by Casey Lane
“No, Tyler, you do not understand. Your amulet will not unlock the vault until you have completed your education here. When you finish each of your three trainings, a gem in the amulet will begin to glow. The vault will only open when all three gems are activated.”
“Pretty sure you stole that from a D&D book.”
“What is D&D?”
“I could tell you, but you wouldn’t like it.”
“You mock us again. Any of us would give our lives to be in your place. I cannot understand why Aido-Hwedo chose such an unworthy servant.”
“Ayana, whatever dragon thing you did to me, I promise you, it didn’t work. I’m the same person now that I’ve always been. And when your friends with the masks figure that out, they’ll roast me on a spit. So give me my gear and let me go.”
“Please, Tyler. I have not yet used all of my hour. You must at least meet with Fenfang.”
Ignoring her, I turn around and leave the room. I have no idea how to get back outside, so I decide to follow any corridor that leads up.
Ayana hovers behind me. “You cannot leave, Tyler. You have no food, no water, no weapons.”
“If you’re so worried, give them to me. I’m leaving regardless.”
“Tyler, I cannot allow this. Without a better understanding of your coming powers, you will kill someone. You will kill yourself.”
“Pretty sure my chances are better out there than in here.”
She reaches for me with her gold-fanged ring, the one with the knockout drug. I’m not falling for that twice. I dodge her and run.
Ayana opens her mouth wide and emits an earsplitting, wavering howl. I’ve heard this before, it’s called ululation. In moments, every crazy in this temple of doom will be after me like a monkey on a cupcake.
Adrenaline hits and I sprint like a madman.
Ayana tries to chase me but her long red skirt is slowing her down.
Sound doesn’t carry very well down here. After I get some distance between us, I can no longer hear her.
Some of the people I encounter bow as I pass, but most of them look confused. One big guy with a scar on his face tries to stop me, but I knee him in the balls and keep running.
I hit a T-intersection that has a hand-carved ivory dragon resting in a wall niche. A small flame rises from its mouth, and I realize the dragon is actually an oil lamp. Cool. But there’s no time to make an appraisal, I’ve got to keep moving.
I decide to break my rule of always going uphill. I feel a slight breeze coming from the downhill corridor, so I head there, hoping to find an opening to the outside.
I descend into a cavern with an underground stream. Looking closer, I see it’s more like an aqueduct.
Behind me, I hear footsteps approaching. It sounds like several people running at full tilt.
Shit, this looks like a dead end.
Acting on instinct, I jump into the aqueduct.
I float on my back with my feet in front of me, shooting down the aqueduct like I’m on a white-water ride.
I quickly plunge into darkness and have no idea where I am or where I’m headed.
After a minute or two, my ass scrapes on some rocks, and I see stars overhead.
I’ve escaped!
I crawl out of a stream and onto a muddy bank, where I catch my breath.
I feel something big creeping along my arm and instinctively brush it off. Jesus, was that a scorpion?
I scramble away from the stream and try to get a look at the landscape.
It’s a clear night, and the moonlight is bright over the desert scrub.
I can tell directions from the stars. I’m just north of the hill with the dragon loons. If I walk east from here, I should hit the Omo River in a day or two. As long as I’ve got the moon, I should travel at night and hole up during the day. The people on this side of the river are a rough crowd and just itching to squeeze the trigger on those AK-47s.
On the other hand, if the cultists are tracking me and I stop moving, they might catch up. It’s a tough call.
Before I leave, I return to the stream and drink as much water as I can. I’m probably giving myself parasites, but there’s no way of boiling the water. I have no outdoor gear or tools. All I have is the waterproof travel pouch around my neck, holding my passport and high-value gift cards. Thank God for that. If I can make it to Arba Minch, I’ll be able to get out of the country.
There’s a chilly breeze blowing as I set off for the east. I’m soaked, but if I keep moving, I’ll be fine. Fortunately, I came here at the best time of the year to be running around in wet clothes.
