Warrior

by Zoë Archer

  “Steady,” Gabriel murmured into her ear. He nudged her with his shoulder. “You’re keeping the horses awake with your fretting.”

  Thalia did not reply. There was nothing to do but wait in the dark, watching the moon rise, and she did not realize that she had fallen asleep until she became aware of the fabric of Gabriel’s coat against her cheek. Not only that, but she was clasping his arm, holding it between her breasts as she leaned against him. His very hard, very strong arm. She came fully awake with a start, throwing herself backward in an attempt to put some distance between them.

  In the silver gleam of the moonlight, she could make out Gabriel’s lopsided smile as he watched her flop around on the grass. She wondered if he was going to say something horribly cutting about her throwing herself at him, but was spared that ignominy when his expression sharpened, and he began to stare fixedly out into the darkness.

  “What is it?” she asked, but he held a finger to his lips without so much as a glance her way.

  Thalia pushed herself up and tried to focus on whatever it was he saw. At first, she thought he was funning her, or, at the least, had simply spotted a wolf out prowling for prey. But just as she was about to dismiss his intense concentration as the byproduct of too much military training, Thalia saw movement at the edge of the field. Movement that was definitely not an animal. Thalia heard the soft clink of metal against metal. She didn’t even know Gabriel had gone for his revolver until she saw it in his hand.

  “It’s just one person,” Gabriel muttered. “Are those bastards really that cocky?”

  “Can you tell who it is?”

  He shook his head, still peering out into the dark. “Get your rifle,” he growled to Thalia as he rose into a crouch. He nudged Batu’s foot. “You, too. Take my Snider carbine, not that antique you’ve got. And both of you, don’t leave the tortoise,” Gabriel added, looking pointedly at Thalia. When she nodded, he started to move away soundlessly.

  “Where are you going?” Thalia hissed.

  “To surprise our friend.”

  Chapter 7

  The Tortoise Speaks

  It was a damned hard choice to make. Either stay with Thalia and possibly suffer what the approaching Heir had planned for them, or trust that she could take care of herself and venture into the night to catch the Heir off guard. Gabriel had made tough decisions before, but he’d never had a woman to protect. Gabriel always hated waiting while the enemy advanced. It put a man in a tight spot. He’d much rather take the initiative. It was a better tactic, and gave him the advantage. If Thalia had been a man, he would have gone after the Heir with no hesitation. But not only was she a woman, she was her. He could still taste her, feel the satisfying, perfect weight of her breast.

  Gabriel had a much better chance of safeguarding Thalia, though, if he went after the Heir, rather than letting the bloke come to them. So he’d swallowed his fear and stalked his prey. At least Thalia was a good shot, and he had given Batu his own rifle rather than leaving him with that obsolete, inaccurate muzzleloader the Mongol carried, since it was unlikely that their advancing enemy was a drunk whale.

  The moon was a slice of silver in the dark night sky, giving him just enough light to see where he was going as he edged around the field. His plan was to circle back and steal up behind the approaching Heir as the enemy’s attention was focused on Thalia and Batu. Ares’s bollocks—he didn’t like using Thalia as a distraction, but if everything went the way it was supposed to, she wouldn’t be in danger.

  Gabriel crept through the tall grasses, keeping one eye trained on the Heir. He didn’t recognize him from the attack outside Urga, but it was hard to know for certain in the darkness. Whoever the hell this gent was, he wasn’t too keen on keeping quiet. Some kind of metal pieces were hanging from the Heir’s clothes, jingling with each step. And the Heir was muttering, too. Words Gabriel couldn’t understand.

  No time to think about anything but ambushing the prey. Gabriel doubled back behind the Heir and stole forward, behind the enemy. As he got closer, he ducked down to hide in the grass, peering up every now and then to make certain of the Heir’s position. The Heir never stopped, keeping up his steady progress toward Thalia, and unaware of Gabriel’s presence. They were a hundred paces from the tortoise. Nearing the Heir, Gabriel saw that the man was smaller than the two English toffs, and less than half the size of the giant Mongol they’d hired. Someone else, then, some other paid muscle. But no less a threat, regardless of size.

