one hollow and then another, but, oh, there were so many more needing to be filled; so many empty parts.
Lowering her head into Zisst's fur, Kim wished she could cry again like she once cried in the arms of Missy Bayne, but crying was impossible. For her. She felt too empty, too hard, too alone.
Footsteps sounded in the dark. Kim shuddered, not having to look up to know who approached. Even while asleep, he had known she was near.
Lifting her face from Zisst's fur, she set the animal on the ground and composed her expression into an emotionless mask.
He settled to the ground beside her, draped his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. His other arm wrapped around her, and she felt his body relax.
The Power entered her, washed through and filled her, brushing aside the hate, the hurt, and the learning which said her life must be an empty shell.
Sighing, Kim laid her head on his shoulder. For the first time in two months, she allowed another past her hard assassin's shell to see the small girl lost, alone, and needing someone to claim as her own. Aaron Turner, the man who held her, the man who trusted and loved her. Her chosen father, her family. A man more blessed by the One God than even he suspected.
* * *
"Ard Chuck formed several bands of warrior scouts," Kim reported. "He ordered them to take no action against Clack's people unless they're attacked first. He also arranged for bands of roaming sentries to scout the perimeter of every encampment he has charge of. These sentries are under orders to forcibly prevent raids and to retaliate instantly, even to the point of following the raiders back to their own tribes. We've had some limited success. Five raids were attempted, two were stopped. We managed three partially successful return strikes and a very thorough one, costing our people twenty-one lives."
"What do you see as our most pressing problem?" Mac Harris asked.
"Transportation," Kim instantly answered. "We would be much more effective if our people had horses."
Mac shook his head. "We've discussed it time and again. We've only about five hundred horses scattered among the tribes. Half are barely broke for riding, none are trained for war, and even if they were, few Chins would ride them."
Kim took a sip of her hot tea, enjoying the bitter mint taste. Setting the cup down, she looked at the others sitting around the table. Aaron, Patton, and Melna Turner were there. So was Yan Glaw, the recognized War Chief of this particular tribe. Also in attendance was Mac Harris, the mercenary Aaron hired.
She allowed her calm eyes to rest on Harris, letting him feel the weight of her regard, allowing him to recognize her threat. She did not like the man. He was a mercenary, someone who killed for money. Sometimes men like him decided life would be better if they were in charge.
He met her gaze and gave a half-nod of recognition. Kim nodded back; satisfied he had once again received her silent message and was professional enough to not take offense. He knew her distrust was proffessional. She suspected anyone not personally loyal to Aaron Turner.
"We have people working on the transportation problem back at the manor," Aaron told her. "We ori
ginally thought the runabouts might be useful, but experimentation proved they'd be more trouble than they're worth. Weeds kept getting caught up in the pedals. Riding became harder and slower than just plain walking."
"You never told me that," Melna said. Her expression became puzzled. "I have a dumb question."
Groans sounded from the others. Kim sympathized. Melna's brain worked so much faster than most of theirs she often prefaced her observations and ideas with self-depredating comments to avoid rubbing her superior intellect into their faces.
"You never have dumb questions," Aaron told her. "Go ahead."
"I was just wondering why we haven't tried fastening an angled wedge on a runabout? It can be placed in front of the pedals and the drive belt. The weeds will be flattened or pushed aside before becoming entangled in any of the mechanisms."
Aaron closed his eyes, opened them, and ran his fingers through his hair. Kim fought back a smile. The idea was simple, obvious, and something Aaron should have come up with on his own. For such a seemingly humble and self-effacing person, Aaron Turner thought he should find solutions quicker than those around him. He was a very learned man.
Kim found it entertaining to occasionally see him tripped up. Aaron sometimes forgot owning knowledge was not the same as using it.
"The retrofit would be a simple job," Patton observed. "Our people could do hundreds in a day. I bet with a little coaching, the Chins could learn to ride in a week or less."
"I'll get on it after the meeting," Aaron promised.
Kim could almost see the wheels working as he thought about logistics. This was going to be both interesting and troubling. Making adjustments to the runabouts would be simple, delivery something else. At best, Aaron only had a rough idea of where his loyal tribes were located.
"This Ard Chuk," Harris said, "he has the right idea. I'll set up a few patrols of my own. The thing is, he only has part of it right. Our people need to be formed into units capable of obeying orders and following plans. From what I've seen, the Chin idea of warfare is closer to individualized chaos than it is to organized destruction. As it is, I'm afraid matters have been put off for too long. We don't have much time to get things in order. A full scale war might start in four months, or it might start tomorrow."
