Shadows

by William A. Webb

  Tanavuna pressed himself against the left side of the opening, while Unaa and Ammaii did the same on the right. They aimed their rifles through the doorway and fired several rounds in case the J’Stull tried to follow them up.

  “You should have let me kill them!” Unaa said, between heaves that were half gasps and half sobs. “I could have—”

  Tanavuna cut him off. “He is beyond our help now. We will honor him later. Now we must find a way to get back down there.”

  “They must have to come back this way to leave,” Ammaii said.

  Tanavuna was about to risk a glance below when a voice caught his attention.

  “There may be another way out.”

  “Who said that? Where are you?”

  “I am behind the vehicle to your right. I am armed, so please do not try to attack me. I am not your enemy, but I will defend myself.”

  “If you are not our enemy, why are you hidden?”

  “Forgive me, but merely because I know that I’m not your enemy, does not mean that you will agree.”

  Tanavuna held his rifle steady but had to admit the man’s words made sense.

  “What did you mean there could be another way out?” Ammaii said. “Are there more tunnels below?”

  “There are tunnels throughout this plateau and this region. Some are naturally made, some are not. The water which runs through the wall around the Inner City is said to come from a spring that flows beneath us, and I do know there are other tunnels down there. They might connect to passages leading out of the city.”

  “I cannot make a plan based on mights and maybes,” Tanavuna said.

  “I know not why you are here,” the voice said. “But we may have common cause.”

  Tanavuna had heard enough to notice the stranger’s accent was distinct from natives of the region, with a more precise pronunciation of each word than was usual around Imsurmik.

  Ammaii started to say something, but Tanavuna waved him to silence. “Perhaps we do. Tell us your name.”

  “I am Yukannak.”

  Of all the names Tanavuna expected to hear, that was the most surprising.

  “The silci for the satrap?”

  “He is me, and I am he.” He spoke the words in a different dialect, one that somehow added weight to them. “But I am more than that; I am Kulsian.”

  “That is…why should I believe you?”

  “Why should you not?”

  That stopped Tanavuna cold. Why shouldn’t he? The bizarre nature of the encounter lent credence to it being the truth…unless it was a trap. But if that were so, why alert them to his presence? Yukannak, if that’s really who he was, could have just shot them.

  “What do we have to offer the silci?” Tanavuna said, trying to stretch out the conversation for time to think.

  “Sanctuary.”

  * * *

  “Sanctuary,” Yukannak said. He knew better than to drag out the parley.

  “How can I give you sanctuary? There are only three of us.”

  “You are with the Offworlders. I wish to join them.”

  “You’re a defector?”

  Relying upon the clarity of insight that had kept him alive for so many years—years when others died because they couldn’t maintain the delicate balance of lies required for survival in Kulsian power-politics—Yukannak knew that whatever he said to these three now could be rationalized later. “Yes, I am a defector.”

  “Come out, then, but make no sudden moves; I will not hesitate to kill you.”

  Yukannak emerged with his hands raised, and he kept a close watch on their faces. Their suspicious expressions confused him until he remembered that he wore no paint and only a simple, unadorned robe intended for use in his private quarters. Nor were his boots of the quality expected from the satrap’s silci. “Do not judge me by my appearance; I was asleep when your attack began.”

  “You look like a beggar, not a friend of the satrap. Tell me something to convince me you are who you say you are.”

  “The F’ahdn is dead.”

  “That might or might not be true; I have no way of knowing.” The gun barrel inched sideways to point at Yukannak’s chest. He instinctively sensed that the time for keeping his options open had come to a close. He had to choose now or risk being shot.

  “The man below is Subitorni, commander of the J’Stull contingent in Imsurmik. He killed the F’ahdn, with the intention of replacing him.”

  “Get over here,” the obvious leader of the three men said. Once against the wall, Yukannak was instructed to sit with his legs crossed and hands behind his head. “I know who Subitorni is. It sounds to me like Subitorni would be our ally.”

