Go, Tanja! Get the mixture, get the venom and go.
The venom.
She looked to the window and saw that night was still in full darkness, but internally it felt as if morning was arriving soon, and when she checked the clock on the table beside her bed, she saw she had only an hour or so until dawn.
The details of the night were fuzzy—the specifics of the attack and the subsequent escape—but Tanja remembered her meeting with Garal. It was at the temple. Sometime after dawn. There she would collect the venom, finish the mixture, and leave for the docks.
Tanja tried to push herself to her feet, but the right side of her head felt as if it had been weighed down with concrete, and she toppled back to the floor. She adjusted for the mass of blood that had hemorrhaged from her head and was now dried in her face and hair, and then tried again, this time succeeding in the rise. She grabbed both sides of her head and twisted gently, as if fitting her skull back onto her shoulders. There was a dull crack somewhere down her spine, and with a few more cocks and turns of her neck, she began to feel restored. She took a heavy breath of relief. She wondered if the injury would have been fatal in her previous life, but it was time so distant now that she couldn’t really be sure.
Tanja looked at the Pear of Anguish on the floor beneath the gurney and shook her head ruefully. She had gotten sloppy with the source. She never should have left the device in the room for the girl to access, but if she had simply strapped her properly, the Pear would never have been an issue to begin with. The girl had disfigured herself in order to escape, that was true, but Tanja should have factored that possibility into the equation.
She was getting old. That was the truth. Too old to continue this life for another fifty years even. Her only daughter was dead now, murdered in the New Country by some lowly country farm girls. Her one son Gromus was presumably still alive, but she had no real way of knowing that for sure, and he was no doubt the monstrosity that she and Marlene were. Perhaps worse.
Maybe it was time for her to die, to cycle through this final blending before allowing the natural world to intervene. And once she avenged her daughter, she could make one last journey to the Village of the Elders, a last pilgrimage to return her copy of Orphism and let death take its rightful place in her story. The religion was an abomination—she never pretended otherwise—and it couldn’t be chased forever.
But it was also a gift, and its draw was irresistible.
Still, Tanja had heard of Orphists who had given up the sickness of immortality, who had simply decided the time had come when they no longer felt the need to fight off death, and, in fact, had welcomed the unknown that the afterlife held. Perhaps she, too, had arrived at this place.
But there was one more goal to achieve first, and one more potion that needed to be blended and consumed, this one containing the poison of one of the most deadly snakes in the world and the bile of a source’s sibling.
Chapter 23
SIX MORE SCREAMS ERUPTED from nearby on the ship, and Petr knew that Anika was purposely signaling to him that she was now in control. She was forcing them to yell before disposing of them, bringing them close enough for Petr to hear; and that meant she was tracking him the whole time.
Six screams. That meant thirteen crewmembers remained. Subtract the cook and Kiet, and that left eleven, including the ship’s master and chief officer. Petr prayed she wouldn’t kill them all. Not just for the humanity of it, but because they would need the engineers and captain to get them to the Eastern Lands.
Another scream. Ten left.
Chapter 24
TANJA SPENT THE NIGHT at the temple and was awake before dawn, waiting for Garal, just as she had promised, watching for him from behind one of the several large columns that lined the entrance. In her hands she held a narrow steel container, tightly sealed and filled with the incomplete concoction of eternal life. It needed two more ingredients, which she planned to get this morning.
Within the hour, Garal appeared on the grounds of the lower courtyard, the sun shining on the entrance steps as if it had been anticipating his arrival. Tanja was pleased and impressed with this show of punctuality, and a dusting of disappointment fell over her, knowing that he would have to die in the end.
He had also come alone, thankfully, a hopeful sign that he had kept this meeting secret, despite Tanja telling Prisha that a meeting with her brother was planned. But perhaps he hadn’t spoken with her and hadn’t yet heard of her escape, which made this encounter potentially catastrophic. An ambush might be accompanying Garal, unbeknownst to him.
But Tanja needed the venom, and the bile, so the risk had to be taken. If all went well, she would need to spend only a few more hours in this wretched village and then she would leave for the docks, bound for the Old World and then the New Country.
Tanja peered down to the courtyard and could see in Garal’s hand what looked to be an old leather bag, weathered and holed, about the size of a small duffel. The tote seemed a bit excessive for transporting the small amount of venom she needed, and, she thought, was even likely to garner unnecessary attention. But, she reasoned, the toxicity of the poison was not to be trifled with, and Garal’s caution was yet another characteristic Tanja found appealing.
She tucked herself further into the shadows, wedging her body between a gap at the front temple wall and a large bulbous column that ran from the floor to the ceiling. Behind her, in the center of the temple, was a large stone statue of some god, long forgotten no doubt, invented millennia ago and likely credited with certain good elements of the world but none of the strife.
Garal reached the bottom of the first set of stone steps, and then scanned the area around him, rotating a full turn, checking his surroundings for anyone who might be interested in his movements.
