by James Axler
Whatever the means of generating the wormholes, the Threshold had been necessary to get him from the Indian subcontinent to Africa, and to take Durga from parallax point to parallax point, cutting down on effort and peril in his search for the rumored location of King Solomon’s mines, which were not only rumored to be a source of vast wealth in the form of gold and precious gems, but may have been the storage place of artifacts both wondrous and terrible.
Durga had never contemplated that the item he required to become whole and healthy again might be in the hands of the man who had left him a cripple before.
With grim resolve, he was going to meet Kane face-to-face, and somehow trick the man into bringing him back to life as something more than a storm of bitterness trapped in the shell of a broken body.
When that happened, woe unto all who stood in the Nagah prince’s path.
His prize would be far more valuable than simply India. Africa was a vast continent, home to many secrets, and nearly limitless resources more than sufficient to be the stepping stone to global conquest.
All he needed was revitalization from the very stick he’d sent Thurpa and the kongamato to capture.
Chapter 9
Thurpa looked in derision at the mammals as they milled along the small trail. They were wary, alert that they were heading into a potential trap, but he was getting sick of their presence in his world. He took a grenade off his harness, savoring the weight of the tiny explosive device before arming it.
With a lob, he sent the egg-shaped blaster into the midst of the mammals who thought they were being so stealthy as they tried to move around Thurpa and his bodyguards.
When the grenade went off, the small pack of meerkats were reduced to shredded flesh and pulped bone. Fur and gore flew everywhere, and all but a couple of the millennialists and militiamen with Thurpa ducked at the sudden detonation.
Thurpa’s chief lieutenant, Magruder, chuckled at the carnage wrought upon the tiny, ferretlike creatures by the hand gren. The mess left in the wake of the blast was horrific, and the gren had blown a huge crater in the ditch beside the road.
“Nice shot,” he told Thurpa.
Thurpa regarded the millennialist, whose skull seemed too large for his slender body, made even more bulbous in appearance due to his bald head and large ears. His scalp, however, was the only part of him devoid of hair, as he had bushy eyebrows and a thick black goatee. Beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, long hair stretched from wrist to knuckles, making him seem more at home dressed in a leopard-print wrap and carrying a club, rather than carrying a high-tech rifle, a vest full of munitions and magazines, and a belt accoutered with plenty of electronics.
“Those chittering mammals outlived my patience for them,” Thurpa grumbled. He glanced to Magruder. “Keep that in mind, Mac.”
“Oh, I know,” Magruder responded. The two men had managed to keep an amicable working relationship, but the millennialist’s initial unease with the cobralike Thurpa was still simmering just beneath the surface. The “chittering mammals” remark couldn’t have been more pointedly directed at Magruder and the rest of the humans in this patrol if he’d flexed those venom-filled fangs for emphasis.
Still, Magruder had one advantage over the mercenaries and militiamen who were in Thurpa’s contingent. The millennialist knew just the right things to say to stay on the Nagah’s good side, all the while keeping up promises of support that would go beyond any from Thurpa and his master Durga’s prior benefactor, the Annunaki overlord Enlil. The Millennium Consortium had widespread influence in the postapocalyptic world, but the would-be technocracy was woefully underequipped in the face of technological prodigies such as Cerberus’s Mohandas Lakesh Singh or former baronial dragon queen Erica Van Sloane, let alone standing up in the face of even the most scattered forces of the verlords themselves.
Durga had long ago hoped for the technological support of the extant Annunaki, but aside from the presence of a few ships and some Nephilim, the involvement of Enlil had been only cursory, merely sufficient to raise Durga’s insurrection to the level of widespread chaos and carnage. The Nagah nation had suffered great losses among their leadership, and even to this day, believers in the cause of the “pure bloods” kept up attacks and mayhem.
Gamal, the leader of the militia that Durga had recruited in Africa, had noted Thurpa’s annoyance at the small creatures, so he had been expecting a vulgar display of force. Still, he gave a glare of admonishment, in full view of his soldiers, in order to keep their respect. Anything more, however, would entail some messy, and unnecessary, violence.
“I will warn your men the next time I have to exterminate some pests,” Thurpa said by way of an apology that also didn’t make him seem weak.
It was a delicate balance among the three parties. The Millennium Consortium expedition needed assistance and wanted power, so they had to acquiesce to the desires of their partners, yet not seem like leeches. Thurpa had some of the technology that Durga had uncovered and retained, and he truly needed manpower, but he was still an alien in a world that looked upon him with fright and suspicion. And Gamal was on his home turf, but the millennialists and the Nagah representative had abilities and resources that could be quite valuable. That required sitting and eating a bit of shit from these newcomers, provided they wanted to share, and not completely nuke his force.
“Thanks,” Gamal replied. “So why are we no longer in a stealth profile?”
Thurpa looked the man over. “Because the plan has changed. The strangers who showed up have a resource that we could really utilize, but only if we can finesse them.”
“What resource?” Gamal asked.
“How much do you know your Bible?” Thurpa countered.
“Which one? The Christian?” Gamal replied. “I know all of the big stories.”
