“Yes. You are. You will be. But you’re not yet, and no, I’m not taking you.” He gripped her shoulders hard enough that she winced. He loosened his hold. “Do this for me. And for your brother, and your parents and grandfather. Be safe. Grow up. Fight them.” He released her and stepped back.
Mosi’s mouth worked as she fought tears. She flung herself against him and hugged him hard. “Don’t die too, na sha dii!” she said in a choked voice.
He couldn’t bring himself to give her the comforting lie, or the cruel truth. He said nothing, just hugged her again. Gathering up the Mosi bundle and taking Kenntnis by the elbow, he headed for the doors out of the bunker.
“The car is being brought,” Marangoz said as he walked past. “Go with hope and courage.” Richard nodded and reflected that in any other company Marangoz would have told him to go with God.
Weber fell into step with him. “I’m walking you out,” he said in tones that clearly said, Don’t argue. Richard nodded.
Out the hidden doors, as they walked up the stairs, Richard placed the blanket-wrapped pillows in Kenntnis’s arms and arranged the hair to fall over his shoulder.
Weber gave him a questioning look. Richard shrugged. “Figured it was more believable if the big guy carried the kid.”
Weber gave a laugh that held no amusement. They left the gift shop. Their heels echoed off the stone walls as they crossed the giant plaza. The edges of the horizon were pink and gold like a shy dancer lifting her dark skirt to reveal her petticoats. Soon the rising sun would strike fire from the stones of the mausoleum, a fitting tribute to all that Lumina and Kenntnis represented. A light breeze brought the scent of flowers from the gardens that surrounded the mausoleum. Richard paused to drink it in. The caress of the wind against his flushed cheeks, the smells, the birdsong, the growl of traffic as the city shook itself awake, but over it all was the discordant undulating wail of sirens, the rank stench of smoke, and perhaps, just faintly, humans—screaming. There was no peace to be found in this moment.
A car was idling at the edge of the sidewalk. A young soldier stood next to it. Richard faced Weber. “Tell Pamela to buy you that new truck. My orders.” They stood in silence for a moment. “Well, this is it, then.”
“You come back.”
Richard shook his head. “No bullshit between us, Damon. You know that’s not likely. Take care of her. Of all of them.” He turned away. Weber grabbed him at the waist and gave him one hard kiss. He then released Richard, stepped back, raised a hand in farewell, turned, and walked away. Richard led Kenntnis to the car. He didn’t look back. He had a feeling Damon wasn’t going to look back either.
Chapter
TWENTY-TWO
MOSI sat in a chair in the mess hall, knees drawn up to her chin, and watched the frenzied preparations. Her tummy felt like angry birds were pecking at it. She was so angry. And so scared. She hoped a lot of bad things happened to Richard. He’d broken his word. He was a lying white man. He had said he was her na sha dii and that he would protect her, and he broke his word. He left her alone and the monsters were coming.
The big man, Damon, who seemed so fond of the na sha dii, handed out guns and knives to the men who had flown the big airplane. The scientists were gathering up papers. They all looked scared, except for the man with the big bare feet who spent all his time with the Yá Ahiga. He seemed mad.
Mosi slid out of her chair, marched up to Weber, and announced, “I want a gun too.”
He blinked down at her. “Uh, I think you’re a little young.”
“Richard told his sister he would give me a gun.”
“He did not.”
“He did too. You were there. At dinner. After the adilgashii made a hole in the road with knives in it and your truck blew up and all the trees fell down.”
“Shit.”
“Told you.”
“Yeah, well, Richard isn’t here, and I’m not giving you a gun.” She glared and glared. The man sighed, looked around. “Look, I really don’t have anything that would fit your hand. You still have your wrist rocket, right?” She nodded. “Well, put that on. And here.” He gave her a knife with a wickedly sharp and thin blade. “Now you be careful and don’t cut yourself.”
Mosi gave him a pitying look. “I helped Mother butcher our sheep. I know how to use a knife.”
“All righty, then.” Weber turned to the scientists and pilots. “Okay, this is us going. Everybody ready?”