As I begin my hike, I pass too close to a bush and a thorn rakes the back of my hand. That’s Africa for you, even the plants want your blood.
I hope the dragon freaks don’t try to track me. I know squat about tracking, or how to cover my trail. If I can just keep moving, maybe I can stay ahead of them.
About an hour into the hike, I’m actually enjoying myself a little, despite the hunger pinching my gut. The first humans came from Africa, and out here, alone in the scrub with the sweet smell of myrrh, it’s easy to imagine I’m one of them. All I need now is a spear.
Suddenly, my reverie is broken by the sound of kids laughing. What would children be doing out here in the middle of nowhere?
Then the truth hits me with a spine-tingling jolt. It’s hyenas!
I break into a jog, wildly spinning my head to try to see everywhere at once.
The sound grows closer. Laughing and hooting. I think they’re tracking me.
Can I outrun a hyena? I’m sure as hell going to try.
I break into a sprint, knowing I can’t maintain it for long.
The laughing grows closer. They’re almost on top of me!
I stop, gasping for breath, and look for something I can use as a weapon.
I see their dark forms spread in a circle around me.
Oh fuck! Eaten by hyenas has got to be the worst way to die. I’ve read that they disembowel their prey, sometimes pulling the guts out through the anus.
I yell at them, trying to scare them off, but they aren’t the slightest bit intimidated. They’re close enough now that I can see their stubby little tails pointed straight up.
I can only think of one thing to do. I unzip my pants and pee a wide circle around myself. Good thing I drank all that water from the stream.
One of the bigger beasts breaks from the pack and approaches. I can see its eyes shining in the moonlight.
For one terrible moment, I think it’s going to step right over the line of urine. But it stops and takes a quick sniff.
The big hyena yelps and jumps away like it’s been electrocuted. It turns and flees, taking the whole pack with it.
Holy shit! I can’t believe that actually worked. It’s like the hyena smelled cyanide in my pee, or maybe acid pee like from those space aliens that explode from your chest.
I run east, trying to distance myself from them before they decide to come back. It takes a while for me to calm down.
Hours pass, and I check the stars regularly to correct my course.
It’s almost dawn now. I’m hungry and exhausted, and continuing just isn’t an option. I need a place to hide and wait out the day. But where? Even if I managed to find a cave, would it be smart to go inside? God knows what could be curled up in there.
Maybe I can find a ravine, or a group of big rocks to hide in.
The sun is coming up and I’m running out of time. I feel like I’m a vampire, doomed to burst into flame if I’m struck by sunlight.
I make out a low set of hills to the south and run toward them. A thorn rips into my leg but I don’t stop. I see big rocks strung out along the base of one of those hills. There could be shelter there.
As I get closer, I realize the rocks are smaller than I thought. Then one of them moves!
They’re not rocks, they’re goats, and they’re curled up sleeping. Wild goats, in Africa? How is it they’re not hyena chow?
Then I get my answe
r.
A beautiful, topless Mursi woman steps out from behind a thorny shrub. I wave to her, and she points an AK-47 at me.
I hear a noise to my right and see a Mursi man, also with an AK-47.
Looks like they heard me coming and set an ambush.
I slowly raise my hands, praying they don’t shoot me.
Chapter Six
Clever Copts
ALEXANDER ARGYROS
FORTY-ONE YEARS EARLIER
I’m very nervous as the judges approach. I’m a high school freshman going up against seniors and this is my first science fair.
The desks and chairs have been moved out of the school library to make room for the exhibits. A tall jerk with red hair is taking up two spots with his pair of air hockey tables. It’s supposed to be an exploration of how surface area affects lift force, but I think he just likes to play air hockey.
The judges, a man and woman, stand smiling at my magnificent dragon, constructed entirely of aluminum I recycled from soda cans. It took me over a year to build it.
The woman looks down at the clipboard in her hand. “Alexander Argyros, what do you have for us today?”
