“Fuck, it’s cold,” Flint moaned.
He, Shiv and the soldiers Lancer and Krieg shared a fire; there were just over a dozen blazes, as many as they could light to thoroughly illuminate the area. There was still some concern that burning so many campfires would attract predators, but Cross had pointed out that they were already well past that. A group their size was impossible to hide – if something was looking for them, it was going to find them, and there was little they could do about it.
“Do you ever not complain?” Cross asked Flint with a grin. He tore open an MRE and chewed on the end, surprised to find it tasted like apples rather than shoe leather, which was more the norm.
“And watch your language,” Shiv told her father. He gave her the Don’t mess with me look Cross had come to know so well.
“Sir,” Lancer said. He was a tall lad, with wild blonde hair and a lean face. Krieg, who seemed to always be at his side, was a stocky red-headed man with a broad face and wide shoulders.
“I’m not a ‘Sir’,” Cross said. “Just a merc.”
“I know who you are, Sir,” Lancer repeated with a patient smile. “I’m making soup, if any of you would care for some.”
“That would be most welcome,” Flint said. “Because these MREs taste like ass.”
“Language,” Cross warned.
“What kind of soup?” Shiv asked.
“Minestrone,” Lancer smiled.
“Out of a bag,” Krieg said with a shake of his head. “This guy thinks he’s a chef. All he’s doing is boiling water over a fire and dumping a bag into it.”
“More than you can do,” Lancer said.
Cross smiled. He missed this good-natured ribbing and light-hearted banter in the face of such dangerous circumstances. The team used to do that, back before everything went to hell.
You destroyed them.
He shook the thought away. There was no need to go there. It wasn’t going to help anyone.
“Cross.”
Ankharra stood behind him, draped in her black cloak and looking like a shadow. It was eerie how dark the desert sky became at night. The moon shone yellow and cracked, like burnished gold.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have a minute?”
He didn’t like the notion of stepping away from the flames, but Cross nodded at the others and stood up, instantly feeling the touch of the chill wind.
“We’ll save some soup for you,” Shiv said.
“She will,” Flint said.
“I love you, too,” Cross said, and he stepped away with Ankharra.
Smoke from the fires filled the air. Cross spied a pair of bald hills to the southwest, backlit by the last rays of the dying sun.
“The rail station is close,” Ankharra said. They walked the perimeter of the camp, just at the outskirts of the illumination.
“It’s closer than I thought it was,” he said.
“It’s still at least a two hour hike,” she said. They passed a pair of sentries, one of many small groups working in shifts to keep them safe through the night. “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor?”
Cross laughed quietly. “Sure. Not like I could refuse.”
“Of course you could,” she said, and she looked at him. Her jade eyes were penetrating and deep. “You’re not under contract here, and you don’t report to us.”
“But me and my people are ‘hitching a ride’, just like Wiley and his happy team of surveyors,” Cross said. He stopped walking. “You know I still consider myself part of the military. I know no one else does…but I do.”
“Then why did you leave?” she asked.
Cross hesitated. “It’s complicated.”
“Things usually are,” Ankharra said with her honey sweet accent, almost British, but not quite. “And yet at the same time they’re not. It’s all a matter of how you break things down. Back home the Maloj are free, and who knows what kind of damage they’ve already done. And while I don’t think you or I or anyone is capable of doing anything special to stop them on our own, I still feel compelled to get back as soon as we can so we can help.”
“Yeah,” Cross said. “I feel the same way.”
“But until we get back, there’s nothing we can do,” she said. “So it’s simple: we get home. Doing that may be complicated, but our goal isn’t.” She started walking again. “I understand things get very complicated in Nezzek’duul. My parents didn’t like to talk about this place, but I still got the impression that the direct approach is not always best here.”
“What are you getting at?” Cross asked. “Speaking of not taking the direct approach.” To his surprise, Ankharra smiled.
“I’d like you take a small group ahead to the rail station. I have no idea what to expect in terms of a reception. Chances are the people there will mostly be workers, maybe supported by some soldiers or even a mage. But if what we’re going to find is that they’re going to turn us away or even take a violent reaction to our being here…”
“Then it’s better for that reaction not to be against the entire group,” Cross said with a nod. “But it’s okay if the hired help gets shot.”
Ankharra gave him a look. “That’s not…”
“I know, I know,” Cross said with a smile, hoping he meant it. “It makes sense. I’ll only take a few people.”
“Shiv should probably stay here,” Ankharra said, and that gave Cross pause. She sounded sincere – it was a reasonable request, after all, to keep a child out of harm’s way, and neither she nor Flint had any business going on ahead – and yet something about it seemed out of place. Shiv was the Kindred, after all, a rare and powerful new form of mage. They’d already seen what she could do. If the Ebon Cities or any foreign power got their hands on her it could spell disaster.
And with Dani and Ronan away on another mission…
No. That was absurd. They could be back any time, and he wasn’t going to believe Ankharra would be setting him up for a fall or maneuvering him so she could get her hands on Shiv. It was the sign of an exhausted mind, just a bunch of nonsense generated by his paranoid and sun-baked brain.
