by Merry Jones
Even before she’d processed these thoughts, Harper had hopped off the table and begun to run. But she’d stood too fast. Dizziness overcame her, and she buckled with nausea and pain. Bent over, she kept moving toward the door to the woods. Told herself she was almost there. Counted her steps to take her mind off her dizziness. When she got to seven, she stopped. Listening.
Men were talking. Just outside, on the ramp to the woods.
Damn. Harper hugged the wall, listening.
‘You have to dispose of her anyway.’
‘Thanks to this idiot, yes. We have no options.’
Salih? Was that his voice? Salih was agreeing to kill her?
‘Me? How is it my fault you decided to—’
‘Let’s not waste more time going through it again.’
‘Exactly. I need to continue the rite before she wakes up.’
‘You’re not going to lay a hand on her.’ Salih insisted. ‘It’s enough you mutilated my sister. I won’t let you—’
‘I am not the one who killed your sister. You should thank me; I resurrected her strength.’
‘Thank you? I should kill you!’
‘Meantime, what did you do with the guy?’ That voice was Angus’.
‘The guy?’
‘Where is he? Are the cops going to descend on us like last time?’
‘No, it isn’t like before. His remains are where no one but wolves and spirits will find them.’
‘Except for the heart, right?’ Salih’s voice was a growl. ‘What do you do with the hearts, you sick bastard – what did you do with my sister’s?’
‘What the hell difference does it make, Joe?’ Angus tried to appease him. ‘Let him get on with it. It’s all the same to us. And to her – I mean when you’re dead, you’re dead.’
‘How can I say this in a way you two morons will understand?’ Salih spoke slowly and clearly. ‘There are such things as human dignity, loyalty and honor. That woman has done nothing to defile herself or anyone else. She may need to be eliminated for practical reasons, but she deserves—’
‘No.’ The third man interrupted. ‘The woman has exquisite power. It emanates from her visibly, like a corona. And I intend to acquire it through the practices of my predecessors. End of discussion.’
‘If you as much as touch her, consider our relationship and business dealings finished. I mean this.’
‘Cut it out, Joe. You aren’t going to end anything.’ Angus whined. ‘We depend on each other.’
‘Get out of the way, Angus. If he wants to cut her, he’ll have to get past me.’
There was scuffling outside. The sounds of punches landing. Of grunting and cursing. Then, of someone coming.
Harper dashed back into the cave. Maybe she could get to the rope ladder, climb up into the passageway. But, no – not enough time. They’d grab her and yank her back down. She had to stay there. Take them on face to face? Or better – she could lie back on the table, feigning unconsciousness and, when the guy approached her, take him by surprise. Grab his weapon and turn it against him. Harper took her position, wounded, dizzy. Wondering if she’d be able to overpower him. If she were strong enough.
In the end, it didn’t matter; it was the only plan she had.
The Nahual shoved the man aside, pummeling his face, slamming him to the ground. How dare he challenge him? This day would mark the end of their collaboration. The man had mere materialistic goals, had no concept of the real significance of their work. The acquisition of spiritual enlightenment and power were far more valuable than any tangible wealth. But Joe Smith would never understand. He wasn’t even worth sacrificing; his spirit was tainted and slimy. Incorporating Joe’s heart might actually harm him, might stunt his growth.
But the woman was different. She glowed with life energy, moved catlike with power and purpose. She was a fighter, too, and of a fertile age. She lay along the wall under the images of death, of the souls of warriors, of the hunt, of the mountains. Her lungs would be filled with the mystical scented oils, the fires of priests. He’d never taken in a living organ, but, in moments, that would change. Her heart would be beating in his hands, in his mouth. Her life would enter his body, become his, uniting with his soul, joining the others – the dog, owl, bat, deer, butterfly, turtle, rabbit, toad. The young woman of his youth. The man from the tunnel. He remembered each of them, the surge of awareness each had brought. The struggle with the turtle’s shell. The mottled skin of the toad. The bloody ribs of the virgin.
Slowly, he resumed the chanting that the others had interrupted. He readied his blade to open her chest, prepared for the soaking volcano of blood that would spew. He closed his eyes, repeating syllables he’d memorized decades ago at the professor’s side. Words that praised the bravery, strength, spirit, beauty of the creature about to die. He touched her face, covered her eyes with his hand, spread his wings to cast a shadow over her body. Then, taking one last look at her, he held his weapon above her chest, silently taking aim.