“For your consideration, I’ve completed a historical reconstruction of a typical draco that lived in the Eastern Roman Empire.”
“Ah, so you like dragons?”
“I loathe dragons. They’re horrible beasts.”
The man frowns. “Then why build a dragon? What scientific principle are you exploring?”
“It’s an archeological re-creation based on the current evidence.”
The man looks skeptical. “What evidence? Dragons are mythological.”
“Actually, no, dragons are mentioned in writing, as far back as the Bible, and some archeologists believe they’ve already found their bones in the fossil record, but they’ve been mistaken for dinosaurs.”
He isn’t buying it. They both make marks on their clipboard.
The woman gives me a parting smile. “It’s very cute, Alexander.”
Cute! One of the most terrible creatures in history, and she thinks it’s cute?
I call out to them, “Wait, don’t go. I haven’t shown you the most important feature.”
I wasn’t supposed to include this in my project, but I really wanted to win.
I step on the foot pedal beneath the desk that feeds alcohol up the dragon’s throat and into its mouth. Then I push the button that ignites the pilot light.
Fire suddenly gushes across the library!
Something’s gone wrong! Did someone turn up the pressure?
I take my foot off the pedal, but the damage is already done. A shelf of library books goes up in flames, and everyone is screaming.
I watch in shock as the fire alarm blares and the judges clear kids out of the library.
When the police come to arrest me, I’m standing outside with everyone else, watching the entire school burn down. The police take me to juvenile detention, even though my parents haven’t arrived yet.
I feel numb with shock, like this is happening to a different person. Several policewomen at the facility talk me through the intake process, but I barely hear them.
I’m never thrown into a cell, but I wait on a bench for what seems like hours before my worried father arrives to rescue me. He yells something at one of the policewomen, and I feel proud of him for defending me. After all, it’s not my fault. One of the other kids tampered with my exhibit.
Father leads me to the car. I sit beside him and he turns to me before he starts the engine.
“I want to give you something, son. I think you’re old enough now.”
He reaches under the collar of his shirt and removes a chain from around his neck. A golden tube dangles from the chain.
With a solemn expression, he hangs the chain around my neck. “The tube is a reliquary. Inside is a finger bone of Saint George, the dragon-slayer, and your direct ancestor. Wear this with pride, Alexander. Never forget who you are and where you come from.”
The finger bone of a saint?
I stare in awe at the reliquary.
PRESENT DAY
I climb out of bed, trying to cast off the memory of my burning school. After I take a shower, trim my mustache, and apply my oil-free matte, I say a prayer to Saint George and hang the reliquary around my neck. I’ll need his protection in the upcoming mission, perhaps the most dangerous of my career. After all, I am fated to die today.
As I leave my bathroom, I feel the cry of the chronomichani. The device is weak and ravenous. I always feel a stronger bond with it after a time jump. It has a way of getting into my head.
Last night, I had the urge to eat my dinner meat uncooked, and I’ve been fantasizing about imaginative ways to kill Carnahan, the Preceptor, and the mole in my team. Before I use the device again, I should visit Sabina, the Romani spiritist who fortifies my soul armor. If I’m not careful, the chronomichani will steer me into barbarity and madness.
I’ve learned not to feed the device with my own blood when it gets this hungry. It’s too difficult to pull my finger from the feeding slot. I will have to find the blood of another, and a substantial amount.
As I dress for the Lord Beasley mission, I contemplate the difficulties ahead. Once again, we’ll be posing as federal agents, and despite the increased danger of this op, I have not authorized ballistic T-shirts to be worn under our suits. I want my would-be killer to feel compelled to shoot me.
I’ll be the only one carrying a Glock on this mission. The team will have dart guns that inject an anesthetic to knock out anyone who resists. The Preceptor made it clear she was unhappy with the professor’s death, so we must take care to ensure the survival of Beasley and his security staff.
