by Brad R. Cook
The baron stepped forward. “We first need to learn what we don’t know. So, I would suggest some of us go and find where Kannard and the others are hiding.”
“An excellent idea.” Sinclair pointed at the baron with his cane. “Once we know what they’re up to, we can prepare our defense.”
“I will go,” the baron offered, “but, if possible, Chief Zwelethu, I would ask for a Zulu escort.”
Chief Zwelethu nodded, “I will send five of my warriors with you.”
The baron bowed. “You are most gracious, sir. Thank you.”
It wasn’t long before we left the gathering and headed back to the Sparrowhawk. My father indicated for me to go to bed, but I wasn’t sleepy and didn’t want to lie in my hammock staring at the bulkhead. I sat against the landing strut gazing between the stars hovering above, and the Zulu village below. A river of stars passed over the village, but since I wasn’t used to the southern hemisphere, all the constellations were not where I ordinarily saw them. But that didn’t diminish their beauty. Owethu walked up and I motioned for him to join me. He shook his head. “Please come with me. Someone would like to meet you.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Our Umthandazi.”
“Your shaman?” Owethu had been teaching me some of his language
Owethu led me to a hut adorned with totems, charms, and the bones of spirit animals woven into the construction of the hut and arranged around the outside.
Owethu stopped me before we entered. “This is an indumba. A sacred healing hut. I do not know why the Umthandazi wants to see you, but it is a great honor.”
I bowed my head. “I am fascinated, excited, and honored to be here.”
When we stepped inside, I was reminded of the muddaubed walls of Southwest American adobe houses. Four fire pits, each placed at the cardinal points of this circular hut, smoldered with a dark orange light as thin streams of smoke rose upward to fill the room. The Zulu woman who’d gazed at me earlier sat opposite the entry. I followed Owethu and knelt down across from her.
I started to speak, but Owethu touched my leg, so, like him, I bowed my head and remained quiet. When the woman spoke, her voice grumbled like an approaching summer storm. “Welcome, Dream Diviner.”
My eyes popped open and I raised my head to meet her penetrating stare. I opened my mouth to ask, “How did you know?” but she waved her hand and I fell silent. She leaned in closer and said, “The winds have brought me visions of you.” Then sitting back up, she said, “You have a question you want to ask.”
I didn’t know what she meant. I was here because Owethu said she wanted to meet me. Puzzled, I said, “I guess I’d like to know if we’re going to be victorious against the Milli-train?”
The woman waved her hand. “That has not yet been determined. But, that is not the question you want to ask.” She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
I looked over at Owethu, but he shook his head. I didn’t have a clue what she expected me to ask. There was one, however, something I’d always been curious about. The one question I’d had for years.
“Why is it that whenever danger is around, I am doubled over in pain?”
“A-a-a-h, there it is.” She smiled and rocked back and forth. “You are connected to the spirit world. The ancestors, they talk to you; they aid you on your journey.” She pointed to my stomach. “It’s how they warn you.”
“But why?”
“Because it is you who must face the Horsemen.”
“Me? Can’t be, Genevieve is better with a sword. Mr. Singh is better with a gun. And the baron is better at everything.”
“The lion is the greatest warrior, but can be brought down by a single thorn.”
I’ve always been a thorn. “Why me?”
“Because the visions come to you.”
The shaman stood and walked over to a small table along the back wall. There she gathered several herbs and oils, mixing them in into a bowl. A pungent aroma filled the hut. The shaman returned with the bowl in hand and knelt down before me. “Do you desire to see more?”
I’d only tried to induce a vision once before, but that was for my father. I nodded to the shaman. “I would.”
She stuck her thumb into the thick, inky substance and smeared it on my forehead. Instantly, I felt a weird sensation running throughout my body. My heart pounded. I felt faint. As my stomach began to ache, she laid me back, and I faded away before my head touched the mat.
