“Dad doesn’t carry firearms,” Zirkander said. “He’s a peaceful explorer.”
“What happens when the natives aren’t peaceful?” Duck asked.
“A lot of the stories he told me as a kid involved running, swinging from vines, and swimming dangerous currents. I’m not quite sure how his strategies might have adjusted now that he’s almost seventy.”
The naked man—was this the shaman?—strode toward Zirkander with his cudgel held aloft and his well-endowed penis aloft, as well. Nobody looked at him as if this were odd.
“It’s to intimidate you,” Sardelle said. “I think they’re a part of the magnolushian sect.”
“Obviously.” Zirkander cleared his throat and looked squarely at… the top of the man’s head.
Tolemek had never heard of that sect, but he was suddenly glad Zirkander was the pretty one here.
The shaman stopped in front of Zirkander, pointed at his face, and jabbered in an irritated tone. He pointed toward a rocky promontory up the beach, jabbered more, pointed in the direction of the fliers, and jabbered even more.
Zirkander smiled and held out his postcard again.
The shaman slapped his hand away, almost knocking it to the ground.
“Sardelle,” Zirkander said, “any idea what the appropriate thing for me to do here would be?”
“Yes, but I don’t think you’re going to do it.”
“Does it involve taking off my pants?”
“And being larger than him, yes.”
“Uhm, I’m just not as excited about this whole situation as he is.”
Sardelle drew her sword and stepped forward. Jaxi’s scabbard might not be that flamboyant, but the soulblade herself was another matter. She immediately flared to life, blindingly bright even in the tropical sun. People stepped back, raising their arms to shield their eyes. The shaman’s hand tightened around his cudgel, but Sardelle twitched a finger, and the weapon flew from his grip. He growled and lunged for her.
Zirkander whipped out a pistol even as Cas stepped forward, her own rifle aiming at the shaman’s chest, but Sardelle said, “Don’t,” and everyone halted, except for the shaman, who flew backward, his bare ass landing in the sand. She pointed her sword toward the bald man next to him and stared into his eyes, her own eyes cold, her face carved from granite.
Tolemek shifted uncomfortably. He had rarely seen Sardelle openly unleash her power, since it could get her killed for being a witch in Iskandia, and in Cofahre too. The reminders of what she could do were always disturbing. There was a reason the common man had been afraid of the magic wielders in prior centuries, eventually banding together to rid the world of most of them.
The bald man dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the sand. The rest of the villagers did the same, though the shaman was very slow to do so, and he glowered as his head descended.
Sardelle’s eyes grew wide, her expression chagrined. “That’s not what I… I was just trying to win the cock contest.”
“Glad someone was equipped to do that,” Zirkander said. “Is there any chance you can find out where my dad is?”
She nodded. “Over on that promontory. They’re not happy that he’s been here so long. The chief is hoping we’ll leave soon and take him with us.”
“What’s the shaman thinking?”
“That he wants to stick a knife into my chest—and yours too.”
“Mine?” Zirkander protested.
“His wife was looking admiringly at you.”
“Wonderful. All right, group. Let’s head up the beach before they get tired of kissing the sand.”
Nobody rose to stop them when Zirkander and Duck walked toward the lagoon.
“Sardelle?” Tolemek asked. “Are you communicating with them mentally?”
“Jaxi is, yes. Neither of us has a clue about the language, so it’s rough.”
He unrolled his sketch. “Can you see if they recognize any of these flowers?”
“I’ll check.” Sardelle’s eyes closed halfway as she gazed down at the shaman. A long moment passed, and Tolemek shifted from foot to foot. He doubted anything would come of the inquiry, but maybe these people traveled to various islands in their canoes. Maybe someone had come from another tribe. Maybe—
Sardelle shook her head. “Neither the shaman nor the chief is familiar with that foliage.”
Tolemek sighed and headed after others. He caught Cas glancing back toward the shaman, who was still glowering in their direction, his eyes promising they would hear from him again.
