The Archivist (25 page)

The night sky provides enough light to hike my way upstream about a hundred yards, until I reach a large, flat rock, where I lay down and stare up at the stars. Mars is rising above the ridge; I try to recall a home I barely remember.

Is Sarah looking at Earth during a Martian sunrise, thinking about me? Perhaps we are looking at each other at this moment, across the millions of miles. Again I feel a ravenous emptiness within, as real as any physical pain.

This empty space inside me is why I desperately cling to my love for Sarah. For months after I landed on Earth and joined the Archives, I barely functioned, and actually considered suicide a couple of times.

What stopped me and got me back on my feet was knowing that she is still out there; going into retrieving is how I kept myself going for her, and for what we once had.

Even when I was certain there was no prospect of ever returning, it was the foundation I rebuilt my life on. If I let go of it now, everything inside of me will crumble. I am not sure whether I do retrievals because I have never stopped looking for something inside, or because I am running away from it.

What I do know, is that retrieving is all I have to hold on to.

It has been years since I freely allowed myself to crave Sarah the way I have on this retrieval. I think about her gentle touch on my arm; the sly smile that grows across her face like a sunrise when she teases me; her small, perfect breast resting in my cupped hand while the soft lips of her mouth merge with mine. Missing her this way is worse than death.

Eventually, the ache of the cold rock I am lying on becomes stronger than the ache inside. I have probably given Little Crow and Angie plenty of quality time, so I rise and head back downstream to the camp. My companions are huddled together under their blanket. Malsum is off somewhere, probably hunting, and the campfire is burning low.

I build up the fire, and when Malsum comes back, I slip under my own blanket and turn in for the night.

I drift in and out of sleep, dreaming about returning to Mars. Landing craft thrusters fire as the Martian surface approaches, and the red landscape stretches out as far as I can see. It is more barren than the driest desert I have ever crossed.

Even if we proceeded with our original terraforming project, it would be generations before the surface became hospitable enough for life to spread out openly.

But it is my home, and the shuttle vibrates slightly as the legs settle on the surface and the engines spool down. After Earth’s relentless gravity, it is almost like I float, in the light Mars gravity. The airlock tube clicks as it seals with the craft. Then the door opens, and I step through the hatch.

Sarah bounces down the airlock tube to greet me with a tight embrace, and I bend my face down to kiss her, in a soul-merging, time-stopping joining. In my dream, when I open my eyes, it is Danae that I hold tight in my arms.

I awaken from my dreams just as dawn begins to lighten the sky. We rise and pack to resume our hunt. Anticipation mounts within me that we will come upon the Disciple camp and take them by surprise. About an hour later, the surprise is ours when we come across another Disciple campsite. Little Crow curses when he jumps down to check it out. He only examines the site for a few seconds.

“They broke camp in the middle of the night,” he says as he leaps back onto his horse. “We’ve actually lost ground.”

With renewed urgency, we push forward, keeping eyes and ears sensitive for any sign of our quarry. We do not want to alert them to the fact that they are being pursued, but as usual, it is Malsum who picks up the first traces. Her ears perk up and swivel forward, while her tail begins to lash back and forth with agitation. Angie is probably the only reason the lioness holds back.

When we cross over the pass, we catch sight of them for the first time.

They are in view only for a few moments, as they wind their way up a switchback near the crest of the next ridge, but there is no mistaking Danae’s beautiful, deep-red hair, rippling in the mountain breeze like a flag as she rides a horse, with her wrists bound in front of her. Then they pass into some trees, and we see their silhouettes briefly once more before they crest the ridge and pass over to the other side.

We urge our protesting steeds forward. Less than an hour later, we are about to cross the same ridgeline. There we pause, while Little Crow and I scramble to the crest so we can survey the far side, which slopes down to a broad plain.

About 1500 feet below us, emerging from the trees onto the shrub-covered open land, is a small group of four horses with riders, including Danae, and five men on foot.

Seeing them so close, a rush of energy flows through me. I am turning to hurry back down to our mounts when Little Crow grips my arm and points into the distance. I look where he points, and the emotional rush turns into crushing defeat.

Heading north to meet the small group we are pursuing, is a large column of men.

After all these days of pursuit, we ended up an hour too far behind.

Since we have no chance of overtaking our quarry on the open plain, Little Crow recommends that we make our way carefully down the hillside to a spot where we can shelter for the rest of the day under the cover of the trees. Then, once night falls, we can cross the open land and take up position outside of Wolfengarde.

The idea of waiting practically kills me, but I can offer no better alternative.

We move down the mountain cautiously, staying off the trail and under the trees, since we know there are Disciples heading our way. Remaining undetected is far more important now than haste. Halfway down the hillside, Malsum signals with a chirp that she hears someone coming, so we drop and freeze, and hope the horses stay quiet.