The guy was standing beside her, mumbling syllables in a language she’d never heard. Careful not to lift her eyelids too far, Harper peeked at him. Saw the head of a wild cat on top of his, askew like a lopsided headdress or crown. And a jacket of feathers, speckled in red. Damn. Was this the Nahual that had scared Zina? Some guy dressed in feathers and stuffed animal parts? ‘You look like a damn feather duster,’ Joe – or, rather Salih – had said.
Harper watched through her sliver of vision as he waved his arms like wings and rotated in circles, swooping, whirling, spinning and chanting. Reaching up, bowing low. Spinning again.
She thought of jumping on him while his back was turned, but he moved quickly, unpredictably. She might miss him and land on the ground. So she watched, waiting for the right moment, legs tensed, ready to push off the wooden slab. Finally, he stopped dancing around and stood silent and unmoving, looking down at her, both hands poised above her chest, holding a long thin blade.
Harper roared, startling him as she flew off the altar, springing at him with all her hundred and twenty pounds. He was clumsy, off balance with two heads, unprepared for an assault, and he keeled over with Harper attached to him by all fours. The spines of feathers pricked her skin as she pounced on him, scratched her as he hit the ground and twisted to get free. Harper held on, looking for the knife, not finding it, feeling his empty fists instead as they pounded her sides. Still, she didn’t let go, stayed on top despite his squirming body and dizzying blows. She hung on with her thighs as if riding a bull, punched his face, jabbed his ribs. Scanned the floor again for the knife. Saw it a few yards away. Too far to reach. Harper took a breath, shifted her weight and thrust her strong knee into his belly, winding him so she could crawl off of him to get it. But he grabbed her leg, yanked it, pulling her back as he rolled to his side, then up on to his knees. He clamped one, then both hands around her throat as he stood, lifting her by her neck. Holding her face in front of his, meeting her eyes.
Harper’s feet left the ground. She couldn’t breathe. She kicked, aiming for his gut. She punched like a machine, reflexively repeating her combat training. She poked at his eyes. But her clarity was failing, her vision spotty. Her mind was disconnecting from her body, not obeying its commands. Flailing, Harper glared, trying to focus, and just as she began to black out, oh God, she recognized his face.
Professor Wiggins? She blinked, saw him again. Staring at her with glowing, hot eyes. Watching her die. Harper’s mind fought, kept thinking. Was Professor Wiggins the Nahual? Was he really killing her? Was his face the last thing she’d ever see? Their eyes locked. Harper scratched, pulled skin off his face, but he didn’t even wince. He kept the pressure on her neck, and she felt the blood pulsing behind her eyes, pooling inside her head. The strength was draining from her limbs. For a moment, she thought of Hank. And then, the Nahual’s eyes widened, his mouth opened as if to scream. Slowly, he released her neck and they both, in unison, dropped to the floor.
Harper rolled, coughing
, gasping, struggling to breathe. Unable to get up. Unsure what had happened. Sensing that she was still in danger, she tried to get to her feet, to run. Someone else was there with her – maybe Hank? Had he come for her? A man knelt beside her. She strained her neck to turn her head and look. Saw not Hank, but Salih.
‘Harper,’ he spoke softly, touched her shoulder. ‘Are you all right? I’m very sorry about this.’
His face was a mess. An eye was swollen half-closed, his lip and nose bleeding. Harper skittered away from him, still coughing.
‘You don’t have to be afraid. I’m a businessman, Harper, nothing more.’ He smiled, revealing bloody teeth.
From the doorway to the ramp, Angus shouted. ‘Jeezus H, Joe. What the fuck happened now?’
Still coughing, Harper followed Angus’ gaze. Professor Wiggins lay on the ground, his ritual knife protruding from his back. Salih had stabbed him, had rescued her. She tried to speak, but provoked more grating coughs. Salih looked concerned.
‘I wish I had something – water, maybe – to help you. But I don’t. Angus? Do we have water in the van?’
Angus stood at the ramp, scratching his head. ‘What did you do, fucking kill Digger? What in hell’s the matter with you?’
‘Go see if there’s water.’