Chapter 2
They were being followed.
Oh, Cas didn’t see anyone when she looked back along the beach, but the jungle hugged the sandy shoreline, its dark interior offering thousands of hiding places. Monkeys shrieked from the treetops and rattled the branches. Brightly colored birds squawked, flying away as the group walked past. Nobody, human or animal, was happy to see the foreigners, and Cas hoped they could find what they needed and leave quickly.
She could feel the tense impatience oozing off Tolemek as he strode along—she had to hurry to keep up with his longer gait. Zirkander, Sardelle, and Duck were moving quickly, too, or at least they were until they reached the rocky outcropping. It marked the end of the beach, with rocks stretching out into the water as well as inland, and there was no choice but to go up.
“There are people up there,” Sardelle said. “In a cave. A large cave.”
“Do you want to lead the way?” Zirkander quirked an eyebrow at her. “Seeing as how you have the biggest sword here.” Genuine humor warmed his face, and he didn’t sound bitter or annoyed that Sardelle had been the one to deal with that odious shaman.
Sardelle grimaced, probably at the situation rather than him. “No, you can lead. You’ve seen my climbing skills.” She gazed back down the empty beach.
Zirkander started toward the rock wall, but she stopped him with a hand to his forearm.
“One other thing. That shaman… He wasn’t accustomed to combating other magic wielders—I sensed that quickly—but he does have power. Some other specialty that doubtlessly makes sense for his people and this environment.”
“So he’s a threat, even if your sword is bigger,” Zirkander said.
“I definitely sensed that he was already plotting unpleasantries for us when we were leaving.”
“I did too.” Cas thought about mentioning her hunch that someone was watching them, but everyone probably felt that way already. “We might want to hurry.”
Sardelle picked her way up the steep slope.
Despite his invitation that she lead, Zirkander went up at the same time she did, giving her a hand here and there. Sardelle was wearing practical leathers, rather than one of her usual dresses, and appeared quite capable of climbing on her own, but she accepted his assistance now and then. Cas wondered if she should let Tolemek do things like that for her more. It was probably important for the man to feel manly and useful, and she had a tendency toward being brusque and rejecting help. Tolemek hadn’t complained, though, and he shouldn’t have any reason to feel useless next to her. It wasn’t as if Cas could fling villagers around with her mind. She could shoot holes into them if necessary, but that wasn’t always the ideal approach.
Cas kept her back to the rocks, watching the beach and the jungle until Zirkander, Sardelle, and Duck made it to the top. Tolemek paused halfway up, waiting for her.
Cas clambered up, having to stretch to find handholds. Annoying how the seven gods had made so few trees, walls, and rocky promontories with the climbing needs of five-foot-tall women in mind. She glanced at Tolemek, wondering if he might offer her a hand at some point, but he merely nodded encouragingly at her. She decided she appreciated that—she didn’t need help, and he knew it. But at the same time, he waited to make sure.
As soon as she reached the top, she faced the beach again, watching in case someone headed in their direction. She didn’t have that dragon blood that Sardelle and even Tolemek had, but her
neck hairs were dancing.
A flash of orange caught her eye. It did not come from the village, but from out in the fields. Thanks to the jungle, she could barely see the spot where they had landed now, but she leaned out and frowned.
“Someone threw a torch onto one of the fliers,” she announced.
Zirkander had been walking across the flat section of rock that lay ahead, but he stopped, his head jerking around. “What?”
“A brand is burning in front of one of the windshields.”
“Whose?” Duck asked.
“Uhm, that’s the colonel’s,” Cas said.
“Wonderful.” Zirkander looked at Sardelle. “This isn’t because I wouldn’t take off my trousers, is it?”
Sardelle wore that distant expression she got when she was accessing her magic. “I don’t think so. It’s those two guards that stayed behind. They’re stalking around the fliers and experimenting. I’ve protected them, so the fire won’t do any damage. Jaxi will keep an eye on things too.”