But Tanja knew his suspicions were unnecessary; this part of the village was always deserted at this hour, and the temple itself had been virtually abandoned by the locals for the last thirty years or so, existing now only as a tourist attraction, and a lightly visited one at that. But, again, Tanja took Garal’s caution as a sign that he hadn’t spoken of the meeting. He was coming for the potion in earnest. He was already hooked before ever tasting a drop.
Garal ascended the topmost flight of steps and then stood still on the temple platform, small and alone, directly in front of the divine statue. To Tanja, he looked as if he had come to offer himself in sacrifice.
“Garal,” Tanja hissed, her speech sounding like it had been filtered through gravel. “I’m here.”
Garal whipped his head toward the voice, searching for its source in the darkness, and then gave one more look over his shoulder before moving towards it.
Tanja remained shrouded in the shadows, invisible from where Garal stood, but the merchant stopped well short of where he would have had the ability to see her. That was intentional, Tanja knew. He was keeping his distance.
“Have you brought it?” Tanja asked
“They’re looking for you,” Garal replied. His voice was rushed and breathy, fearful, a complete contradiction of the polished vendor from the previous night. “And Prisha has escaped. You are aware of that, I assume?”
“I watched her flee, helpless to stop her.” Tanja paused. “But there’s more to the problem. She knows I’m to meet you today. Not the time or place, but that we are to meet.”
“I’m aware. She came to me first. Before the police. She told us everything, Jiya and I. Prisha thought you might be...dead.”
“And yet here I am.”
“I knew it already. It’s why I’ve come. Prisha told me where you lived, so I went there first. To see for myself. I was pleased you were gone.”
“You went without the police? How could that be?”
“I convinced Prisha to wait before telling the authorities, that you would disappear if the word spread. It wasn’t easy convincing her or Jiya, but they agreed at last. I told them our meeting was this afternoon, and that there you would be arrested.”
But she had also been right about his lust for the potion, about that she was insightful. His presence at the temple this morning meant she knew him quite well in this regard.
“But she told me something else.”
Of course there was a catch.
“She also told me the venom would do you no good without the final extraction. That you kept her alive until you had this final ingredient.”
He held up the bag, which he seemed to do with some effort.
“It’s true,” Tanja said, not finding any point in lying. “What she said was true.”
Tanja stepped from the shadows and Garal winced and turned away.
“This is what she did,” Tanja snarled. “This is damage that could have killed a bear. Look at it!”
Garal turned back and fixated on the holes in Tanja’s face, and the dried blood that now caked the entire right side of her head.
“But I will recover. I will heal. I will have life for as long as I wish. Just as you can.” Tanja held the steel flask at eye level and waved it once, a hypnotist with a pocket watch. “With this.”
Garal raised his chin and cocked his head sideways, looking at the container distrustfully, with a narrow gaze. “But what of the final ingredient? The extraction? How can it work now?”
Tanja stared into Garal’s eyes, trying to convey the answer through a look. Prisha had no doubt told him of her possible plans to use his liver, a genetic relative of the source, for the final extraction. Yet she could sense his longing for immortality was stronger than his reason, and hope of another possibility emanated from his face.
“What is in the bag, Garal?” Tanja said finally, rerouting to another subject.
Garal blinked and looked down at the satchel he held. “It’s the bungaru.”
“It’s a rather large bag to carry venom.”
Garal shook his head. “It’s not the venom.”
He set the bag on the temple floor, keeping his eyes on Tanja as he did, and then unclasped the buckles on either side at the front, lifting open the leather flap. He hovered his hand over the opening for a moment, concentrating, and then shot his wrist down into the opening like a spear into a shallow fishing hole.
Tanja gasped at the motion.
Garal smiled proudly, and then lifted his hand slowly, bringing up the diamond-shaped head of the banded krait—the bungaru—and then snatched the tail of the snake with his free hand.
“What have you done this for?” Tanja asked. “I’ve no use for a snake. I need the venom. I need the process to have been completed.”
“I caught this snake last night. In the jungle. I haven’t slept. I’ve gone through great pains to bring it here by dawn.”
“This wasn’t our agreement, Garal. I need the venom milked and isolated.”
“That takes great skill and time.”
“You told me you could do it.”
“Well this is the best I could do!”
Tanja settled, careful not to push the man too far. He was large, aggravated and irritable from a lack of sleep. And he held a snake with the potential to kill even her, especially considering her already weakened state.
An unexpected tear suddenly streamed down the left side of Garal’s cheek. “It was the best I could do with the time I had. And I’ve nothing to go back to now. I’ve betrayed my sister. The only person that ever loved me. Even through all of my struggles.” He began crying in full now. “Prisha.”
“You have done well, Garal,” Tanja consoled. “We shall make this work.”
Tanja’s voice was feminine now, young and sweet, and Garal looked at her like a boy to his mother.
