by Pam Uphoff
Wait . . .
With women and children?
In historical period dress?
There's something odd going on here.
"Oh! Yes, that is them." The registrar frowned at the picture. "When they approached that old man about the boy, he was out in front of the shelter, arguing with a group of women. They took the man away, detained for a court appearance. The other patrollers spoke to the women. None of them were registered, likewise the children. One sensible patroller pointed out that if they came in voluntarily to be registered, there would be no arrest record, nor court appearance record. I spoke to the patroller, he said they would give them a ride to the main registry, where the old man was being taken." He shrugged. "I don't know if they'll have more information for you."
That didn't show up on my desk. Or perhaps the testing is still going on. Perhaps I can talk to some of these . . . oddities.
"Thank you, sir. I'll check into that, and pass your identification of these trespassers to the proper authorities."
Chapter Three
2 Rajab 1397 Year of the Prophets
Rangpur
"Oh?" Ra'd leaned casually against the wall, next to the fruit stall. "And where would they go for that?"
He'd been a scout for years before he was allowed to fight with the soldiers. Gossiping with the men was easy. Looking unconcerned was hard. I can't believe that the women were persuaded to register the children. Why didn't they wait to hear how it went for me? Fine for the women and girls, but the boys are in danger.
What hideous perversion could cause this . . . perversion?
"Oh, this batch of police were from the downtown district, they gave them a ride to the district office, mostly to make sure they did all get registered. How far back in the hills did you lot live?"
"Far." Ra'd saw the location of the district office in the man's mind and pushed away from the wall. "I suppose I'd better try and find them." He wiggled through the crowd, and picked up the pace. The press of people bothered him, but he'd seen worse, and coped with that too. Being young and slender, and trained, he slipped around and between people. Projecting ahead of himself a soft gentle suggestion of moving aside. It was enough to almost run, so long as one did not insist on a straight line.
"Stop screeching woman, and make some sense!"
Ra'd heaved a breath of relief. When he'd circled back carefully to the temple where they'd been staying, he'd found the entire group gone. Isakson arrested—no surprise there, the man was a Warrior. Bred, born and trained to fight. Touchy as any damned Arab, Father always said. But he fights like the Wolf. No, it was the boys that had worried Ra'd. And with the district buildings on one side of the square, and the temple on the other . . .
He stayed back a bit, out of sight, in case this "temple," these "priests," were looking for him.
He could hear A'ishsa's voice. "They took Abbas for testing, and didn't bring him back. They said he was 'old enough' but they wouldn't say what for or when they would return him to me."
Ra'd cursed under his breath. I should have raced back as fast as possible. Warned them! Why did I think it clever to lay low overnight? He shoved through the last of the crowd. "They won't return him. They want everyone with the man's gene of the prophets to be priests."
Isakson straightened, and released A'isha's arm. "Priest? The boy will be a warrior."
A snort from behind. "The time for warriors is past. Now we have the Peace of the One, and the boy will become a part of the One."
Isakson spun to confront the man. "What blather is this. The boy is too young to make such a choice. Ask him when he is grown."
"That is too late."
Ra'd thumped Isakson's arm. "Stop arguing. We have to get him back quickly." He stared at the priest, soft faced and meek in his robes. "Where is he?"
"That is no longer your concern." He started to turn away, and Ra'd grabbed his arm and jerked him back. Stared deep into his eyes. "Where. Is. Abbas." He pushed a spell to compel the truth and felt it skitter across the eunuch's mental shield.
"Isakson, help me. There's no time! They castrate the priests."
Isakson's hand snapped out and closed on the priests neck. "Is this true?" He was looking deep into the man's eyes and that spell ripped though barriers.
"Of course. It aides the magic, makes the priests stronger."
Isakson hissed. "Where is Abbas."
"On the train. They just caught it."
"Where are they going?" Ra'd cut in.