  The speaker was immediately to his left, blocking his view of the other man on the far side of the door, but Yukannak didn’t need to see him to know that when he started to speak and was cut off by his leader, there were lies in that statement.

  “Then kill me now,” Yukannak said, playing the gambit he knew would be necessary at some point. He hoped his voice was steady. “If you know that, you must also know about the archive…and the rest of it.”

  The leader didn’t try to conceal his surprise. In the tangled world of the Kulsians, where nothing was ever as it seemed, such an honest reaction would have been viewed with suspicion. But such practiced duplicity had no place among the militias of the Greens and the Ashbands, where trust was considered the most valuable currency.

  “What is this archive?” the militia leader asked.

  One of the other men leaned into the doorway and squeezed off two rounds. The leader looked at him over his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow in an unspoken question.

  “Just in case,” the man answered.

  “I only heard of it recently,” Yukannak said. “The person who spoke of it is dead now, but he had no more knowledge than that term. Since then, I have thought much of what it could be, and, in truth, I came here looking for it. Your attack on the city was my chance to roam without being seen.”

  “If you’re silci for the satrap, why didn’t you ask the F’ahdn?”

  “The F’ahdn has kept this secret from the satrap for a reason. If I asked about it—”

  “He’d have cut your pretty throat.”

  “Or worse. Do you have a name?”

  “I am Lieutenant Tanavuna, hetman of Nuthhurfipiko.”

  “Why do you seek this archive?”

  “I seek my wife, not this archive. My village was attacked by the J’Stull, and she was taken. I believe Subitorni has her or knows where she is being kept. What is its meaning?”

  “It is not a common word in your language, but in mine, which is closer to the original Ktoran, it means a protected or special collection of objects. Most often books or other records.”

  “Records of what?”

  “I do not know. That is what I came here to discover. So, the Offworlders attacked Imsurmik to get your wife back?”

  Tanavuna inhaled three times before answering. “No. My mission is to capture high value targets in Imsurmik.”

  “And have you found any?”

  “It seems I just did.”

  * * *

  The sound of movement came out of the stairwell. Tanavuna nodded at Ammaii, but Unaa jumped toward the entrance first, determined to avenge his brother. The older man caught him with one hand and threw him back, then he and Tanavuna pivoted; each fired two rounds into the darkness. Cursing rewarded their effort, but that didn’t get Tanavuna any closer to the bottom, or to Kesteluni. Rushing down the stairs would likely get them all killed. What they needed were explosives, and Major Moorefield could probably supply them. But the same explosions that would surely kill the J’Stull might also kill Kesteluni, assuming she was down there.

  Nor was it a standoff. If Tanavuna’s sense of direction hadn’t failed him, the tunnels opening into the chamber from the south led toward the Outer City, and the man who claimed to be the silci said there were more further below. There might be another way to reach t
he foot of the stairs using a different tunnel, but Unaa, Ammaii, and he were too small and vulnerable a team to leave the stairs and roam in search of possible tunnels on the chance they might find one that brought them to the complex below. If Subitorni probed the staircase again, he’d find it undefended. He’d slip away with Kesteluni, and Tanavuna would never know it. Cutter might have encountered something similar during his first war, but he wasn’t there to tell Tanavuna what to do.

  Then there was the matter of what to do with Yukannak. The handheld radio hadn’t worked since they’d gone underground. According to the mission instructions, he should leave the chamber and deliver the silci to Cutter or Moorefield immediately. But that would mean abandoning any chance of rescuing his wife, if Kesteluni was down those stairs. And that was unacceptable. So that left only one alternative…

  “Unaa, you are going to escort this man to the nearest friendly unit. There you will turn him over to the ranking soldier and report the existence of the entrance and all the tunnels we have passed through in coming here.”

  “No!” the younger man yelled, his neck veins distending. “I am not going! I mean to kill those who killed Kuun!”