Zirkander turned around again, though his voice floated back to them. “Some men get to meet their fathers down at the pub for a beer when they want to spend time together. I have to fly halfway across the world and deal with spear-wielding natives who hate my flier.” Cas almost missed his lower mutter of, “I knew I should have brought my dragon with me.”
“His what?” Tolemek muttered, heading across the rocks at Cas’s side.
“He has a figurine he hangs in his cockpit for luck.”
“I… see.”
“A lot of pilots do,” she said, feeling defensive on Zirkander’s behalf. Every now and then, someone teased him about being superstitious, usually someone who had no idea how dangerous the job was.
“Do you?”
“You’re looking at it.” Cas patted the side of her rifle.
Tolemek snorted softly. “Brings good luck, does it?”
“Good luck to me, bad luck to the targets.”
As they walked, Cas glanced back often and kept an eye toward the jungle, as well. Maybe she didn’t need to be so alert, with Sardelle and her sword seemingly aware of everything around them, but she didn’t know what else to do. This was so different from her usual missions, and she felt superfluous. She had contributed little, aside from shooting at a few Cofah scientists back at the volcano base. When they weren’t flying, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She wasn’t even sure if she and Duck should be here, or if Zirkander should be here, either, for that matter. That other colonel, the one he had dumped along the Iskandian coast somewhere before they left, had been in charge of this mission, and technically, the squadron wasn’t even on that mission any more. Zirkander had assigned himself to this quest of finding the source of those dragon blood vials and making sure the Cofah couldn’t continue to get their hands on them. Even if it seemed like something the king would approve of, Zirkander was making decisions without consulting his chain of command, and that was never a good thing in the military. Cas hoped everything worked out and that he wouldn’t get in trouble—again.
“That’s impressive,” Tolemek said, pointing ahead of them.
Cas had been so wrapped up in looking behind them—and worrying about her concerns—that she hadn’t noticed the carvings in a rock wall rising up ahead of them. Two massive dragon heads framed a rectangular opening. Time had worn the edges from the carvings, and the sea air had pitted the stone, but the monolithic statues remained identifiable—and imposing as they gazed out at the dark blue ocean and choppy waves beyond the lagoon. The cave opening wasn’t large enough to drive a flier through, but a real dragon might be able to fold up its wings and slip inside, at least judging by the skeleton erected in the museum in the capital. Her experience with “real” dragons was nonexistent. Like the rest of the civilized world, she had believed them extinct until that blood had shown up.
“Maybe we’ll find some dragons with blood to share right here,” Duck drawled, walking up to pat one of the statues.
Sardelle shook her head. “It’s possible this was a dragon rider outpost a millennium or more ago, but there aren’t any dragons here. I would feel it.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Duck said, giving her a wary look. Even though he seemed to have made his peace with her vocation back at the Cofah volcano base, he still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of a sorceress on the team. Not that Cas was entirely, either.
Zirkander stuck his head into the cave.
Cas almost offered to scout ahead, but she continued to sense that trouble, if it came, would be from behind them, not ahead of them.
“Er, hello, ladies,” Zirkander said, a strange note in his voice. “I don’t suppose any of you has seen this man?”
The rest of the group approached the cave entrance, but paused on the threshold. With Sardelle, Tolemek, and Duck spread out in front of her, Cas couldn’t see much. She was debating whether it was dignified to crouch down and look between Tolemek’s legs when a distant voice called out from somewhere in the cave depths.
“Hello?” the drawn-out note echoed from the walls. “Do I hear an Iskandian voice?”
“Dad?” Zirkander called.
A long pause followed his question, punctuated only by the splashes of the waves battering at the rocks fifty feet below.
“Ridgewalker?” came the distance-muffled voice.
Tolemek shifted sideways, looking down at Cas. “His parents actually use that name, huh?”
“I think his father is the one who picked it,” Cas said and made a move-aside motion. “Wanted him to be a mountain climber.”