The direct approach is not always best here.
“Her father would skin me alive if I tried to take her with me,” he laughed. “I’d never let anything put her in danger.”
Ankharra nodded. “Good. I wish we had some mages to send with you, but since Creasy and Black both went to find Laros it looks like I’m the only one left. Take two or three men and set out in the morning.”
“Sounds good,” he said with a nod, and he watched her as she walked back towards her fire, a small blaze near the center of the collected camp. Cross stood in the cold, his cloak pasted against his body by the hard wind.
He tried to tell himself he was just being paranoid, that fatigue was making him jump at shadows. It didn’t work.
He returned to the campfire. The wooden bowl they handed him burned against his hands, but he relished every moment of the contact and every minute spent around the flame. The group didn’t talk as much now that they were eating, and the sounds of nearby conversation were largely muffled by the black wind, but for a short time Cross enjoyed sitting in good company, with hot food and a good fire.
The group that would travel ahead to the rail station comprised of Cross, Reza and Wiley. Reza seemed surprised Cross didn’t want to bring along more, and both she and Wiley seemed surprised he’d asked the surveyor along.
“You were bitching about being left out of the important stuff,” Cross said. “We’re going to scout ahead and investigate a rail station that appears to actually be in use. I thought it might be handy to have you along.”
“For…what?” Wiley asked, equal parts annoyed and taken aback. “Are you lacking enough Red Shirts around here, or something?”
“It’s an unexplored area,” Cross explained. “You can help us map it out. Creasy also told me his spirit saw something like survey crews at the rail station. Could be they’re looking to do some work ou
t in this area.”
“Again, this has what to do with me?” Wiley said bitterly. His round glasses reflected the sunlight.
“I wanted to bring a surveyor along,” Cross said. “You seem to be in charge, so I nominated you, because I’m so enchanted by your company.” Wiley didn’t seem to have an answer for that. Cross had to give him credit, though – Wiley could have easily sent one of his subordinates in his place, but he didn’t.
They gathered up enough supplies for a day, though the station was only a couple of hours out. The soldiers and civilians readied themselves for what they hoped would only be a short day’s march; they’d leave an hour or so after the advance team to give them time to make contact.
Cross gave Shiv a hug. He held on a little longer than usual, and she noticed.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. He looked at her, and smiled. “When this is all over, I want to get you and your dad set up in Thornn. That’s where the team lives. I own a little flat there I think you two would like.”
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“We own a small manor.”
“You all live there?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Those of us who are left.”
“I like the manor better,” she said.
“And how could you possibly know that, since you haven’t even seen it?” Cross asked with a smile.
“I know everything,” she said plainly. She tried to hold back her laughter, but she couldn’t, and Cross laughed with her.
Cross nodded at Flint. “See you soon.”
“Take care of yourself,” Flint said.
“You, too.” Cross caught sight of Lancer, and pulled the young man aside. “Hey…Lancer…can you do me a favor?” he asked.
“Sure,” Lancer said with a nod.
“Can you keep an eye on Flint and Shiv for me? I hate not being around when we’re in dangerous territory like this.”
Lancer nodded. He seemed genuinely pleased. “It would be my pleasure, Sir.”
“Eric,” Cross said. “Every time you call me sir, I actually feel my age.”
Thin streams of smoke billowed from some device at the railway station. Metallic chugging echoed through the yellow sky, and the kindling scent of the desert was undercut by a diesel stench. Cross heard the faint murmur of voices, buried beneath the din of machines.
After two hours the three-person team came across deep ditches in the earth, unnatural holes dug in the rust red landscape. They’d nearly reached the station. The air was dry, and Cross tasted the heat and sweat in the back of his mouth. He couldn’t imagine how people could make lives in this arid land.
He did know with some certainty that Wiley would be lucky if he survived the trip. The man complained constantly, even more than Flint, whose good-natured gripes were usually more amusing than annoying, and more often than not were meant in jest to take everyone’s minds off of bigger problems. Wiley was a different story – when it wasn’t the heat it was his feet, and when it wasn’t his feet it was the general state of the Southern Claw. Eventually it was Reza who threatened to shoot him if he didn’t shut up.
“That’s the military’s answer to everything,” Wiley said with a sad shake of his head. “Do what we say, or we’ll shoot you in the face.”
“If not for the military, you wouldn’t even be alive,” Reza said bitterly. “Keep on bitching about how we do things and maybe you’ll find yourself without us.”
“That’s the problem,” Wiley said. “You can’t expect a militocracy to be efficient, because all you’re concerned with is protection and fighting. There’s no working government, and no voice of the people. The White Mother says it, the White Council conveys it, we do it. Assuming there really is a White Mother.”
“Man, you are off your fucking gourd,” Reza said.
“In times of crisis it’s sometimes necessary for the military to take command,” Cross interjected. “Once the threat passes, they hand control over to someone more qualified to rule.”
They saw the steeply angled buildings of the railway station less than a mile away. Cross figured they’d been spotted by now, and it would only be a matter of time before any soldiers stationed there approached. Or fired on them.