As I leave my apartment, I feel the starving chronomichani urging me to snatch a blood sacrifice from among the homeless. This isn’t the time for that, and I can resist the demand, but I really must have my soul armor reinforced.
Lord Beasley, dressed like disco-era Eurotrash, tries to look bored as he sips champagne from a crystal flute. But I have my Glock to his head, and I know he’s terrified. We disabled his security system with ease and quickly knocked out his armed butler and guard dog. Beasley knows we mean business.
Nearby, Spero rummages through the contents of his computer. “Colonel, I’ve found an encrypted drive. It needs a password.”
I turn to Beasley, waving my weapon in his face. “Give her the password.”
He blanches as he eyes the gun. “That’s my assistant’s drive. I don’t know the bloody password.”
I catch him glancing at my bald head. He’s judging me. I can tell.
I use the butt of my gun to knock the glass from his hand, breaking one of his fingers.
He screams in a dignified, British manner, his big ears turning red.
“I’m not here to kill you, Lord Beasley, but I will break every bone in your body to obtain that password. You will spend the remainder of your life in traction.”
He nods, clutching his broken finger. “The password is lcroft, all lower case.”
I have no idea what that means, but it doesn’t seem like a very secure password.
Spero enters the password. “I’m in.”
From somewhere outside Beasley’s office, deep in the heart of his mansion, I hear glass shatter. Not good. Did we miss a silent alarm? Has more security arrived?
I motion for Snedeker and Kaplan, waiting by the office door, to check it out. They nod and exit.
Spero turns her head to me and whispers, “Colonel, you’ll want to see this.”
She rises from the computer and I instruct her to guard Beasley. I set my Glock down on the desk next to the computer and examine the contents of a folder labeled Coptic Shrine.
It’s exactly what I’ve been looking for! It seems Beasley hired a contractor named Tyler Buck to search for dragon bones in Ethiopia.
Africa! The Aido-Hwedo prophecy is coming true!
My mustache itches and my heart pounds
with excitement as I copy the folder to a thumb drive.
So far, this little play of mine has been progressing well. Now, for the final act.
I pocket the drive and whisper to Spero. “Stay here with Beasley, I’m going to check on something.”
Spero nods and I walk out of the office, leaving my Glock behind on the desk.
I step into the hallway, passing the stairs, and head deeper into the second floor of the mansion. I hear the Glock discharge and feel a painful blow to my back that drives me to my knees. A second shot hits me and I fall face first to the floor. It feels like I’ve been hit by a sledgehammer. I can barely breathe.
I see Beasley’s feet run past me as he flees to another location somewhere on the second floor. He’s probably going to call the police. It’s a futile effort. We cut the landlines on our way inside, and our SUV, parked nearby, has a jammer blocking cell and sat phone signals.
Snedeker and Kaplan charge up the stairs and I hear Spero address them. “What was that noise downstairs?”
Kaplan responds. “The dog was waking up, so we gave it another dose. The first dart didn’t sink in very far because of the fur.”
Snedeker speaks in a shaky voice. “What was the gunfire? Where are Beasley and the Colonel?”
Spero sounds close now. “Beasley got a hold of his gun. I think he killed him.”
Snedeker wails, “Oh my God! What do we do?”
Nice to know the boy cares, but he needs to get a grip.
Through squinted eyes, I look down the hallway and into the office. I see my Glock lying on the floor. If Beasley shot me, why didn’t he also shoot Spero, and why didn’t he hold on to the weapon?
It seems I’ve found my mole. I wish it hadn’t been Spero. I was looking forward to inviting her over to my apartment to dispense career advice.
I play dead as Spero picks me up in a fireman’s carry. I know I’m very thin, but I had no idea she could lift me. Why is she doing this?
Then I understand. She’s seen that my wounds aren’t bleeding, and that I’ll survive. She’s trying to prove her loyalty to me.
Her voice conveys a surprising degree of authority. “Kaplan, clean up the scene. Snedeker, bring the car up to the door.”