There were mutters of assent. Marangoz and a soldier led them into the communal bathroom. While the noncom unscrewed and moved aside a toilet, Marangoz gave terse instructions.
“Make your way to Sincan. It’s a town to the west and a little north. We will try to have someone meet you with vehicles. If not,” Marangoz shrugged and handed over a satchel, “here are lira. Buy what you need, get to Istanbul, but be cunning.”
With the toilet removed, Mosi could see there was a ladder leading down.
“Hope nobody availed themselves of that particular commode,” Chen said as he turned around and slipped quickly down the ladder.
One by one they descended into a concrete-lined tunnel lit by small LED pin spots. Mosi found herself in the center of the men. The stink of their sweat was strong in the narrow tunnel, and nervous breaths ruffled the top of her hair. Some of them didn’t have very good breath. She found herself thinking about her na sha dii. How he always smelled clean and nice. Richard was like no one she had ever known. Someone a little in front released a very long, loud, and smelly fart. There was nervous laughter.
“Sorry, sorry, get gas when I’m nervous,” Eddie said.
“Just don’t alert our enemies with your pungency,” Ranjan said with a laugh.
“Or fart more. Use it like a gas attack. Might put ’em down,” Trout grunted. There was more laughter.
“Maybe the talking and laughing should stop?” Jerry, the old pilot, said tightly. The silence and the tension returned.
They stopped, and Mosi heard the sound of metal on metal. A gust of air carrying both smoke and the scents of flowers and cut grass rolled down the tunnel. They scrambled out and found themselves in a park. The grass underfoot was deep and lush, tall trees dotted the rolling hill. On all sides there were perfectly manicured flower beds filled with a riot of massed flowers. Off to the left, Mosi saw a small culvert designed to carry water from the mausoleum, now far above them, down to the storm drains in the street below. It went under another hill as a small tunnel, and she could not see where it let out.
They started down the hill toward the iron fence that divided the garden from the road. Traffic was scurrying past even though the sun was barely up. There were still pockets of shadow among the trees and bushes. The three men with the guns were looking in all directions. Eddie’s head was swinging wildly from side to side, but Mosi didn’t think he was seeing very much.
The young pilot, Brook, stiffened. Mosi followed the direction of his stare. Was there a darker shadow among the trees? It moved and resolved into a man barreling out of the screen of trees. There were shouts, more men were charging at them from all directions. The scientists were milling like terrified sheep. Mosi scrunched down and darted between a pair of legs. There were suddenly a lot of legs stepping and swaying as people struggled. Mosi noticed that the bad men all had black pants. She saw a chance and went between one set of black-clad legs. The man tripped and fell down with a yell.
A gunshot blasted somewhere above her head, and she heard Weber yelling, “Mosi, run!”
She jumped to her feet and started running. There was someone behind her, drawing closer. She jerked to the side as fingers scraped roughly across the back of her blouse. The culvert was at her feet. She jumped down and ran toward the mouth of the pipe. The footsteps of her hunter were loud on the concrete, and she could hear his breaths like a man blowing on coals to make them hot. Clenching her fists at her sides, Mosi ran as hard as she could and flung herself in a dive at the opening where the culvert joined the pipe and
went under the hill. Concrete, twigs, and leaves tore along her legs, and she felt her pants tear as she slid into the pipe. It was very dark and tight, but she could fit. Digging her elbows into the mud and trash that lined the bottom of the pipe, she crawled as fast as she could. Behind her she could hear the man yelling and more gunshots.
“Please don’t let anybody die,” she said aloud, and hated it because she sounded like a whiny baby.
Angrily, she wiped away tears on her shoulder and kept crawling. It was a big street and it took a long time, but she saw growing light ahead of her. She was on the other side of the big street in an empty area between buildings. She looked back and saw one of the black-pants men trying to dodge the lanes of traffic and cross the street while another was just climbing over the iron fence. She couldn’t see her own people. Gulping down a sob, Mosi ran toward the buildings and started turning down streets in random directions. There were people on the sidewalks now, and they looked at her, mud-coated with twigs in her hair, and a tear and cut on her leg. One man tried to stop her. She kicked him hard in the shin. He yelled, and she ran down steps between two buildings.
