Distant Thunders

by Taylor Anderson

  “I apologize for all of this,” Jenks said quietly. “Everything.”

  Matt became angry. “Damn it, Jenks, I don’t want your apology! Maybe that’ll make you feel better for being such a jerk once, but all it does now is cheapen everything we’ve done—and have to do! I still think we need to be friends, your people and mine, because—as I’ve been trying to pound into that thick skull of yours—there are bigger threats out there than either one of us can handle on our own. There may be stuff we can’t even imagine yet! On top of that, I want my people back, the ones Billingsly took! Maybe you didn’t know, but Sandra Tucker, well . . . she’s my girl . . . and I want her back!”

  “I am aware of that,” Jenks said softly.

  “Yeah? Well, be aware of this! That night on Donaghey during the Strakka, right after the fight for Singapore when we heard the news, I swore an oath. As God is my witness, whoever took her, whoever’s responsible for taking her and the others, and for the unprovoked attack on Baalkpan . . .” Matt took a breath and his green eyes were as remorseless as the sea. “You can add Simms and my ship here today to the list now, but whoever put all this in motion, no matter who he is, is going to pay!”

  EPILOGUE

  Halik stared greedily at the map laid before him on the table in the brazier-lit chamber. It was a map of all the known world, and the chaotic jumble of mountains and coastlines, rivers and islands fascinated him. He dully remembered, even as a young Uul warrior, occasionally wondering how his Hij commanders could know how the world was shaped and how they knew where to take them to fight. Now he could see, look down upon, where he was, and many of the places he’d been before. He’d learned much in the months since his unexpected elevation, but maps and the terrain they depicted still held him almost spellbound. Matching terrain in his memory with what he saw on the maps was like scratching a crude drawing of a beautiful sculpture in the sand, and yet the value was in knowing where that sculpture was. Somehow he could sense that, for his purposes, terrain would become vitally important. It was like the different parts of a shield. Some areas were best for countering the blows of an enemy, while others could be used to great advantage when striking out.

  He tore his attention from the map and focused again on Regent Tsalka’s words. Words that, in all their infinite variety, he’d learned to understand!

  “Singapore will surely fall, if it has not already, and my own province, my very own Ceylon, my beloved India, will be next on the list of the prey!”

  “You must stop thinking of them as prey, lord. That is essential!” General Esshk scolded—quite harshly, Halik thought. “They are no longer even Worthy Prey, as we began to suspect, but have become hunters themselves, in their own right! Hunters perhaps as cunning as ourselves who fight in a new, unexpected way! Hunters like we have never met or faced before!”

  “Yes, yes,” Tsalka hissed angrily. “I know your views on this. Perhaps you are even right. But what are we to do? Though we argued for it, it destroys me to concede my very home!”

  “We must,” said the strange creature Halik knew as General of the Sea Kurokawa. “But we must do it slowly. As slowly as we can possibly manage. We will lose territory, yes, but we have much of that. Time is what we lack. If we can trade land for time, and balance the exchange in our favor, the magical weapons I am preparing will be ready before the enemy—they are the enemy, my friends!—before the enemy can push beyond the frontier into what you consider your ancient Sacred Land! The invaders will not sully the pure realm of the Celestial Mother herself! If a few regencies or frontier territories must be strategically sacrificed to prevent that, that is what must be done! We will reconquer them!”

  Halik understood that it revolted Tsalka and Esshk when Kurokawa called them “my friends,” but he wasn’t sure why. He did know Kurokawa was growing in favor with Her just now. The miraculous weapons he’d begun utterly delighted the Celestial Mother, and she was even beginning to appreciate his strategies. Still, he knew Tsalka in particular thought Kurokawa took too many liberties.

  “Enough debate, My Lord Tsalka.” Esshk hissed. “She has decided—and in favor of our arguments, for now,” he added ironically. “Would you try to change Her mind?” Tsalka said nothing in reply. “Well, then,” Esshk growled, “that still leaves us with the issue of how we will trade land for time.”

  Kurokawa’s gaze slowly shifted to Halik. “That is a question perhaps best asked of our newest general, is it not? You yourself said he survived the entertainment battles far longer than any before him. He is not old, but he is not young anymore either. He could not have prevailed so long on strength and ferocity alone. My few Rikusentai, or naval landing forces, that survived the loss of my ship think he has much promise. Look! Even now he studies us, evaluates us, considers . . . and no doubt forms opinions! I think he is learning that map by heart!” Kurokawa paused, and when he spoke again, he addressed Halik directly.

  “Tell us, General, based on the map before you, how would you trade land for time? The enemy will come, and for now, we cannot stop him. How would you slow him down and bleed him white?”

  Even to Rebecca, who had little experience with such things, it hadn’t really been much of a storm, but it had been a challenge for an open boat on the wide expanse of the Eastern Sea. After two weeks of diminishing stores, sunburn, and increasingly doubtful navigation, the sudden storm afflicted nearly everyone, particularly the Imperials, with a sense of near hopelessness. Lelaa ignored them as much as possible. She was still confident that if Yap—or Tagran—was where the chart showed it to be, they’d find it.