  Tanavuna’s patience only went so far when someone challenged his authority. As the hetman’s son, he had learned from an early age the difference between empathy and weakness. Had the doorway not stood between them, with a J’Stull possibly standing at the bottom with a rifle aimed on the opening, he would have thrown Unaa against the wall. As it was, he let the anger loose in his voice.

  “What you are going to do is obey your hetman and superior officer! Because of your youth and the death of Kuun, I will overlook your insubordination, but I will not do so again. You will obey my orders, otherwise I will consider it a personal challenge. Is that what you wish?”

  A personal challenge to the hetman was not simply a private matter; it was a statement of the challenger’s intent to replace the hetman, and it meant a fight to the death.

  Unaa bowed his head, sullen. “No.”

  “Good. This matter is over and forgotten.” Tanavuna turned to the stranger. “Listen carefully, Yukannak. I have to get word to my commander about this unknown passage and the J’Stull who are trying to escape, but we cannot hold this staircase with less than two. You will go with Unaa. As you can see, he would like to shoot anyone who is allied with those who killed his brother. Should you attempt to escape, he will be under orders to shoot you. He will shoot to kill. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” the silci answered. “I will not betray you.”

  Tanavuna ignored him. “More of our men should be in the tunnel coming from the cache site. Unaa, once you have delivered this man safely, find one of the sergeants and tell him to come right away with his whole squad. Then find Captain Cutter. He should be somewhere in the Outer City.”

  “Cutter. That is a strange name,” Yukannak said.

  “That is not your concern. Unaa, brief the captain on our situation and tell him he must move to block any tunnels on the southern wall of the plateau that exit to the Outer City. Those may be escape routes.”

  Unaa turned away, but Tanavuna could hear the scowl in his voice when he said, “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Go now.”

  Unaa circled behind the closest truck to avoid showing himself in the doorway, then they took off, moving quickly. The muzzle of Unaa’s M14 never left Yukannak’s back.

  “Now,” Tanavuna said, turning to Ammaii, “let’s figure out how to get down there.”

  Ammaii nodded thoughtfully. “I believe I have an idea.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 15

  Ammaii backed along the wall to get a running start and was past the doorway in two steps. No bullets came for him. He stalked toward the two mechanics they had tied up. He stopped beside a pile of small barrels stacked against one wall. He touched a smudge near a plug on one of them and rubbed the oily compound between his fingers to smell it. He wiped the residue on his robe, approached the mechanics, and crouched to remove the cloth stuffed into the mouth of the nearest one. Tanavuna watched as best he could, while listening for anyone coming up the stairs.

  “Is that the fuel for your vehicles?” Ammaii said in a voice loud enough for Tanavuna to hear.

  The older mechanic had gray in his eyebrows and deep lines in his forehead, but the one he’d spoken to was little more than a boy, probably an apprentice. In answer to the question, he shook his head, eyes wide with fear.

  “Is it used by the J’Stull to make things burn?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Have you a fire-making kit?”

  “Over there,” the boy said, pointing with his head. “In that chest.”

  The older man glowered at him as Ammaii replaced the boy’s gag and retrieved the ignition kit, a long cloth, and one of the barrels. On his way back to the doorway, he grinned at them.

  “What is this?” Tanavuna said.

  Ammaii worked as he spoke, rolling the cloth into a long, thin cord. “Do you remember when I was fifteen and the J’Stull captured some of us, thinking we were marauders?”

  “Of course, I went with Father to look for you.”

  “I was still a prisoner of the J’Stull when they found the camp of the real marauders. They’d taken refuge in a rocky place that was proof against gunfire. Not even explosives could get them out. So the J’Stull brought out two small barrels exactly like this one, with the same markings.”

  Kneeling beside the barrel, Ammaii used the butt of his knife to knock out the plug. Then, coiling the cloth, he pushed it halfway into the liquid inside the barrel. “They inserted a cloth, lit it like a fuse, and threw the barrel into the rocks. It burst into a huge ball of flame and dripped through cracks but burned out fast. Afterward, the marauders looked like burned meat.