In the pitch-black dark, the pings of hammers striking chisels echoed like a haunting wail, the rumbling of dynamite washed over me like thunder, and an eerie sensation zapped me to the core—I was not alone. In this blackest night, Zulu groaned in agony as the crack of a whip shattered souls. Fingers tore clumps of the darkness away like dirt. The sun sped across the sky, only to drop below the horizon and rise again on the other side. The streaking light revealed a large chunk of jade in the shape of a heart emerging from the earth. Inlaid gold wire gave the stone a regal appearance. Colonel Hendrix snatched the heart from the cracked dirt and yelled in triumph. I heard a monstrous roar, a mix of groaning metal and hisses of steam. A creature rose up above me and smashed down around me. It tore the Zulu village to pieces, and then turned back to me. Light shone out its eyes, and its gnarled metal teeth gaped open. An Iron Armor rushed between us and thrust an Iklwa into the beast. The armor didn’t resemble the Black Knight, but rather held the Zulu spear and shield. The monster reared up, and crashed down on me. Everything went black.
CHAPTER 37
TWO DAYS
I snapped up, drenched in sweat and breathing hard. My heart raced so fast, my entire body thundered with each beat. Firelight seeped in casting beams through the dust. The shaman was gone, but a sweet voice filled my ears.
“Welcome back. You had us worried there for a minute.” Genevieve knelt beside me and dabbed my forehead with a handkerchief.
Owethu sat on the other side of me. “What did you see?”
“Do we need to rush to the airships?” Mr. Singh asked as he stood at me feet.
“No, but the Iron Horsemen are coming and there’s something worse. I … I don’t know.” Fear gripped me and I held the words deep inside me.
“Tell us everything.” Genevieve said as she helped me sit up.
“The Knights of the Golden Circle are coming … here. What they want is close, maybe even in the village, but the Zulu are in the way and must be … eliminated.”
“We must tell the others.” Genevieve said.
Owethu stood. “They are with my father.” He stepped to the door of indambe and motioned for us to follow. “This way.”
We rushed through the village, to an immense archway, behind which lay the largest and most elaborately decorated dwelling. The walls and roof had been banded in different colors, like the brickwork of some London flats. My father, the elders of the Templars, as well as the Duke and Richard sat outside on a semi-circle of short stools, talking with Chief Zwelethu.
We walked up and everyone turned. With everyone facing me, my resolve started to waver, but the shaman’s words rung in my ear. I mattered.
“Alexander,” my father said, “I thought you were in the healing hut.”
I stepped into the center of the group and said, “I had a vision.”
The Duke rolled his eyes and said, “Come now,” he laughed. “Now the pup admits he’s mad?” Richard mirrored his father’s expression.
Chief Zwelethu raised his hand and leaned in. “Go on.”
“We have two days.”
“Until what?” Richard asked sarcastically. I ignored him and looked toward Grand Master Sinclair.
“Until the Milli-train, the Knights of the Golden Circle, and two of the horsemen arrive.” I turned to Chief Zwelethu. “Your land … your village is in their way.”
Grand Master Sinclair smacked his cane against his palm. “Exactly! The gold. I knew it.”
“We need to plan for our defense,” Eustache said.
I shook my head. “Not gold.” Everyone fell silent. The air grew heavy, thick, and the tension smothered us. “The gold is only a distraction, maybe a ruse for Kannard. They’re after a heart. One of cracked jade trimmed with gold. I’ve seen it.” My shoulders slumped. “What’s worse, I know they’ll find it.”
“What are you talking about?” Sinclair asked. “All our spies say they’re seeking gold.”
“No. When we were on the Milli-train, we saw a journal that Lord Cobblefield had procured. It belonged to Schoenbruster, a German anthropologist. In it, he described a heart made of stone, which the natives worshipped. In battle with the Zulu, it was lost. I think they are going to try to invade the village, force the Zulu to leave … so they can find the heart.”
Sinclair rapped his cane against the ground. “The Crusader’s Heart!”
“Those were destroyed,” the baron said as he pointed at the Grand Master, “at the end of the Crusades.”