“Remember Moses?”
Gamal nodded. “Started Israel. Had a heart-to-heart with flaming shrubbery. Split a sea.”
“The stick that Moses carried is a powerful instrument,” Thurpa explained. “With that staff, he divided the Red Sea long enough for thousands of his people to cross it. Then he tapped it again, and the sea closed in, drowning the pharaoh and his forces who were in hot pursuit.”
“The stick had magical powers?” Gamal asked.
“It was supposedly delivered unto him by God, when they first conversed,” Magruder interjected. “There’s some speculation that when these biblical stories were written, it was by primitive people trying to interpret the strange and unusual. The staff might have been an artifact, a conduit for extraterrestrial powers. And we have proof of extraterrestrial interference in the history of Earth.”
Gamal tilted his head, then looked back to Thurpa. “He does know that you’re a humanoid cobra, right?”
Thurpa snorted, amused at Magruder’s lack of obvious proof standing right next to him.
“Hey, he could be a mutie.” Magruder spoke up in defense of himself.
Gamal shrugged. “Really, I don’t think there are too many recessive cobra genes in human DNA. No, Thurpa, you are a designed creature. And while it might be two centuries since the last people in the northern atmosphere published articles about these experiments, I don’t think there are too many scientists advancing genetic manipulation. Not on a scale where Thurpa has a bunch of friends. In sum, aliens put the Nagah together.”
Thurpa smiled.
Gamal leaned closer to Magruder. “While we poor Negroids in the dark continent appreciate your helping us rise from the stone age, we ain’t stupid.”
Magruder nodded, ashamed of the dress-down. Thurpa’s sensitivity to heat, aided by IR-sensitive pits near his nostrils, detected that the millennialist’s ears were growing warmer from embarrassment Thurpa made a mental note to keep a close eye on the man. Such a clash of wills would inevitably lead to a moment where Magruder wanted t
o get even. If that happened, Thurpa didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire between the consortium and Gamal’s militia.
“All right, gentlemen,” Thurpa said, trying to disarm the tension of the exchange.
“So, this is an alien artifact.” Gamal spoke up. “Why not keep to our plan of killing the people holding on to it?”
“Because there’s evidence that the staff will only demonstrate its abilities in the right hands,” Thurpa explained. “The stick might not work without the proper DNA signature, or even the proper mind in contact with it.”
“It’s telepathic?” Gamal asked.
Thurpa shrugged. “Whichever, we cannot risk an armed conflict. Not until we are sure we can use the power of the artifact.”
“And what about the rest of the group with the staff?” Gamal asked.
“Leverage,” Thurpa offered.
Gamal nodded. “We can do leverage.”
Thurpa watched the smile grow across the man’s face. There was ruthless delight shining in his big brown eyes. It was close to the same expression he’d seen in his liege, Prince Durga, as he plotted his vengeance. Thurpa could respect that kind of ruthlessness. It was something to watch out for, fearfully. But utilized on his side, it could be a useful weapon in his quiver, especially in the face of threats other than Gamal and his militia.
“Right now, we want you to lie low. Disappear into the terrain. We need to look as if we are besieged by the kongamato,” Thurpa stated. “This way, we’ll look as if we’re in more of a position to need their help, rather than be an intimidating force.”
Gamal smirked. “But once they show up, we can move in and surround them. Catch them between two us.”
“Only on my signal,” Thurpa said. “Chances are, you might not be needed. Not if we can use other means.”
Gamal’s smirk faded. “Hopefully, I guess.”
There was a crackle of ionized air in the distance, and the three leaders turned their attention toward it. Gamal and Magruder appeared confused, but Thurpa had been expecting this arrival.
“Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you both to my sovereign,” he announced. “He is the prince of the true blood, born of the regal cobra lineage, and a warrior of the realm. He was brought low by Kane only through trickery and high explosives, and yet even that could not slay him. I present to you Durga, the future king of Garuda and the fist of Enlil.”
And then Durga appeared, being carried down the access road on a platform born by six strong men. One of his arms was draped almost lazily over the back of the reclining couch, and his other limbs were stretched out carefully. The only thing that wasn’t relaxed and sedate were his eyes. They were black, yet the glint of sunlight off them seemed to be like the fires of hell burning within his skull, attempting to break out.
Durga’s carriers wore the same gray jumpsuits as the rest of the Millennium Consortium, and each had his Calico pistol hanging low at his waist, dangling on a shoulder sling. They didn’t seem to mind carrying the prince, perhaps because there were six of them. They remained quiet, looking straight ahead, not even acknowledging Magruder’s presence, nor his small coterie assembled with Thurpa.
“This is your king,” Gamal said aloud, looking the cobra man over as he regarded the assembled humans with that sizzling, simmering ire.
“Yes,” Durga responded, matching Gamal’s gaze. “You...warlord.”
Gamal smiled. “I am a warlord of the Panthers of Manosha. One of four.”
Durga nodded.
“It is for you that we must retrieve this staff,” Gamal stated.
“Rewarding.” Durga’s voice crackled.
Gamal bowed his head. “You refused to die when you were blown up. And that was how long ago?”