Tolemek pressed his back to the side of the stone entrance, so she could slip into the cave. She paused on the threshold, too, in part because she was in awe of the vast cavern that opened up inside, the walls covered with pictographs, hieroglyphics, and petroglyphs, and in part because six pretty young women in grass skirts were standing on the ledge inside. Like the rest of the villagers, they saw no need for shirts. They were looking curiously at Sardelle, Tolemek, and Duck, and whispering among each other. Two of them held stone knives. Cas didn’t see any other weapons, and she was confident she could deal with the women if they decided to attack. They weren’t close to the threshold, anyway. Rather, they stood near the far side of the ledge, about fifteen feet from the cave entrance. A rope bridge extended across a chasm to a tunnel on the far side, and narrow stone staircases carved into the walls ascended and descended from the ledge, disappearing into darkness above and below, darkness the sun’s influence couldn’t reach. Despite the possible routes from the ledge, a single rope attached to the base of a dragon statue carved from a stalagmite snaked across the stone floor and disappeared over the edge.
“It’s me, Dad.” Zirkander walked to the edge by the rope and peered down. “We could use some help if you’re not too busy doing… whatever it is you’re doing down there. Are you upside down?”
“Examining carvings on the underside of this ledge, yes.” A scrape and a couple of grunts drifted upward. He—it occurred to Cas that she didn’t know Zirkander’s father’s first name—sounded like he was at least twenty feet below them.
“Does Mom know about this harem of women you have helping you?”
“It’s less a harem and more of a death squad. The mean-looking ones with the knives have orders to cut my rope if I disturb the sacred temple.” More scrapes sounded, along with the clank of metal against rock. A moment later, a wiry man with shaggy white hair and a shaggy beard pulled himself over the side. He was attached to the rope by way of a harness that went around his waist and through his legs, but he soon unclipped himself and stepped away from the edge. The sleeves of his loose, button-down shirt were rolled up, revealing lean, ropy arms, and despite his seventy years, he had proved fit and agile as he pulled himself into view. He wore cut-away trousers that fell to the knees and lightweight, close-fitting shoes for climbing. “Ridge, it is you. I don’t believe it.”
“It’s good to see you still alive,
Dad.”
They started toward each other, lifting their arms for a hug, but Zirkander’s father snapped his fingers before they met and pulled a leather-bound notebook out of a bulging pocket. “One moment. I don’t want to forget…” He patted himself down, pulled spectacles and a pen out of a shirt pocket, and started sketching something on a page that didn’t look like it had room to hold anything more.
Zirkander lowered his arms, his lips twisting wryly as he met Sardelle’s eyes. “For those who were wondering about my childhood, I assure you this is a representative glimpse.”
“Actually, we were wondering about the paddling, sir,” Duck said.
“You had a fabulous childhood,” Zirkander’s father said without looking up. “What boy has the kinds of freedoms that you had? To study whatever you wished? To play however you wished to play? To roam wherever you wanted? I would have adored such a childhood.”
Cas wouldn’t have minded more freedom during her childhood, but judging by the continuing wryness on Zirkander’s face, it hadn’t been that perfect.
“You would have adored having a father who was never around?” Zirkander didn’t sound bitter, exactly, and had probably accepted his past at this point in his life, but his tone was dryer than usual.
“Better than one who’s always standing over your shoulder, judging your every move, insisting you become someone you don’t want to be.”
“That’s the truth,” Tolemek muttered.
Cas met his eyes, a wry smile of her own on her lips. He responded with a similar gesture. They had figured out early on that they had some of the same grievances when it came to fathers.
“Certainly, I would have been pleased if you had decided to come with me on my explorations, but you became a fine young man, despite your insistence on traveling in those flying deathtraps.” Zirkander’s father held up the journal. “Does that look like an Anksarian number seven? I think it does. I’m finding more and more evidence that suggests they were colonizing these islands millennium before the Iskandians even knew they were here. Do you know what this means?”
Patterns in the Dark Page 2