I looked to my father. From the look on his face, I could tell he knew exactly what they spoke about. “What are the Crusader Hearts?” I asked.
Eustache stepped toward me, “Do you remember our conversation in my study? I spoke of the times throughout history when the horsemen have ridden again.”
I nodded. “Yes, the last time was the Spanish Armada.”
“Excellent memory,” the French nobleman said, “Well, during the Crusades, the Templar fought the Horsemen. They defeated them in the battle, but at such, they lost the war. All we really know is that in the final days of their occupation of the Holy Land, the four hearts were said to have been lost.”
“So, how did one get here?” Genevieve asked.
“We don’t know.”
My father pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, “We know the hearts on Malta represented the oldest ever made, and I remember from the readings that the Crusader Hearts were said to have been the biggest and most elaborate of the demonic urns. He must think combining the two sets will give him the most power.”
The baron slid his fingers along his chin. “And all this happens in two days?”
I took a deep breath. “If we can’t defeat them … on the third day, the sun will set forever.”
“Tres bien,” the Frenchmen said. “You have done excellent.”
“We do have one problem, however.” Sinclair tugged at his beard. “The Iron Knights are on their way, but they are three days away at the earliest.”
The Duke looked at all of us sitting here. “You mean to tell me we have a handful of airships, and these savage warriors to go up against the Milli-train, two Iron Horsemen, and Hendrix’s seasoned troops?” He shook his head, “It cannot be done. I will call in Her Majesty’s soldiers.”
“Yes, that would be good, but they, too, are more than two days away. We will do what we can and hold the line until more help arrives.” Chief Zwelethu leaned forward. “I will send word to the king of the Zulu to send all our warriors to fight these invaders. I pledge those in my service, and my son.”
I glanced over at Genevieve, who nodded. She’d been sitting there, listening, taking in everything. She’d been eyeing me with an expression I’d never seen before. I didn’t know what it meant, but right then I couldn’t focus on her. I had one more thing to share.
“Actually, there is one last part of my vision.” I wrung my hands together and avoided my father’s eyes. “The Tinkerer and Owethu are the ones who are going to save us.”
“I am?” the Tinkerer said in his thick Scottish accent.
“Yes, you’re going to build another Iron Knight—for Owethu. An Iron Zulu.”
Silence settled over everyone. Even the crackling fire seemed to hush. Owethu’s eyes grew round as saucers. Genevieve smiled, her face glowing in the firelight.
The Tinkerer’s eyes darted back and forth as his fingers pointed to an unseen list. He smiled, as solutions popped with each raises eyebrow. “If I can cannibalize one of the smaller airships, then I’ll have her done in no time. No problem.”
Suddenly, the Duke said, “Are we really going to listen to a boy?”
Before I could respond, Chief Zwelethu said, “Yes. We are.” Looking at the Tinkerer, his soft voice pulling in the silent crowd, the chief said, “Build your Iron Zulu. My son is the right choice; he connects with your mechanical world.”
“Thank you,” I said to Owethu’s father.
The chief nodded and motioned to a man standing beside him. “Send a runner immediately.”
“There is one more thing we need to know,” Eustache said. “Where is this fer coeur? The Knights of the Golden Circle must know to focus on this village. If we found it first, we would have an advantage.”
“Actually, it’s not iron, it’s jade,” I said with a shrug.
Eustache laughed and bowed. “I stand corrected.” He took me by the shoulders. “Did you see this place? Could you find it again?”
“No, but according to my dream, it must be in this village.”
CHAPTER 38
TRAIN HUNTING
Back on the Sparrowhawk and still buzzing from the vision and the Templar’s planning session, I lay in my hammock replaying the remnants of my dream. When my father walked in, he stood at the end of my hammock, leaning against the ropes, and for a moment he just stared at me. “At some point, Alexandar, we’re going to have to talk about these visions.”
I sat up. “The Zulu shaman showed me the importance of my visions.”