  “Once the cloth is burning, I will go halfway down the stairs, and throw the barrel to the bottom, where it will burst into flame. As it falls, I will run back out, and when the flames have died down enough, we will run back down, kill any J’Stull still alive, and rescue the shevfashli.”

  “Captain Cutter told me of something like this…what did he call it? A motov tail, I think.”

  “It is simple but effective, and by using it we will rescue the shevfashli.”

  Tanavuna laid his hand on Ammaii’s shoulder. “You’ve known Kesteluni all your life, my friend. She was Kesteluni to you long before she was the shevfashli.”

  “All the more reason to save her, then.”

  “It is far too dangerous for me to allow it, for you and for her. If she is really down there, the flames could consume her.”

  “You are not thinking straight, Tanavuna. They are not aware that Kesteluni is your wife, so they will not hold her safety as a threat against you. Indeed, and I am sad to say it, but if the F’ahdn is truly dead, and Subitorni is in revolt, then he has no reason to have kept her alive this long.” He held up his hand, stopping Tanavuna’s retort. “But if she does yet live, then he must have a reason, and then it only makes sense that he would keep her safe, away from our bullets. And so, our fire as well. And if that does not convince you, then maybe this will: I see no other choice.”

  “This is far too dangerous. Let us instead throw the container together, and then go down as the flames begin to die down.”

  Ammaii opened his mouth to argue further but stopped when a voice echoed up from below.

  “You, at the top of the stairs, this is Subitorni of the J’Stull. I have no reason to harm you, but we are coming up. If you continue to shoot, I will kill you without a second’s thought. I have fifty men at the ready.”

  “We have more than enough bullets for your men, commander.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “No, but you soon will.”

  “Let us pass. This is my last warning.”

  Striking a spark from the kit, Ammaii lit the cloth and hefted the barrel. “And here is our final word!” he said, moving through the doorway onto the st
airs.

  “No!” Tanavuna yelled. He tried to grab Ammaii but missed. Although Ammaii had planned to rush down the steps, he appeared to slip on one of the step’s slick surfaces, and he slowed. The flame had only gone halfway down the cloth when shots struck the barrel, spilling fuel all over Ammaii’s robe. A draft from below carried fumes to Tanavuna’s nose seconds before the burning cloth ignited the barrel’s spilled contents.

  Ammaii had a brief moment where he could have dropped the barrel and stripped off his burning clothes. Maybe it would have exploded at his feet, maybe it would have rolled to the bottom first. But he didn’t drop the barrel, not yet. Transfixed with horror, Tanavuna watched as the living flame that was his friend Ammaii hurried down the steps, absorbing shot after shot until he finally leapt forward at the bottom.

  The fuel exploded with a whoosh that propelled it up the stairwell.

  For a moment, time froze in Tanavuna’s mind. There was only flame, screams, and the acrid smell of the burning liquid. But, within seconds, the flames subsided enough for him to charge after Ammaii, the M14 recoiling into his shoulder as he fired round after round down the stairs. Frenzied howls reverberated off the stone, and he recognized them as his own. Sparks in the darkness marked ricochets, and he stopped firing.

  The wrap on his face helped against the smoke and fumes. With all the fuel consumed, only flickers remained, dancing atop the bodies piled at the landing, now blackened as their robes burned. One of them was Ammaii. There wasn’t time or need to check for signs of life; his friend was dead, just like his father and Kuun and all the rest. Nor could he wonder why they had to die, why any of the violence had been necessary, not in that moment. He still had to find his wife.

  Once at the bottom, a tunnel to his left went south, wide enough for two men to walk abreast. With no light that way, he couldn’t see far, but he assumed it led to other branches, levels, and probably back to the surface. On the right was another doorway which led into a square, lantern-lit room with three more openings, all leading in different directions. More J’Stull corpses lay twisted on the floor, their burned limbs drawn up, their fingers bent like claws. The silence of the dead blanketed the area and seemed to muffle the quick gasps of his breath.