  Gabriel pushed forward, feeling not a little like some giant cat stalking its dinner. Both he and the Heir were only fifty feet from Thalia. Gabriel would have to make his move now, before the Heir got too close. He’d take the Heir down then wring some answers from the bastard’s neck. He took a steadying breath, then launched himself at the Heir.

  And hit the ground, having thrown himself at nothing but air.

  Gabriel leapt to his feet at once. It was impossible. The sodding bloke had been right in front of him one moment. And the next…gone.

  No, not gone. Gabriel broke into a run when he saw that the Heir had appeared right in front of Thalia. He’d never run so fast in his life, not even when he was being chased by khukri-wielding bandits in Central India. Gabriel wasn’t exceptionally skilled at running and shooting with a revolver—his rifle suited him better—but there wasn’t any choice. Thalia, damn it, hadn’t even drawn her weapon. Instead, it looked like she was actually talking to the Heir. Gabriel swore. He was going to have to teach her that as soon as she could take a shot, she bloody better well do it and not waste time or opportunities by talking.

  It would be impossible to take his own shot now, not with any accuracy. There was too great a chance he might hit Thalia or Batu. He didn’t hear Thalia as she cried out, “Gabriel, wait!” Instead, Gabriel threw himself at the Heir and tackled him to the ground.

  Only to have Thalia and Batu grab Gabriel’s shoulders and pull him away. The three of them went tumbling backward in a heap of struggling limbs. The Heir lay flat on his back, trying to right himself.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Gabriel growled, struggling to peel Batu off of him.

  “A mistake, Huntley guai,” Batu panted. “Don’t hurt her.”

  “I’m not going to hurt her,” Gabriel snarled, shoving Batu away. “I’m trying to protect her.” He started to take aim with his revolver as the Heir got to his feet.

  “Not me,” Thalia gasped as she grabbed Gabriel’s arm and shoved, pushing his gun away. “Her.” She pointed to the Heir as she and Gabriel struggled. “Look.”

  Gabriel did look, then went still. The Heir wasn’t an Heir at all, but a Mongol woman. Her gender was confirmed by her voice, as she chuckled and dusted herself off. Gabriel saw that her sex had been hidden by the large robe she wore, which appeared even bigger because of the heaps of ribbons covering the fabric. Silver charms and mirrors dangled from the sleeves and the hem of the robe, as well as from the leather apron wrapped around her waist. The woman’s face was mostly hidden by the ribbons trailing down the front of her headdress, and it was hard to tell how old she was, though her hair hung loosely around her shoulders. She carried a small drum, also draped in ribbons that glinted palely in the moonlight, and a drumstick with a horse’s head carved into the end. In the weeks Gabriel had been in Mongolia, he’d never seen anyone dressed so peculiarly.

  “A shamaness,” Thalia whispered to Gabriel. They both rolled to their feet. “There aren’t many left in Mongolia, not since Buddhism came three hundred years ago.”

  “Some kind of witch?” Gabriel asked.

  The shamaness spoke, a long stream of Mongolian that Thalia quickly translated. “Not a witch,” the shamaness said, and Gabriel could only wonder how she had understood his English words. “One who speaks with the spirit world. Everything in nature has its own spirit, not only men and animals, but every plant, every stream, every mountain. And they are all part of a living whole. Even you,” continued the wom
an, pointing at Gabriel with the drumstick, “are connected by the World Tree. Shamans and shamanesses cross into the mirror world of the spirits, speak with them, listen to them.”

  Thalia spoke to the shamaness, and the woman answered. “I asked her why she is here in Karakorum,” Thalia translated. “She told me that she brings offerings to the past.”

  The shamaness reached into the folds of her robe and pulled out sticks of incense as well as a small metal bowl. The woman filled the bowl with airag and set it before the tortoise, then struck a flint to light the incense. Pungent smoke curled into the air.