“But the day is arriving and commuters will be passing here soon. Let us go to the altar in the back and work this out. We can do it, I’m sure. We are two minds against a serpent.” She smiled and then grabbed Garal’s chin, bringing his face inches from hers. “You have sacrificed too much for us not to, yes?”
Garal nodded, and wiped his eyes. “Yes.”
“Good then, let us go”
Tanja nodded once and then turned and faced the massive statue. Directly behind it, hidden from the front view of the temple, was a large stone altar. She had mapped the entire complex during the night, leaving nothing to chance. “We have god on our side,” she said, and then walked with purpose to the rear of the temple.
And Garal followed.
Chapter 25
ANIKA STOOD ATOP A three-stack tower of containers at the stern of the ship, staring down at the sadistic cook, who had laid his butcher’s knife at his feet and was in the process of tying a thick hemp rope around Petr’s ankle. Petr was lying on the deck holding the back of his head, and Anika could see blood puddled behind him.
Anika scoffed and shook her head in disbelief. The cook had heard the screams of his fellow crewmembers; she had picked up Petr’s whereabouts midway through their journey to the rear of the ship, and she had seen the man’s look of terror when two of the cries rang through the air.
The purpose of the screams had been to scare the man into submission. She had forced the crewmembers to howl in agony, had ordered it, threatening them with torture and death if they didn’t comply. They had all felt the strength in her hands and the seriousness of her voice, squeezing them against her body as she made her way through each section of the ship, picking them off one by one. Only three of the eight had complied as directed, and those three she had detained by converting one of the empty containers into a makeshift brig.
The other five men had refused to comply, and each of them heard the snap of their own vertebrae just before their deaths.
“Petr!” Anika called down. She stood tall on the container, her chest out, her anger fierce, and she wanted nothing more than to fly down on the wretched cook like a falcon on a bunny. But she was twenty feet above them, too far for even for her to jump.
Petr writhed and attempted to find her voice, but he was dazed from whatever blow had been rained upon him.
The cook finished off the knot around Petr’s leg with a flurry and looked up to the container roof , but before he could locate Anika, she had disappeared from view and had already started scurrying down the cargo ladders that linked the metal boxes together. Within seconds of announcing her presence atop the roof, she had already reached the ship’s deck, the cook in her crosshairs, Anika, herself, just out of his sightline.
Anika watched him toss Petr’s roped leg to the side and step away from the rear wall of the ship, and then move cautiously toward the middle of the stack of containers. He held the butcher’s knife in front of him like a torch, with the point piercing forward.
Anika stood at the corner of the bottom container, her one functioning eye peeking around it, watching the man as he moved closer to the metal boxes to her left. He came quietly, taking each step delicately, listening for the next sound that would give Anika’s location away.
Anika had to restrain herself from attacking. She didn’t necessarily think he would be a difficult kill, not with her strength and leopard-like movements, but he was a large man with a knife, and thus he had to be considered a serious threat. And if she were injured—or killed—it would mean Petr’s life too, and perhaps those of her children.
She pulled her head back from view and placed it flat against the container, standing with her back pressed to the metal. She took a deep, silent breath and then slammed her heel back against the bottom of the large metal crate.
Anika heard the cook scuttle, but by the time he had reached the place around the corner where the noise had originated, she was already gone, having dashed around to the opposite side of the box. She now had an open view of Petr.
She ran to Petr’s side and lifted his head off the deck, examining the woun
d.
“Anika,” he groaned.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, untying the knot around his ankle. “There’s a lot of blood and I’m sure you have a concussion, but you’ll live.”
Petr opened his eyes and lifted his chin. “Look,” he said groggily, as if doubting that what he was seeing was real.
Still holding onto the rope, Anika stood and turned in the direction of Petr’s stare. The cook was again standing in front of the container, having made a full revolution in search of the mysterious noise.
“A woman?” he said, shaking his head, confused. He took a couple of steps forward, casually, and then stopped, examining Anika more closely, as if disbelieving his eyes. “I thought I heard it in the voice, but...a woman?”
“There’s a prison waiting for you. Midship. Some of your friends are there now.” Anika paused and lowered her head. “Some others had less luck, though the same opportunity. Drop the knife now and I’ll take you there. If there is no resistance from you, your only punishment will be a couple of days in a container. It’s better than you deserve, but I’ve got other things to do.”
“Aye, matey!” he replied, squinting his eye and covering it with his palm, mimicking Anika’s patch and her resemblance to some pirate from a child’s story. “Thank you for the offer, but I think I’ll pass.”
“Think long and hard before you do. It is the only deal you’ll get, and you will only get it once.”
The cook lowered his chin and scowled, his eyes focused, glaring at Anika like a bull toward a matador. “I’ve got some business to finish first with your thief friend. He’s a fare-dodger, as I suppose you are. But I’ve got him to deal with first. Drop the rope and step to the side.”
Anika Rising (Gretel Book 4) Page 21