She found herself in a large courtyard. In the center was the statue of a man mounted on a prancing horse. She looked up into the stern face and recognized the features of the man whose pictures lined the walls where they had been staying. The sun was fully up now, and postcard vendors and a man with pigeons in a cage were drifting into the plaza and setting up. Mosi ran to the man with the birds.
“How do I get to the Old City?” she asked.
His skin was the color of old leather and creased with lines. It made her think of Grandfather. She sniffed and defiantly wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“You all right, child?”
“Yes. No. I need my…” She hesitated. If the man knew Richard wasn’t kin, then maybe he wouldn’t help her. Or worse, stop her and then the bad men might find her. It twisted her insides a little, but she said, “I need to find my daddy. He’s in the Old City. Something bad’s happened.”
The old man glanced toward the hills and the fires. “Yes. Something bad has happened,” he said quietly. “You see this street on the left?” He walked her over and pointed. “Follow it. Up. Up. Up.” In the distance, crowning a high hill, Mosi saw a large building. It seemed red in the early-morning light. “Just below the fortress is the Old City.”
“Thank you.”
The old man laid a hand briefly on the top of her head. “Allahaısmarladık.”
The bad men wouldn’t stop looking, so she didn’t want to stay on the same street all the way. Now that she knew where she was going and had a landmark, it wouldn’t be a problem. Jumping between streets meant she had to walk farther, but she was strong, she could do it. She started toward the distant fortress. She would find Richard, and everything would be okay.
* * *
The road spiraled around the massive hill as if a giant with a paring knife had peeled a green apple. It was early, so there was little traffic, which made Richard’s pursuers very obvious. The Old One clearly wasn’t with them, since they were in cars. Richard had Kenntnis in the backseat and his Mosi stand-in buckled into the front seat. On their left, towers built from blocks of red-tinged stone defended the summit. It was an odd design. All the towers were connected with only limited distance between them, and instead of offering the flat side to the enemy, the towers were offset so enemies would approach the point of a corner. The placement made the towers seem like teeth ready to grind invaders to pulp.
They drove past a little restaurant tucked into the side of the hill, where men were unloading supplies from the back of a small truck. Another curve, and now the battlements were draped with rugs either drying or airing in the sun. It was an incongruous sight from stone jaws to stone laundry line.
The silence was adding to Richard’s nerves. “So here we are, sir. End of the line. I guess. We did some good stuff together, didn’t we?” Richard gave his head a sharp shake. “This is probably really stupid, huh? It’s not like you’re going to answer. Maybe you don’t even understand any longer. Doesn’t matter, and if you don’t mind I’d like to keep talking. Kind of helps. So, are there any of your kind left? Somewhere … out in the universe? If there are, I wish we could tell them what happened to you. Or better yet, one of them turns up to help. But I guess that only happens in stories, huh?”
The road ended at a car park, and a sign in numerous languages stated that only residents’ vehicles were permitted from this point. Richard parked, grabbed the shotgun, and opened the back door.
“Come on, sir.” He handed the fake Mosi bundle to Kenntnis. Richard saw no point in alerting Titchen and Grenier to the fact the little girl wasn’t with him until it was absolutely necessary. They started up the narrow road. Farther down the hill, Richard heard the engines of the approaching cars. “And while we still have the chance … I just want to say … thank you. For trusting me with your company and for opening my eyes. About the world … and about me.”
They passed a few gift shops, closed at this early hour, and then hit an archway that had once held the city gates. Beyond were ancient stone, plaster, and wattle houses two and three stories high and lopsided with age. Overhanging balconies yearned toward each other. Power lines and wires snaked above the narrow cobbled street, and wooden signs adorned with the Coca-Cola label swung gently in the breeze.
“We could almost be in the eleventh century, couldn’t we?” Richard asked. Kenntnis remained silent.