“You actually think that’s going to happen?” Wiley said. “Give me a break. Look, don’t get me wrong – I’m thankful to be alive, and my brother is thankful to be alive. But it’s been twenty-five years. The fighting isn’t going to stop. Don’t you think it’s time we established some sort of real government, not just take orders from a white fairy princess no one has ever even seen?!”
“People have seen her,” Reza said.
“Have you?” Wiley asked.
“No.”
“Do you know anyone who has?” he pressed.
Reza hesitated. “No.”
“Case in point.”
“So you’re saying she doesn’t exist?” Reza bit back. She was getting angry, but Cross knew nothing would come of it. Ronan spoke highly of the young soldier, and from what Cross had observed she was reliable and professional, even if she did have a bit of a temper.
“I’m not one to say either way,” Wiley said. “But doesn’t it seem strange that we’re all taking orders from an intangible supernatural creature that you or I or anyone is hard-pressed to prove is real?”
“No,” Cross said. “And I’ll tell you why, Wiley – because we’re still alive. I may not agree with some of what the White Council or the Southern Claw does, but they’ve gotten us this far. That has to be worth some…”
A shot rang out and echoed into the sky. Dirt flew up just ahead of them, and everyone came to a dead stop.
“Did someone just shoot at us?” Wiley asked.
Another bullet struck the ground, closer this time. Cross looked ahead and saw a pair of silhouettes behind some sandbags at the edge of the station.
“Put your hands up,” Cross said. Reza was already making the motion, and Wiley shot his arms straight up like he expected to fly. “Don’t shoot!” Cross shouted.
“Do they speak our language?” Reza said.
“Shit,” Cross said. “I didn’t think about that. Hopefully they have a mage.”
“And why would that be a good thing?!” Wiley barked.
“Because mage’s spirits can translate speech, and that would be a hell of a lot better than waving our arms around and playing charades.”
“Why doesn’t that work with the Lith?” Reza asked.
“Because they don’t actually speak, so there’s nothing to translate,” Cross answered. “And I’ve never known a mage who can read minds.”
“This is fascinating, really…WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?!” Wiley yelled.
Another shot struck the ground just ten feet ahead, throwing up chunks of rock and sand.
“You are going to shut the hell up before you get us killed!” Reza barked.
Cross tried to make out who was shooting. There was some commotion up ahead, just past a low perimeter of squat buildings next to what looked like a bilge pump or a drill. A wind turbine spun in place at the western edge of the camp, and the dull hum of electricity pulsed through the air.
He felt a chill run up his spine, accompanied by a cold and bitter wind. Cross recognized the presence of a female spirit as it licked against him with her spiny ethereal tongue. She wound her way up around his back and gently pushed, indicating that they should walk forward. Cross nodded at the others, and the three of them slowly approached the station with their hands held high.
A rill ran around the edge of the camp, its waters brown and thick. An immobile train sat at the western edge of the area, and machine parts were strewn across the ground like oil-soaked carnage. Clouds of rock salt blasted up from the torn earth around the drill, which jack-hammered the soil relentlessly. The remainder of the station was filled with large tents and cook fires ringed in by abandoned buildings and old pieces of mining and construction equipment, including
some very archaic looking rail carts. The railroad ran straight through the area, but everything aside from the train itself looked unfinished.
At least a dozen men wearing dust-stained overalls, thick goggles and cowls drawn over their dark faces moved about, overseeing the drill or pushing barrels and carts of machinery parts and rock. They were distracted from their work by the strangers approaching at gunpoint.
A trio of men armed with bolt-action rifles stepped away from the railway station’s main building at the north end of the camp, a long and squat structure surrounded by an extended walkway shaded from the sun by a canopy. Like the other men in the camp the soldiers had dark skin and black hair, and the scorpion insignias on their uniforms were faded by what looked to be a combination of desert sun, harsh wind and neglect. One man’s insignia was gold instead of grey, and after he barked at the gawking workers they hurriedly returned to their duties.
Cross could only speculate as to what was actually said, because as Reza had guessed their language was entirely different from Southern Claw dialect. Their words sounded dissonant, somehow harsh and melodic at once, soft at the core but sheared with bitter edges.
The soldiers carefully approached once Cross, Reza and Wiley came to within a hundred yards of the railway camp. They shouted what was almost undoubtedly an order to stop, and Cross motioned to the other two to follow his lead as he slowly lowered his rifle. The men’s uniforms were coal black long coats, tied at the waist with wide belts and set with high collars. Their tall boots crunched stones underfoot. They stood quietly, aiming their rifles, which looked as old and outdated as the rest of their gear. Cross sensed that other guns were trained on them, probably from the scouts who’d spotted their approach.
“So,” Cross said. “Hi.”
Another man stepped out from around the front of the main building. Tall and lean with scraggly black hair and a youthful face, the man’s uniform was blood red instead of black, and his armor coat was cut just below the waist. His eyes were wide and pale, and he couldn’t have been a day over twenty. Cross sensed an air of power around him, and knew immediately this was the warlock.
Chain of Shadows (Blood Skies, Book 6) Page 13