‘What the fuck for? This is so fucked up. Let’s just get this over with and clean up, OK?’ Angus stepped closer to the body, gaping at Wiggins.
Salih sighed, shook his head. ‘I’m sorry you got involved in this mess, Harper. I truly like you.’ He got to his feet, rubbed his hands.
Harper eyed him, unable to talk.
‘But sometimes, unfortunately, our own survival requires us to deal with unsavory people and to perform unsavory tasks.’ Another sigh. ‘And, once again, I’m charged with the wellbeing – indeed, the survival – of my family. Protecting both its honor and its business interests. Despite my personal feelings and attachments, I cannot let this mess be revealed. You understand?’
Harper shook her head, no.
Salih chuckled grimly. ‘Just like Zina. Stubborn to the end.’
Zina?
‘My sister also claimed she had no idea why she had to die. This, despite her own deliberate defiance and dishonorable actions. Her refusal to marry the man my father had chosen for her. Her refusal to participate in the family business – even after we managed to obtain that research position for her.’
Harper blinked, wheezing.
‘All she had to do was compromise. If she had procured even a few items for us, I could have convinced my father to overlook the marriage issue and spare her.’ Salih shook his head. ‘But she was so incredibly stubborn. Zina threatened to expose her own family, to publicly shame us. What was I to do? It was my responsibility. But when she realized what was coming, she pretended to be surprised. She must have thought she was immune, that her actions would never provoke consequences.’ He paused, misty-eyed. ‘I loved my sister.’
Harper blinked, trying to clear her head and understand what Salih was saying. He had killed Zina? She was pretty sure he’d just admitted that he had.
‘She knew her responsibilities from the start. We partnered with Wiggins to get her the position for the very purpose of obtaining artifacts.’
Of course. Professor Wiggins had openly favored Zina, had lobbied hard for her to get the assistantship. Now Harper knew why. She glanced at his body. Had his leg been extended before? Had he moved?
‘Little Zina. She was my favorite sister.’ Salih looked into the distance. ‘It was painful. Still is. But I did what was necessary.’ He turned to her. ‘I hope you understand. If I would kill my own sister whom I dearly loved for the sake of the family, I must certainly not hesitate to kill you.’
‘Digger’s still breathing.’ Angus stood beside Wiggins. ‘What do you want to do?’
Salih rubbed his swelling jaw. ‘He’s an abomination. Leave him.’
‘Leave him? What, here?’
Salih stepped over to Wiggins. Looked down at him. ‘No, you’re right. We should dispose of him. Go get a cart.’
Angus hesitated, frowning.
‘Well, unless you want to carry him.’
‘This is messed up, Joe.’ Angus headed to the ramp. ‘I don’t like it one bit.’
‘And now, Harper. I guess it’s you and me.’
Salih reached into his jacket, took out a pocket knife. It wasn’t big, wasn’t fancy. But it was more knife than she had. Her neck throbbed and ached from Wiggins’ choking grasp, but she braced herself for yet another assault. Salih stepped closer confidently, as if he thought she was too weak to fight, too defeated. But Harper had been trained for battle and, as soon as he was within reach, she drew a deep breath, centered herself and swung, landing her fist hard in his eye, the one that was already swollen closed; then, as he reeled, she aimed and slammed her right foot up hard between his legs.
The Nahual listened, waiting silently, gathering his fury and strength. Assessing the severity of his wound. Testing each limb, refusing the pain. He never should have gotten involved with these philistines. Never should have trusted that their lust for monetary gain could interface with his for spiritual growth. No, it had been a mistake, but he would correct it here, today.
He was bleeding, though. Leaking strength. He’d need to act soon, before the moron Angus returned with his cart. He wasn’t sure, given a choice, with whom Angus would side. Angus had known him decades longer; they’d grown up together. And he’d been the protégé of Angus’ father. But Joe had all the money. And Angus, being a fool, might go either way. Given his condition, he didn’t want to risk facing two opponents.
Not to mention the woman.