"Makkah, of course. Well, Kolkata first, to catch the express to Karachi. Then they'll take a plane to Ar Riyad. And the train to Makkah."
Isakson tightened his grip. His voice fell to an icy whisper. "If the boy's been harmed, I will return and kill every priest in this city." He flung the priest away. He turned and eyed Ra'd.
Ra'd nodded. "Let's go get him." His eyes fell on the vehicles of the police, across the square. "If we can get out of town, perhaps we can get to Kolkata before they catch the next train."
"Yes."
The siren did little to clear traffic, but an occasional panic spell helped and then they were out of the city and careening down a road labeled N5, dodging slower vehicles.
The towns were a nightmare. Ra'd was pretty sure they didn't run down any people. Fruit . . . who cared. Stack of lumber . . . car still ran . . . The Padma River dead ahead, and they had to veer to get to the nearest bridge. A parallel bridge for trains . . .
"There's a train ahead. Catch up." Ra'd stared. Pulled his head back in. "It looks like a passenger train. Allah! I wish Abbas had grasped the power. How will we know if he is on this train?" He stuck his head back out. The spell for distance vision . . . They caught up to the last car . . . the second car . . . third . . . a pale face pressed against the window, eyes widening suddenly. Could the boy recognize him from a couple hundred meters?
Ra'd jerked his head back inside. "Yes! Abbas is in the third carriage from the end. Now we need to find the nearest train station and get aboard! Drive, Isakson! We must get ahead of them."
They passed another carriage. Shot off the bridge. Road and tracks diverged. Isakson snarled and careened around a truck. Curved further from the train.
"There! A railroad sign, turn right." Ra'd clung to the door and prayed the car wouldn't overturn. More traffic, more damned people . . . Another sign. The station. Isakson didn't bother parking. He hit the brakes and leaped out, running for the platform. Ra'd slammed the gear lever into neutral and hauled on the hand brake. He threw himself out of the car in time to see the train on a central track not stopping . . . and the pedestrian bridge across the four tracks to the platform on the far side . . . and Isakson halfway up the stairs, running . . . climbing the safety fence and leaping . . .
He had to have used magic. But even so, the momentum of the train defeated him. He rolled off. Staggered to his feet and ran for the platform. Ra'd leaped behind the wheel reached for the gear shift . . . and the engine died. His eyes fell on the fuel gauge . . . empty.
Ra'd climbed back out of the car and watched the train dwindling in the distance. Heard Isakson's running feet.
"Hey! You! You cannot park there."
Ra'd turned around. A district patroller, irate expression fading into caution as he took in the police markings under the filth that coated the vehicle. Some sort of odd vegetation was wrapped around the lights . . . behind him, a sparkling clean new car, engine running, door open.
"Sleep!" Ra'd put all his power behind the spell and walked past the man as he folded up. Ra'd drove carefully around him before reaching for the opposite door and opening it. Isakson threw himself into the seat. Ra'd floored the gas pedal.
"Look for a map. We need to get to Kolkata as fast as possible." He hit the highway again, turned and raced southward.
Chapter Four
2 Rajab 1397 Year of the Prophets
Rangpur
The city square was in an uproar. The assault on a Priest! The theft of a police car!
Izzo shoved the picture of the reinactor group in front of various faces, getting multiple recognitions.
The staff in the registrar's office were quite certain. "Screeching Arabs, the lot of them! No manners, and no grasp of the honor of having a priest in the family, and all three of the much younger boys will be priests as well. And Withiones, every single one of them! Hard to believe, four priests in one family!"
Izzo sighed. "There'd be a whole lot more of that if the temple would stop castrating every boy they get their hands on. No wonder they're running out of 'recruits,' as they call them."
The woman gawped.
"Now . . . where is this ten year old boy, right now?"
"The priests took him to Makkah, of course."
"By airplane?"
"Train." She gave Izzo a disapproving frown. "Our airport is small. The express train to Kolkatta is nearly as fast. Then, depending on the schedules, the bullet train or airplane, I suppose."