  Gabriel finally understood. “She’s feeding the tortoise.”

  “You’re right,” Thalia nodded, amazed.

  He’d seen people make offerings before, at shrines to deities in temples and by the sides of roads, always wondering what they saw in cold stone or statuary that inspired faith. A hard life in Yorkshire and what he’d seen as a soldier had convinced Gabriel that he’d little to believe in besides himself. Ever since brushing up against the world of the Blades, though, his understandings of truth and reality tottered. As they did now. Why make an offering to a statue of something that wasn’t even a god?

  Whatever the shamaness’s purpose was or was not, it didn’t matter, not where the mission was concerned. “Then she’s the woman we want,” Gabriel said.

  Thalia started to step forward. “I will ask her about the Source.”

  “She looks a bit busy at the moment.”

  The shamaness had begun pounding on her drum, first softly, then with growing strength and loudness. As she did this, she chanted to herself and began turning in circles. Gabriel watched, fascinated, as this went on for several minutes, the drumming, chanting, and turning never ceasing.

  “She’s entering a trance,” Thalia explained quietly. “It is how she crosses over into the spirit world. I have never seen this before, only heard of it.”

  “My grandfather spoke of shamans,” Batu added. The usually fearless servant was standing behind Gabriel as if looking for protection from the chanting woman. “They are powerful and strange.”

  Gabriel had to agree. Just listening to the shamaness’s chanting made every nerve in his body shiver. Even though he had been stationed in remote parts of the world, as an Englishman and soldier, he’d never had much chance to witness native spiritual rituals, but had been inclined to dismiss them as just another variation of the religious nonsense he’d been force-fed as a child. Hindu ceremony or Anglican rite—it all seemed the same. Empty gestures.

  There was nothing empty here in the dark plain of Karakorum. As the shamaness continued to chant and spin, beating on her drum, Gabriel could actually feel a change in the air. Something seemed to stir to life. An unseen energy pulsed beneath the surface of the world, working into his skin and mind. The night crystallized, sharpening and expanding at the same time. He almost jumped when he felt Thalia’s hand on his arm. His senses were alive to her touch, almost painfully so.

  “Do you feel it?” she whispered. Her eyes were wide and glittering, beautiful.

  Somehow, he managed to nod.

  The chanting grew faster, the shamaness’s voice swirling around them. She twirled so fast, she became a blur of glimmering mirrors and ribbons. Her drumming and chanting pierced Gabriel’s brain, making it impossible to think or move. He could only stand, amazed, as something began to glow and pulse inside the tortoise.

  A warm red light gathered in strength within the stone. While the shamaness continued in her unearthly chant, the light began to move. It traveled from the center of the tortoise, moving up through its body, its neck, then into its head and finally its mouth. Gabriel felt Thalia’s hand clutch at his sleeve as the light danced out of the mouth of the tortoise and into the mouth of the shamaness. The woman suddenly stopped her chanting and drumming. The drum dropped from her fingers, as did the horse-headed drumstick. She stopped spinning, swaying on her feet as the red light glided to the center of her chest.

  Afraid that the shamaness had been possessed by some dark spirit, Gabriel moved toward her. He wasn’t entirely sure what he could do to help her against a magical energy, but it seemed better than standing by and just watching. Thalia stopped him, however.

  “I think this is what she wants,” Thalia breathed.

  “Is it what we want?”

  “Please be quiet,” Batu whispered. “She speaks.”

  Yet when the shamaness opened her mouth, she did not talk, didn’t even chant. Eyes closed, she sang. It was an uncanny song that dipped and swayed, curving itself down into valleys and up again into mountains. Gabriel couldn’t understand the words, but he felt the song stretch out all around him like a banner unfurling itself under his feet, showing him an entire landscape. He was taken across the whole of Mongolia, could see and touch its rolling steppes, the secluded vales, the unforgiving beauty of the rocky hills, the dark, pearl-blue lakes. It was all contained in the breadth and shape of the song. He had never experienced anything like it, not in all his travels. There weren’t many words, but each one extended on for miles.

