Riders of the Pale Horse (20 page)

The Ingush offered Wade his hand. “The blessings of Allah upon you, healer.”

Wade accepted it in the manner of the East, barely placing pressure upon the man's fingers. “I would not do that again for all the tea in China.”

That announcement brought an extended burst of hilarity. “It is far worse for the likes of us,” said a stranger, whose own face was split in a gap-toothed grin. “We knew what it was we faced. You entered seeking only adventure.”

Wade turned around and looked up at the malevolent peaks. They were enshrouded by clouds that reached from earth to heaven's heights. Here was light and air and the comfort of new friends. There was only darkness and danger.

“The upper realms are closed for yet another year,” one spoke, his voice subdued as he too surveyed the higher reaches. “Winter has now come, and where she rules, none may enter and leave again.”

“Take, healer,” someone said, and offered him a bottle of vodka. “Give some warmth to your bones.”

“I do not drink, but thank you just the same,” Wade replied.

“If that's what I think it is,” Rogue said, walking up behind them, “I'd sure like a slug.”

The sound of a foreign tongue provoked yet more hilarity. Rogue grinned to all and sundry, took a long belt from the bottle, roared his satisfaction as he passed it on, and received back-thumping laughter in return.

“Ask your friend what he thinks of the Russian highways now,” someone said.

“Not a bad stroll in the park,” Rogue replied when Wade had translated. “Coupla times I thought I might have to grow wings real fast.”

Wade noticed the Ingush driver standing beyond the group's edge and motioning to him. Wade excused himself and walked over. “Your wife?”

“She is better, thanks be to Allah. I wish to tell you, healer, there is a border station up ahead.”

“I have seen the flag.”

“Indeed, the Russian dogs who guard this side are eager to rob all who are not seen as regular travelers. Their bribes are heavy at the best of times, but strangers bearing two laden trucks and western papers will be picked to the bone.”

Wade sobered. “What would you suggest?”

“We are seven trucks,” the man replied. “Join with us, near the middle, and let two of us drive. We will declare no more than usual, and you can pay your share of the bribes.”

“Wait here,” Wade said and turned back to find Rogue's piercing gaze holding steady upon him. At Wade's gesture Robards slipped from the group and joined them.

“It's a risk,” Robards said when Wade told him of the man's offer, “that they'll save us from the Russians and rob us themselves.”

Wade did not disagree. “Even if they don't, we'll pay more than our share of the bribes.”

“So what do you think, Sport?”

“I say go with them,” Wade replied. “You ride in one truck, Mikhail in the other, and I'll hide out in back with the Russians.”

“Sounds good.” Robards inspected him with a grin. “Wish you could hear yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It's been coming on so slowly, you haven't noticed it, have you?”

“Noticed what?”

“You're growing up,” Robards replied. “Getting confidence in yourself.”

Wade took a step back. “That's silly.”

“Sure it is.” Robards turned back to the group and the bottle. “Go tell your friend it's fine by me. I've still got a thirst to work off.”

They joined the endless line of trucks at the border crossing, one of a group of nine, all driven by dark-skinned Ingush traders. Mikhail sat uneasily in the passenger seat beside the bearded hawk-nosed stranger, showing with every movement of his ancient frame that he neither trusted nor wished to be near this man whose clansmen were his enemies. If the Ingush noticed Mikhail's unease, he gave no sign. He spoke not at all except to turn and solemnly greet Wade, who crouched behind the canvas awning where Yuri had formerly rested. All three Russians were safely holed up in their small tunnels, scarcely breathing.

Suddenly Mikhail hissed a faint warning and ducked under the dashboard. Hidden by shadows, Wade craned and caught sight of the scarred man standing with two other guards a few paces ahead of the border station. The trio eyed each truck with undisguised hostility, searching for alien western faces. Wade ducked back into darkness.

The Ingush driver murmured, “Was he not one who came to your truck in the compound and accused you of stealing?”

“Indeed so. Are they looking this way?”

“Why should they?” The Ingush showed vast unconcern. “We are just another cursed Russian truck, barely able to crawl forward another kilometer, driven by a simple trader, in line with his clansmen, bearing meager goods and too many hungry mouths.”

“You say it well.”

“It is the chant we use before all border stations,” the man explained, “one I have heard since before I could walk.”

Wade ventured another glance. He could no longer see the scarred man. “Are they gone?”

“They seek you farther back along the line. Who are they?”

“Chechen,” Mikhail answered for them both.

“Then they would skin their own clansman for the dregs
of his cup,” the Ingush replied. “Did one of their own die after you treated him?”

“I don't know,” Wade replied truthfully.

“Only two things would force a Chechen to brave the Daryal Gorge at winter's onset,” the Ingush said. “Revenge or money.”