"You don't like flying?"
"One Adgi is frightened of them. Usually he takes the bullet train to Karachi and then he has to fly to Ar Riyad, whether he likes it or not."
"Thank you. And the women?"
"They left, still screeching."
Outside the police were organizing themselves into cars. Izzo's young patroller looked around. "The women and children are all at the train station. They've been accused of using undue magical influence."
Izzo joined him, squeezed into the back of a squad car. The women are all Withiones . . . and do they have a high portion of non-insertion prophets' genes as well? Undue influence may be a serious understatement. Who are these people?
Other than long gone. The police commed the police at the next scheduled stop to detain the whole family. Izzo bought a ticket for the next express and paced for nearly an hour.
Consternation from the police when they received word that the family was not on the train.
Izzo bit his lip. Gone, or under an illusion? He boarded his train, tapping away at instructions for additional genetic testing. Starting with whether they have the old radiation damage that everyone in this world has . . . but the people from Comet Fall lack.
He ran the surveillance vid again. Period clothing and weapons from the third century. Utilitarian clothing. Smoke and sweat stained. Halfway through the Wars of Unification. The Prophet Nicholas had died at Fort Ranpur, leaving only nineteen of the original thirty-five New Prophets of the One True God still alive. Back then, the One was how they spoke of Allah, not the Hive Mind . . . Back then, the Prophets and the strongest of their grandchildren formed the Grand Compass when a great feat of magic was needed.
Izzo push aside the heretical thought that the One was just a 'stuck' compass. Magicians unable to disentangle their individual minds. Pulling in new priests to replace the old, still stuck after a thousand years. He shuddered and refused to think about it further.
But this group stepping out of nowhere . . . as if stepping out of the past . . . with no comprehension of how the modern ID system worked . . . no idea of what would happen to a teenager or a ten year old with the priest gene . . .
Of course all the grade B vids had heroes with Bags of the Prophets that could hold huge amounts of material, and even people and animals and food in some sort of suspended animation . . .
But surely not for eleven centuries. Perhaps Comet Fall failed to distinguish between fiction and reality in the vids they watched. It's not like they grew up with vids. Do they care so little for children they would use them as cover, to look more normal?
It was less than four hundred kilometers to Kolkata geographically, but well over that by the route the train took. And while it was an express, it was not a bullet train. It was a seven hour trip. He arrived ten minutes after the train the women were on had arrived.
While they were still haranguing the ticket clerk about how to get to Makkah.
Izzo walked up, trying to look harmless. He stood next to a group of women and children and craned his neck as if to try to see what the fuss was.
"I know we can't get a train all the way, you stupid man. Tell me what works." Two women looking confrontational.
Izzo couldn't hear the man's quieter reply, something about Karachi . . . The group he was near, four women, one juggling twin infants, two toddlers, two more under ten, and a girl fast closing in on her teen years. He looked down as the boy bumped him, trying to look though the people ahead.
"Two women are being a bit rude." Izzo told him.
The boy nodded. "Mama's worried."
"Umm. How old are you?"
"Almost eight."
"Ah, when were you born?"
"Yusef. The fifteenth of Yusef 257."
Izzo choked. I was right.
The almost teenager's head whipped around. "Right about what?" Suspicious tones; she hauled the boy away from him. "What did you tell him?"
"My birthday."
"How did that happen?" Izzo eyed the girl and then the women who were starting to pay attention. "I've heard of bags of holding, or bags of the prophets . . . The Prophet Nicholas was there, wasn't he? Is that old man him?"
"No. That's my dad." The boy was frowning at him.
The girl glared. "Daddy's dead. Nicholas. All the men died except Isakson and Ra'd. Daddy ordered them into the bag with us."
A sob from one of the women. "It was just six days ago!"