“From the sound of them, I would say she is right.”
Surprised, I said, “You’re not angry?”
“No.” My father nudged my leg. “I care that you are safe. These visions warn of danger, so hopefully you’ll avoid some of it.”
I got up and hugged him. He held me tight. When he let go, I slid back into the hammock. He left without another word, but then I heard him say, “He’s inside.”
Genevieve walked in and I leapt out of the hammock. My foot got caught and I stumbled with one leg dangling behind me. Hopping on my one foot, I pulled myself free.
“Hi,” I said as I awkwardly leaned against the ropes of my hammock.
She threw her arms around my neck and leaned her head on my chest. At first I was too shocked to move, but slowly I wrapped my arms around her waist. “You were incredibly brave tonight,” she said as she pulled back to see me. “What did the shaman do to you?”
“She explained my visions. Apparently, the ancestors speak to me. Through my belly.”
Genevieve giggled. “That is fascinating.”
“Then she smeared this stuff on my forehead.” I wiped my forehead and the black inky residue was still there. “She knew everything about me, even my visions.”
“Astounding,” Genevieve said, her arms still around my neck.
“I may not have the sword work of you or your father, and I might not be as rich as the Duke and Richard, but apparently I have weird, important visions.”
“I think you’re a leader,” she said with a soft smile. “A leader needs vision. Besides, you have the swagger of a captain.”
We laughed and I pulled her up against me. I never wanted to let her out of my arms. She nestled her head against my shoulder again.
From the gundeck, we heard a commotion as if someone had been knocked down, followed by “Ahhh, get away from me you overgrown bat.”
Richard.
Immediately, Genevieve pulled away from me and took a few steps back. “I have to go,” she said and headed for the door.
I followed her. As we walked out, I saw Rodin whip around Richard’s head, diving at him and then soaring off as he swatted at the dragon.
“Rodin, come here,” Genevieve said. Rodin flew back and landed on her shoulder. “Richard, what are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” He straightened his coat. Then seeing me, he glared and said, “My father extended an invitation to you and your father to stay with us. We have much finer accommodations than in this air latrine, or that savage
village.”
“They’re not savages,” I said.
Richard narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw, but I stood my ground. Genevieve, perhaps sensing a confrontation, said, “Yes, Richard, let us go.” She wrapped her arm through his and tugged him toward the gangplank. I looked at her, wanting her to stay, but she avoided my eyes.
As he started to step on the gangplank, he stopped. “Genevieve, go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
“Richard …”
“Go.”
“I am not your property!”
Richard ignored Genevieve and leaned in close to my face, “You’re as bad as these savages. You’re not special. You’re a commoner, nothing more than a—”
I punched him. A right hook to his jaw. He spun and fell against the cannon. I looked down on him and said, “They are not savages; they are Zulu.”
“Alexander!” Genevieve put her hand on the hilt of her saber.
The intensity of her expression was usually reserved for her opponents. Was she going to draw her sword on Richard—or me?
Hate in his eyes, Richard jumped back up and drew a dagger from his belt. He pointed it at me. I drew my Thumper and aimed it at his head.
“I will cut you, colonist.”
“You try and I will obliterate half your face.”
“Genevieve is mine, you unworthy ape.”
“She isn’t a prize; she’s a lady. A woman who deserves more than the likes of you. Now get off this ship before I forget I’m a fellow Etonian and not a Sky Raider.”
“Stop! Both of you … Neanderthals. I am not a prize to be fought over.” Genevieve’s voice was full of anger and frustration.
Richard turned and seemed surprised to see her. He backed away and replaced the dagger in its sheath, then sneered at me, “You’re not worth dirtying my blade.”
“You’re the savage,” I yelled as they walked away. I jammed my Thumper back in its holster and sunk down on one of the cannon.
Richard pulled free and charged back toward me, but Genevieve rushed and stepped between us. “We need to go, Richard. We need to find our fathers and discuss the battle plans.”