Five children, three boys and two girls, raced past, flanked by a pair of fat-bellied puppies yapping with excitement. Richard and Kenntnis walked on, and Richard felt the muscles in the back of his thighs and calves starting to pull from the steep climb. They reached a small courtyard with a battered stone fountain in the center. A few men were gathered, smoking cigarettes. They reacted when they saw the shotgun, but no one approached or said a word. Either it wasn’t that uncommon or there was something in the smoky air that gave warning that things were amiss. Richard took the next turn to the right, and they climbed higher.
Past shops with enormous white sacks filled with carded wool. Others displayed wooden barrels filled with dried fruit of every description, dried beans and peas, potatoes and dried lemons. Others were heaped with spices. The smell of different kinds of chili and every other imaginable spice was strong enough to overpower even the reek of smoke. It reminded Richard he was hungry. He thought that was maybe a good sign. That his fear wouldn’t immobilize him when the time came.
He picked smaller and smaller streets, searching for a place to make a stand. A place where, he hoped, no bystanders would be hurt.
* * *
Titchen’s cell phone rang. He answered, listened, then drove his fist into the back of the front seat. The guard seated next to the driver jerked but kept his eyes strictly on the curving road ahead.
“Fucker tricked us! He doesn’t have the girl. She was with the scientists.”
“But the second team got her, yes?” Grenier asked.
“No. She got away.” Titchen rolled a choleric eye toward Grenier.
Grenier didn’t misinterpret the look. “I misjudged my influence. I’m sorry.”
“Sounds like you also misjudged his smarts and his courage.”
“So shall we return to the hotel and let your teams search for her? Or I could go back and coordinate the search. Men such as ourselves really have no business trying to be action heroes. Let your experts handle this.”
“No. This guy’s made a monkey of me one too many times, and we may need our … ally. These numbnuts can’t handle that.” Grenier watched the back of the driver’s neck redden. “And you’re really useless.”
“Then why am I here? Why didn’t you leave me behind?”
“Because I want you to be there when we kill Oort.”
“Why? Do you think that’s going to bother me?”
“Yeah, actually, I do.”
Grenier looked out the side
window so Titchen wouldn’t see the truth.
* * *
The stitch in her side hurt enough that Mosi had to stop running. She forced herself to keep walking, but the road seemed to stretch on endlessly, and she kept having to duck off to the side and hide when cars went past. She looked up at the rugs hanging on the stone walls and was startled that one of them looked so much like the rugs her grandmother had made for sale at the Crown Point rug auctions. She wondered why that was. Realizing she was just standing and staring, Mosi pushed herself back into motion. Then she heard the clop of a horse’s hooves. Startled, she looked back, and around a curve came a man driving a wagon pulled by a skinny gray horse. The back of the wagon was filled with milk bottles. The man had a nice face, round and jolly. She decided to take a chance. Stepping out into the road, Mosi waved. He pulled up and looked at her.
“Are you going up there?” she asked, and pointed toward the top of the hill. The man nodded. “Can I…” Richard’s voice filled her memory. “The word ‘can’ implies ability. ‘May’ implies permission.” She corrected herself. “May I have a ride?” Again the nod. Mosi scrambled up into the seat next to the man, and the horse resumed its patient plod.
“We had horses. Me and my family. My daddy taught me how to ride. I like horses.”
The man finally spoke. “So do I. The wind of heaven is that which blows between a horse’s ears.”
* * *
Every part of him hurt. Knees, feet, back. Most worrisome was the ache in his chest as Grenier labored after Titchen and the eight guards deeper into the Old City. They had ignored the sign at the car park and driven three cars into the old quarter. Men had approached, prepared to remonstrate with them. Titchen had raised his arms, called, and the Old One had left the burning shantytown where it had been feeding and flung itself across the sky, trailing shadows and terror. Its arrival filled the area with the stink of burned rubber, rust, and blood. The cars had died and the men had fled, wailing in fear.
Edge of Dawn Page 30