He’d injured her throat, had felt her windpipe collapsing under his grip. But she was already recovering; he heard her ragged coughing. Heard Joe rambling, apologizing that he had to kill her. Talking about honor, about family. As if his family had such a thing as honor. As if anyone did in this era where the earth itself was spat upon and defiled, where revered beasts were slaughtered, starved or caged. Joe’s family, indeed. How did this insignificant creature have the audacity to think that he and those who’d spawned him had the capacity to possess such a thing as ‘honor’? Honor belonged to the ageless spirits, the creatures of death and sky and rivers and mountains and wind. It didn’t belong to petty criminals and thieves. No, he should never have gotten involved. But Joe had offered – no, had promised – him access to the relics, that he could select among them for his studies.
The Nahual played dead, lying still as Joe finished simpering about murdering his sister. He watched as the woman bludgeoned him and ran for the rope ladder, as Joe moaned and stumbled, chasing after her. Recognizing his moment, the Nahual chanted softly, calling upon the spirit of Joe’s sister, and he felt it stir within him, raging, seeking revenge. He called up the spirit of the dead male from the tunnel, too, and summoned all the creatures he’d ever embodied, and then he drew a breath, drawing fury from his own pain. Finally, he pulled the power of all those spirits together and leapt to his feet, hurling himself at Joe with a warrior’s cry, landing a crushing blow to the base of his skull. Knocking him down. Standing over him with a triumphant bellow. Dragging him to the altar where he would take his life, his heart. And his spirit.
She was weak, sore all over, her neck felt sprained, and air scraped like dull razors in her raw throat, but Harper made it to the rope ladder and, by the time Salih had chased her to the bottom, she’d pulled herself up into the passageway. Spent and wheezing, she stopped to glance back. Damn – Salih was already halfway up the ladder. She turned, ready to run. But before she’d taken a step, she heard a shout, a thud, a groan. Harper stepped back, looked down the ladder once more. Salih lay flat on his back on the ground, staring up at her exactly as Rick had. And exactly as Rick had, Salih began sliding away. Someone was dragging him.
Harper couldn’t see who it was. Angus? Had he gone after Salih and slugged him? She lowered herself on to the
floor of the passageway, stuck her head out the opening. And saw the Nahual – Professor Wiggins – the knife still in his back, holding Salih by his armpits and pulling him across the cave.
Salih seemed conscious. His eyes were alert, open, fixed on her as Wiggins moved him. And when Wiggins stopped to rest, Salih rolled over and jumped to his feet, fists flying. Wiggins fought back with amazing vigor. Punching and grunting, they moved out of her view. Leaning further down, careful of her neck as she lowered her head, Harper saw them again; the Nahual costume now ripped, the jaguar head dangling loose, Wiggins stumbled toward the ramp with Salih close behind. Salih reached, took hold of the hilt of the blade and twisted it before pulling it out. A gut-twisting scream resounded through the cave as the Nahual fell to his knees, both of his heads bent, the back of his feathered jacket blood-soaked, his arms raised to the sky. Salih stood behind him, raised the blade high with both hands and unceremoniously shoved it down into the Nahual’s back, piercing his heart.
Salih remained there, breathless and bloodied beside the pile of feathers until Angus came in with a wheelbarrow.
‘Hey, how’d he get all the way over there? Shit, Joe. Your face looks like—’
Harper couldn’t hear Salih’s response. But she saw him pointing toward the house, gesturing emphatically, showing Angus where to go. Damn. He was sending him to the other end of the passageway, to Rick’s broken wall. The only way Harper knew to get out.
‘Shit. This just gets worse and worse, man. Jake’s gonna find out and then we’ll all be dead.’
Salih said something, gesturing again, and Angus rushed up the ramp, cursing and whining.
Slowly, Salih lifted his gaze to the top of the rope ladder, meeting Harper’s eyes.
Faster, she told herself as she yanked at the ladder. Hurry. She tugged on the thick, heavy ropes, taking them up rung by rung, expecting at any moment that Salih would pull down from the other end. But he didn’t. The ladder was difficult to maneuver and weighed more than she’d expected, but, sweating and wheezing, she managed to pull it all up and gather it into a pile. Favoring her neck, she lay flat beside the rope and peered down into the cave for Salih. Saw the wheelbarrow, the dead Nahual. The vessels of burning oil. The altar . . . And finally, Salih, apparently returning to the cave after stepping out for supplies. He was lumbering across the cave with his arms full, carrying an extension ladder and a flashlight. On his shoulder, she saw a holster.