  Thalia, gazing at the shamaness with undisguised amazement, quietly translated the song, but it was almost unnecessary, since Gabriel felt its meaning.

  I have seen the world change

  Many times over.

  A life, a breath, drawn in and exhaled.

  They are the same.

  I am stone. I never yield.

  And though I carry the universe upon me

  I do not move.

  The sky sees everything, He tells me

  Everything. What He sees amazes

  Even Him!

  A crimson field. No matter the season, the soft springtime,

  The brief heat

  Of summer, the brittle autumn, the long

  Cold snows of winter—

  The field burns crimson always.

  Though it is constant, it does what I cannot.

  It moves.

  When the last syllable of the last word died away, the shamaness gently began to fall to the ground like a blown leaf. Gabriel, his reactions slowed by the power of the song, leapt forward to catch her. But when he reached her side, his arms came up empty.

  The shamaness had vanished completely.

  Gabriel wished he had more whiskey. After the shamaness had disappeared, he’d completely drained his flask to steady himself, but it still wasn’t enough to get him used to the idea of magical songs moving from stone to person. And then the total disappearance of that person, vanishing into nothingness, right in front of him. But there was airag, and its slight fermentation would have to do in place of whiskey’s direct assault on his nerves.

  They had returned to the monastery and found a room for the night. Thalia had gone out to tend to her private needs. Batu saw to the baggage by the light of a single lantern, while Gabriel paced next to his sleeping mat and made steady, but unsatisfactory progress through his flask. He could take his liquor, and the few sips of whiskey he’d had did nothing to help brace him after witnessing a woman blink into air. Batu, bless him, had found some airag, and Gabriel was making decent progress through it now. Still, it wasn’t quite enough. He wondered if he could ever get used to this new world that had been uncovered, where words were magical and solid flesh could disappear.

  The door to their room opened, and Thalia entered quietly. She didn’t have a lantern or candle. After checking the corridor, she closed the door behind her. Gabriel strode immediately to her and took her into his arms. It wasn’t only because he had been scared out of his wits earlier, thinking that she was about to be attacked by an Heir. He also needed to feel her real, living self, the truth of her body and scent.

  Her hands came up to cup his shoulders, and she leaned into him. She breathed deeply, pressing her face against his neck, drawing him in just as he was doing with her. Ah, God, she felt so damned good. Too good. His body’s reaction to her was fast and earth-bound, and though he knew he couldn’t have Thalia,
some comfort was taken in his need for her.

  Not quite enough comfort, though. She wouldn’t appreciate being jabbed in the belly by his now stiff cock. Gabriel not-too-gently pushed himself away and turned to fake an interest in a carved chest, muttering something about being glad she was safe. He listened as Batu and Thalia spoke quietly in Mongolian, hearing in their tone that they were discussing him and how well he was faring after the night’s events. No shots had been fired, but she was worried about him. The idea was awful, silly…and touching. Damn it.

  He grabbed up his cup of airag and took another drink. When he was satisfied that his tool was no longer at attention, he sat down, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him.

  The tone of Batu and Thalia’s conversation shifted, grew tense and curt. Almost as if they were quietly arguing. Gabriel wasn’t sure what they were arguing about, but, judging by the quick looks they were both casting toward him, he was the topic. Why?

  Thalia said something to Batu that meant she wouldn’t hear another word. Batu tried to speak, but she refused to hear him. Instead, pointedly ignoring the servant, Thalia sat cross-legged beside Gabriel with a swift and smooth grace that made his breath catch in his throat. Without speaking, she reached out and took his cup of airag, then took a sip before returning it to him. Gabriel held the cup tightly in his hand. He was sodding done for if just watching her drink from his cup sent blood straight back into his groin. He hadn’t stumbled around with so many unwanted cockstands since he was a spotty-faced lad.