“The healer is not a thief,” Mikhail declared fiercely.

“That much is clear,” the Ingush agreed. “Seldom have I seen such an honest face even upon an infant. What brings you to our land, healer?”

“The call of God,” Wade replied, grateful for the shadows that hid his reddened face.

“Ah, a holy man,” the Ingush said, nodding. “I saw the sign of peace upon you as you dealt with the pains and sicknesses of others.”

Mikhail showed surprise. “A Muslim who pays homage to a Christian?”

“I saw what I saw,” the Ingush replied stubbornly. “My heart saw as well. The healer is a man who gives from that which is beyond man's vision.”

Wade let the flap fall and spent long minutes inspecting himself in the mirror of the Ingush trader's words.

The village of Kazbegi was rimmed by water and ringed by mountains. It crowned a graceful hillock at one end of the long green valley. Peaks so high they remained white all year round encircled the village, towering giants that glinted proudly in the afternoon sun. The village houses clustered up tightly together, seeking strength and solace from one another in the face of such overwhelming might. The dwellings climbed the hill in orderly rows, their rooftops making a series of ocher steps up to the three church spires.

“The Kazbegi do not care overmuch for us,” the Ingush said as he drove on past the graceful village. “They permit our trucks space only beyond the village. They give us air
and water, at least until they find a way to make us pay for these as well. For all else we are charged prices higher than the surrounding mountains. What we can do without, we leave until after the true descent is made.”

The truck compound was nothing more than a large field too rocky to permit planting. A trio of armed men shouted orders which were lost in the motors' perpetual racket and pointed them to an unoccupied corner. The Ingush gathered their trucks in a tight cluster, with Wade's two trucks at the center. Only when the engines coughed their last did the first trader climb down on tottery legs. It was the man whose wife Wade had treated. Following close on his heels was Rogue.

The big man asked when Wade had descended, “Since we're all here and breathing, I take it the guys didn't spot you.”

“I was in the back, and Mikhail was under the dash. What about you?”

Rogue grinned. “It's surprising what a tiny ball this body can make when it has to.” He motioned toward the trader. “Tell the man we're in his debt up to our eyeballs.”

Wade said to the Ingush, “Our gratitude will remain with us all our days.”

“A day when the Chechen dogs are outsmarted is a day to be remembered with great relish,” the trader replied. “What did you do to gather such wrath upon your heads?”

Wade's Ingush driver answered for him. “He was gracious enough to treat one of their own, who did not have the grace himself to survive.”

Rogue broke in and said, “I sure wish we had the cash to pay for all their bribes.”

“I've got an idea,” Wade said and ran back to his truck. He reappeared a moment later with a box under each arm, which he offered to the trader. “We shall never be able to repay your kindness. But please do us the honor of accepting this small token of our eternal gratitude.”

The trader took one box, split the top with a practiced motion, and widened his eyes at the sight. “Medicines.”

“Antibiotics,” Wade agreed. “All within the dates of use, as the numbers stamped here state to any who can read the Western script. They should bring you a good price.”

“As would gold itself in the right places.” A murmur of agreement rose from the gathered traders. The Ingush straightened, accepted the second box, and said, “A worthy gift from worthy friends. I and my clansmen thank you, healer.”

“Smart,” Rogue agreed. “A good use of what we've got here.”

The trader looked around the gathering of his fellows and apparently received an affirmative, for he said to Wade, “We shall rest here for an hour and then drive up and through the Krestovy Pass.”

Wade translated for Rogue, who asked, “They'll take on the pass in the dark?”

The trader pointed toward the cloud-enshrouded mountains behind them. “Tonight the might of winter will reach out to ensnare all this valley and perhaps the pass as well. I would rather drive through a clear night than yet another day of snow, and this one at a thousand meters higher than the gorge.”

“Sounds like good advice to me,” Rogue said. “You up for another push?”

Wade turned back to the trader and asked, “We would be beholden if a place might be found for our trucks in your caravan.”

“There is always room for friends,” the trader replied.

“I have yet another request to make,” Wade said. “We shall be perhaps the last convoy through this valley before winter. I would like to see if there is a doctor in the village in need of medicines and equipment.”

As one, the traders showed astonishment. “You would give such as this away?”

“If he cannot pay,” Wade said gamely. “These articles have been given to my charge in order to help doctors in need.”

There was a moment's amazed silence, then the driver of Wade's truck proclaimed with pride, “It is just as I have said. Here is truly a man touched by God. I shall take him myself and call myself fortunate this day.”

They took one of the Ingush trucks so as to draw less attention in case the scarred man and his fellows still scouted the road. Rogue and Wade refused the traders' offer of help with unloading the supplies. They used their movements as a chance to bring the hidden Russians news and food and water.