“Months,” he responded.
Gamal stepped closer. “You still have your fangs.”
Durga smiled, tight-lipped.
“And even if I tried to kill you here and now, you would make me pay for it. Not your men, but you,” Gamal added.
“Venom,” he said simply.
“I would see you at your strongest, my prince,” Gamal said. Then he turned back to Thurpa. “I need a comm to keep in touch with you.”
Thurpa motioned to Magruder, who produced one from his belt.
“Good luck, Durga,” Gamal stated.
With that, he gave the hand signal for the Panthers of Manosha to disappear into the forest.
Thurpa was impressed with the speed and professionalism of the militia as they took to hiding, fading from view within a minute.
“Soon,” Durga croaked.
He looked back to his prince.
“Vengeance,” Durga added.
“We will have it. Kane and his allies have conducted autopsies on the kongamato we sent after them. They discovered the contents of their stomachs,” Thurpa said. “Then they all went down below. I can presume that they’re calling in reinforcements.”
Durga nodded in assent. “Kariba,” he ordered.
With that, Thurpa, Magruder and the millennialists gathered up their gear and began the march toward the Kariba power station. Thurpa noted that the skies above were dotted with the winged kongamato, soaring and gliding upon air currents, forming aereal cover for the procession.
Thurpa remained quiet, but he was worried about Gamal’s posturing. Yes, Durga still had his fangs, and most importantly, his venom sacs, which could project streams of burning, blinding toxins into the face of any who attacked him. Thurpa had even seen Durga punish an insolent follower without warning. There was nothing preventing the prince from blinding Gamal, possibly for life, if the African militiaman was intent on causing harm.
By the same token, that venom would do nothing to save Durga in a violent conflict between man and Nagah. He would maim his murderer, but the spray of venom was not a shield. Still, he had not flinched at the closeness of Gamal. There was a defiance in Durga’s eyes. The Nagah prince would perhaps die, but he would not back down. There was no fear in him, not after suffering the pains of hell for months and months.
Of course, the situation would have turned to shit for Thurpa if the two came down to it. The millennialists and Thurpa were heavily outnumbered. Even without Gamal at their head, the Panthers would have overwhelmed the group, slaughtering them.
“You doubt your master?” A woman’s voice cut into his thoughts.
Thurpa whirled, taken completely off guard. The speaker, over six feet in height, had a sharp-featured face, pointy chin and pert, upturned nose, plus an odd, russet-red tint to her skin. Her eyes were brilliant beacons of emerald that suddenly held the Nagah’s attention. He stopped walking, jaw slack, as he studied the vision before him.
“Who...?” he began.
“Queen,” Durga stated.
Thurpa pulled his attention from the unusual, bewitching woman before him. He couldn’t believe he had just become enraptured by a human female. Sure, he could find unenhanced women attractive, but he always felt as if his truest desire was for the cool, shimmering scales of a fellow Nagah, the genetic product of an ancient god’s tampering with the genome of mankind. Yet the crimson woman drew him, anchoring his thoughts upon her.
And how in the hell did she know what he was thinking?
“There is a reason why Durga has taken a shine to me,” she stated softly, striding close to him on tiptoe. “My talents are many,” she whispered in his ear.
“Neekra,” Durga said. Thurpa immediately knew it was her name, when those emerald eyes glimmered.
The woman gave off an air of seduction, but as much as Thurpa felt his manhood stir, something dark touched him as well. If anything, the dull dread he felt only enhanced her enchantment. It was as if she were dangling raw, fresh bait in front of him, still alive and kicking, much like how the more feral and manly of
the young punk Nagah loved to experiment. Thurpa and his friends used to huddle in caverns and engage in swallowing live rodents, aping the actions of a red-jumpsuited race of alien reptiles from an old television miniseries.
Thurpa remembered the sensation of having a living mouse in his throat, at once disgusting and exhilarating. He’d been defying convention, while engaging in the needless suffering of a living mammal. He’d enjoyed the thrill and the rush, which had overcome the nauseating feeling of having that, twisting thing stuck down his esophagus. It was wrong, horrible, but it had felt good.
Neekra had that same forbidden flavor, tantalizing enough to make him ignore the alien, gut-churning notions that went along with her presence.
And then Thurpa was free of that heady rush of seductive decadence as she made her way to Durga’s side. She ran one long, talon-nailed finger along his scaled chest, and Durga smirked at her.
“And you are the new queen?” Thurpa asked, shaking himself out of his dazed state.
“Not of you and your kind, not yet. But the time comes,” Neekra said. “My kingdom is farther away. It will take us a brief journey to reach it, and to awaken it.”
“Prize,” Durga said softly.
Her kingdom was the elusive prize Durga had sought. But Thurpa hadn’t heard anything about the arrival of this “queen.” Where exactly did she come from?
“Questions, questions. You possess too many to answer, at least at this time,” she murmured, again plumbing Thurpa’s thoughts as easily as if he had spoken aloud. It was becoming frustrating, but he knew that Durga must have allied himself with her for a reason. Thurpa would wait and listen for answers from his prince.