Izzo stood in shock. Six days ago they were in the middle of a war. A battle. Their husbands and fathers died. And now some bloody stupid priest has kidnapped one of their children.
"Isakson and Ra'd are soldiers?"
Women stiffened. "You will not speak so disrespectfully of a Warrior of the One. He is the Son of Isak and grandson of Hugo."
"And Ra'd . . . " Izzo felt breathless. "He was described as a teenage boy."
"My brother is nearly sixteen. He's trained." Tears flowed down the girls face. "Nicholas is our father. You! You knew about him! You're one of them!" She launched herself at Izzo, maybe fifty pounds of fury.
Her first blow was a simple punch to the stomach. It bent him over, knocked him off his feet and rolled him over.
Make that fifty pounds of fury and uncontrolled, untrained magic.
He rolled away from two kicks and still caught the hard furious push effects. He crashed off the platform, frantically looking to see if a train was coming, no, and took a moment to catch his breath, and scramble up a shield before he peeked over the edge. The locals were giving him fishy looks, and the women and children were gone. He hoisted himself over the edge carefully, a bit dizzy. Had he hit his head, or was that something else the girl had done?
He stood up . . . they'd been getting directions for a train to Karachi . . . Izzo paused. No. I don't need to go to Karachi after the women. I need to get to Makkah before two Warriors of the One straight out of the history books—with no knowledge of the One, no sympathy for the Priests who have kidnapped a boy and are threatening to castrate him—get there. I need an airplane.
He pulled out his comm. A jag of black shot across the screen it hissed, beeped, faded. Dead. Note to self. Never get that girl mad at you.
He staggered out of the station and hailed a taxi. "Airport."
Chapter Five
3 Rajab 1397 Year of the Prophets
Karachi
The fat man who had located information on flights from Karachi to Ar Riyad, and paid for two tickets for them, snored.
Ra'd wanted to pace, forced himself to sit. Isakson was in a meditative trance, sleeping and regaining energy. The airborn waitresses had provided plenty of atrocious food. Ra'd subdued his terror and fury, surely, surely whoever ruled in Makkah now would not harm a boy who was the grandson of one prophet and great grandson of another. They swore by the prophets, he'd heard them. But did that denote respect? What the hell sort of world had his father fought and died for?
He leaned back, and finally let the chaotic scramble of the last day catch up.
&nb
sp; And woke up when the plane jolted and touched down.
They returned the "comm" of the fat gentleman, after he pointed it at a machine and it spat out the two chips they needed for the next flight.
They'd stolen the chips for the first one, and magicked the machines that were searching for their identification. Which they did again. And one could hardly claim the ticket chips were legally acquired this time, either.
Theft, stealing, stranding people. All the damage we did to things to get this far. We're going to be the rebels of this new world . . . or perhaps criminals. So much for the Warriors of the One True God.
So long as we retrieve Abbas unharmed.
Otherwise there will be no doubt about where we stand with this pack of perverts.
They checked the time and bought a slightly better class of food, again making the clerk think he'd been paid, on their way to the Ar Riyad flight.
And after we have rescued Abbas, what the hell are we going to do? Makkah is a dead end where we can be easily trapped.
He boarded the plane, found his seat and started his meditation exercises. He was going to need all his mental strength tomorrow.
Chapter Six
3 Rajab 1397 Year of the Prophets
Ar Riyad
Izzo'd had just enough time in the airport to buy a new comm and spent the flight talking on it, and trying to think of someone else to call and warn. Director Agra and Senior Analyst Efge had been apprised. Please act on my recommendations! Urfa had been informed of the situation. Xiat was on her way to Karachi, and should beat the women and children there. If not, the local police ought to have been apprised of the situation and would—carefully—keep the women and children there and out of any confrontations in Makkah.
A pleasant voice had answered the number Xiat had given him, to try to contact the One. Whoever was on the far end of his connection had listened to him, and then thanked him with no indication whatsoever as to what he, she, or it might or might not do.