  Whatever she felt inside, Sandra remained a diminutive pillar of strength and steady authority. Her skin was red and peeling and her hair was bleached to a platinum blond, but by force of will alone she managed to maintain discipline and keep Rajendra and his men at work. Sister Audry took solace in her faith and remained stoic, if not cheerful, and set a further example for the men. Dennis Silva, as always, seemed unconcerned about anything. He was the only one among them, with the possible exception of Rajendra, who didn’t even seem sunburned. His tanned skin only grew darker and his beard and unusually long hair became almost white.

  Rebecca herself maintained an unwavering faith in Sandra Tucker—and Dennis Silva. She did worry about Lawrence and Abel, who, along with the Imperial engineer, suffered cruelly from the heat. Lawrence wasn’t accustomed to being in the sun all day without recourse to shade, and Abel was still troubled by his wound.

  The Imperials did as Sandra said, but they weren’t happy. They feared they were doomed and they hated Dennis. Rebecca watched him become the focus of much of their misery and frustration. He’d destroyed their ship and killed their shipmates, and regardless of their current situation, that was something they all had in common. The reason he’d done it, and even the very reason they’d taken to the boat in the first place, became a blurred and distant memory. Slowly, through the long, miserable days and endless, terrifying nights when strange creatures bumped the boat or distant leviathans blew, it all became Silva’s fault.

  Outwardly, Silva didn’t care. Rebecca considered it possible he even deliberately encouraged their animosity to keep them focused on anything but giving up. In reality, she suspected he was more deeply troubled by what he’d done than he’d ever admit. At least, she rather hoped so. Then the storm came.

  Proper navigation became impossible, but Lelaa and ultimately Rajendra steered the boat as best they could, following a heading they adjusted constantly based on their calculations of leeway and current. It was an imperfect solution, but by working so closely together they at least temporarily made a sort of peace between them. For four days they fought the storm, reefing the sail to a mere sliver of canvas and shouldering through long, westerly swells. Then the wind shifted out of the south and they scudded along, pitching horribly on the confused, tumultuous sea. It had been Silva, standing in the bow of the boat, inundated by spray, who saw the breakers ahead.

  It was proba
bly the swell that saved them. That, and Silva’s almost earsplitting bellow of, “Drop the sail right goddamn now if you want to live!” Without thought, his order was obeyed, and the boat rode a mountainous wave right over the worst of the shoals. They still struck something, probably coral, that tore a terrible gash in the bottom of the boat. It almost broke the keel, but the boat carried on, quickly filling, until the wave deposited them upon a sandy beach.

  Leaping in the surf right along with Silva, Sandra ordered everyone who could move out of the boat. They used each new wave to help them heave their burden farther up the beach. Finally, they could go no farther and they collapsed in the sand. After a while, Sandra roused everyone and had all their stores and weapons taken near the edge of the trees, where the waves shouldn’t reach. Then, before she would allow anyone another rest, Sandra ordered that the lightened boat be moved farther from the water as well, and secured to a tree by a stout cable. Only then did everyone collapse again, utterly exhausted, and sleep until the light of day.

  Rebecca woke to the sound of surf. Her eyes didn’t want to open and seemed glued shut with some sort of crust. She wiped them with her hand and grainy particles fell away. She tried again and this time she could see.

  “Mornin’, sunshine!” Silva said, and grinned at her. He was sitting cross-legged in the sand with his huge rifle across his lap. On a piece of canvas beside him lay the disassembled parts of his pistol. His cutlass was thrust into the sand nearby.

  “Good morning,” Rebecca replied. She felt disoriented. She was on dry land at last, but it still seemed to be moving under her. She also wasn’t where she remembered being, lying in the sand beside the boat. She was under the shade of a large, strange tree and covered with a scratchy blanket. Beyond the shade, she saw that the storm was entirely over and bright sunshine played upon a much moderated, sparkling sea.

  “I hurt everywhere,” she complained, sitting up.

  “Course you do. You been cooped up in a little room for weeks, then sittin’ on yer butt in a boat. Takes a while to get the muscles all loosened up again.”

  “All is well?”

  Silva’s grin faded just a bit. “Mostly,” he hedged.

  “What do you mean?” Rebecca fought down an almost panicked concern. “Is everyone all right? What of . . . What of Lawrence, and Mr. Cook?”

  “Oh, ever’body’s okay, I guess. Cook’s over there, still sleepin’. I figger Larry must’ve perked right up, ’cause he was already gone, trompin’ around, I expect, before I even came around. Most o’ them Imperial fellas is still sleepin’ too, ’cept Rajendra. Him and Cap’n Lelaa’s over there inspectin’ the boat.” He looked up. “And here comes our overall captain o’ everything now.”

  “At ease,” Sandra said sarcastically. “Don’t bother to jump up and salute!” She was smiling when she sat in the sand next to Silva. “How do you feel, sweetie?” she asked Rebecca.

  “Okay,” replied the girl. She glanced warily at the nearby tree. “Are you quite sure there are none of those creatures such as were on Talaud? The ones that climb trees and drop upon prey from above?”

  “Ain’t seen any,” Silva assured her, “and there’s no scratch marks like they make.” He shrugged. “Who knows, though? Don’t worry; I been keepin’ my eye out!” He chuckled at his little joke. Suddenly, his face went blank and he stiffened. Seeing his reaction to . . . whatever, the two girls froze as well. Slowly, Silva eased around to look back in the jungle behind him. “Damn you, Larry,” he said, “what are you doin’ sneakin’ around in the bushes? You mighta got shot. Again.”

  Lawrence practically slithered up among them, his eyes darting about. “Quiet!” he insisted. He looked at Rebecca and lowered his head. “I so sorry!” he moaned. “I so, so sorry!”

  “What? What is it, my dear?” Rebecca asked, alarmed.

  “I just learn charts and I guess I didn’t learn so good, or I did learn good, and still not right!”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Silva hissed.

  “I think he means that we are where we set out to go, this Yap Island, but, with Larry not knowing charts or being familiar with all the hundreds of islands around here, Yap isn’t the same place as Tagran after all,” Rebecca said carefully.

  “Yes, yess!”

  “How does he know?” Sandra asked.

  Lawrence hesitated. “I here . . . again!”

  “Before?”

  “Yes!”

  “You’re positive?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well,” said Sandra, relieved, “if he’s definitely been here before, he should know where the real Tagran is. Isn’t that true, Lawrence?”

  Lawrence lowered his head again. “Yes,” he hissed.

  “Whoa, wait a minute!” said Silva. He fumbled behind him in a pile of things he’d brought from the boat. In a moment, he had the chart in his hand. He pointed at a spot on the map. “This here’s Yap, what you thought was Tagran. That’s where we are, right?” He pointed southwest. “This here’s that scary island you said was the place you went through your trial, where there’s all sorts o’ boogers you wouldn’t ever tell us about.” He looked at Lawrence. “There ain’t nothin’ southwest of that but empty ocean, so it can’t be Tagran.”

  “No,” Lawrence said.

  “So if that ain’t it and this ain’t it, your home must be this spot, northeast of here, right?” Lawrence nodded miserably, and Rebecca and Sandra both looked at Silva questioningly. He exhaled noisily. “What the hell. Whatever doesn’t kill you is a hoot, I always say.”

  “What do you mean?” Sandra asked, but she knew.

  “Ladies, Larry here’s been beatin’ around the bushy fact that we’re marooned on Boogerland itself.” Silva looked hard at Lawrence. “I ain’t scared o’ Boogerland. I ain’t scared o’ much at all anymore. The only thing that does scare me is threats to folks I care about. You mighta noticed I tend to react violently to those. Now, I know you ain’t supposed to blow about what’s runnin’ around here, but we’re talkin’ Princess Rebecca and Miss Tucker now! I don’t give a furry shit what you promised or swore to; I swear I’ll twist your head off your skinny neck if you don’t cough up everything you know about this damn place!”

  That evening they had a big fire on the beach. In spite of everything, Lawrence had still refused to tell Dennis what he wanted to know, but he had told Sandra and Rebecca. They were females, after all, and no female was ever expected to undergo the trial. Sandra promptly told Silva roughly what they could expect—and it was scary. Evidently, they had some time, though. Not much, but apparently, the most dangerous time on the island reached its peak at a certain “season” of the year: the mating season of the semi amphibious “shiksaks” that sometimes even troubled Tagran. It wouldn’t be a cakewalk, but maybe, just maybe they could be gone by then. In the meantime, they had a lot of work to do, and this first full night on Shikarrak Island, or Boogerland, as Silva continued to call it, would be devoted to a much-needed, watchful rest.

  Rebecca was drowsy, but it suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t see Silva among the group gathered around the fire. She stood and walked a short distance away, and as her eyes adjusted, she could just make him out, standing short of the surf line.

  “Mr. Silva?” she said quietly

  “Hmm? Oh.”

  “You frightened me,” she scolded. “I looked about and you were nowhere to be seen!”

  “Sorry, li’l sister,” he said. “Most o’ those fellas over there don’t like me much, and I had a little thinkin’ to do.”

  Sandra joined them in the darkness. “What were you thinking about?” She huffed. “Anything besides the obvious?”

  Silva actually laughed. “Well, yeah, prob’ly. You know the skipper—Captain Reddy—will be lookin’ for us by now.”

  Sandra sighed sadly. “I know. No matter what else is going on, he’ll have dropped everything to come after us.”

  “After you,” Silva stated the fact. “An
d maybe the munchkin queen here. Don’t hurt my feelin’s none. I bet he’s got Walker back by now, and I can almost see her steamin’ by out there in the dark, with a fine, big bone in her teeth!” He shook his head. “Thing is, he ain’t gonna find us. He’s gonna chase Billingsly’s dead ass all the way to the New Britain Isles and he ain’t gonna find us.” He chuckled. “You know what he’s gonna think? He’s gonna think them Brits are either hidin’ you girls . . . or they did somethin’ to you.”

  Sandra and Rebecca were both silent for a moment, suspecting Silva was probably right.

  “What do you suppose he’ll do?” Rebecca asked at last.

  Silva chuckled again. “I don’t know, li’l sister, but I guarantee they’re gonna hate it.”