A few minutes, later a detachment of Disciples trudges uphill. When we resume moving, we skirt around a small open glen. Far out on the plain, I see that Danae’s group has met up with the column. As I pause at the edge of the trees to watch, half the column turns south to accompany Dane’s group while the other half resumes their northward advance.

I start to reach for my field glasses, and then recall bitterly that I lost them in Georges. As the antlike figures move across the landscape, I long for another glimpse of Danae, so I can reassure myself that she is unharmed.

Before this other group reaches the hillside, we find a spot a couple of hundred feet above the floor of the valley to settle down on for the remainder of the day. Free of Angie, Malsum wanders off, but we are not worried about her safety. God help anything that runs into her.

I doze fitfully throughout the afternoon. Filtered sunlight through the trees offers little warmth, but it does take the edge off of the chilly air.

Several times, we observe detachments of men heading north—presumably to join the force building up in Georges. I wonder if they are preparing to march on Tucker, or if they have gotten word of the Hombre horde and are on their way to cleanse out another nest of blasphemers. I am not curious enough to go over and ask.

Malsum returns a few hours later with a pink muzzle, and spends the rest of the afternoon napping with us. When darkness falls, Little Crow rouses her with some scratches behind the ears; it is eerie to hear a deep purr that I can feel in my own chest. The lioness stretches before walking over to Angie, and crouches down so the woman can climb up.

The waning moon will not rise for a while; when we silently emerge from the trees onto the starlit plain, we cannot see much further than a few steps ahead. For Malsum, though, this is practically daylight.

Little Crow has trained her to practice evasion on command; after he holds her jaw and instructs her to ‘avoid,’ she leads us across the open landscape. Hours and miles pass before we begin to encounter fences and cultivated fields, but the lioness keeps us well away from any habitations.

A cold breeze plays on our backs. The only sound we make as we cross the fields is the soft swishing of hooves through the tall grass. The waning moon rises, and I feel a ghostly stillness as we approach the low foothills which surround Wolfengarde.

Most of the terrain in the vicinity of the town is cleared farmland, but some significant stretches of wilderness remain. By the positions of the stars, I estimate that it is near midnight when we examine a large copse that overlooks both the small city and the north-south road we paralleled all the way here.

After scouting the stand of trees and flushing out some startled game, we settle on a spot for our base camp in the thick foliage.

While Little Crow secures the horses, I take a seat next to Angie and whisper, “What do you think they will do with Danae now that she’s here? Do they have any sort of justice system, trials, whatever?”

As much as the Disciples are my archenemy, it is amazing how little I really know about them. I always just did my best to avoid them altogether.

Angie frowns. “I’m certain they took her straight to Erde Vater as soon as they arrived.”

“What will he do?”

“Whatever shred of humanity he once had, he lost it long ago. She said she’s an Archivist, so he’ll make her bow to the Goddess, and as soon as possible.”

Little Crow crouches down next to us, and I fill him in on Angie’s assessment. We need to act without delay, because time is against us, both on account of Danae, and because the longer we linger here, the greater the likelihood we will be discovered.

Little Crow is the leader when we are tracking, but now that we are here, this is my operation.

“I have to go in alone,” I say. “Angie, let’s review the Temple layout once more. As for you and Malsum,” I say, turning to Little Crow, “I am going to need diversions out here to draw their attention.”

“Now that sounds like my kind of fun,” Little Crow responds, with a wicked grin. “What are you going to do once you get inside the city?”

“I’ll have to figure that out as I go. Since both Danae and the generator will be in the Temple, at least that narrows it down somewhat. So I’ll find the Temple and then take it one step at a time.”

“That’s not much of a plan,” Little Crow points out skeptically. “Then again, that seems about right for you.”

“It’s not just the best plan I’ve got at the moment, it’s the only one,” I sigh. “When I need you to go into action, I’ll send a signal.”

“What kind of signal?” Little Crow asks.

“I’m not sure, but you’ll know it when you see it.”

Slipping off my backpack, I choose a few key items that I can fit into my pants pockets, and press the pack into Angie’s hands. It is like leaving my best friend behind, but there are few people I would trust it with more. Even if my first experience with her was an attempted theft from the same pack, she has come a long way since then.

As Little Crow and I prepare to leave, Angie gives both of us a tight hug, and she quietly tells me, “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, okay? And bring back that woman of yours. I was just starting to like her.”

We leave Malsum with Angie, and take up positions straddling a nearby trail. We wait about half an hour before we see what we want: a single Disciple coming along the path—on some urgent errand, based on his brisk stride.

When he is about ten feet away, I let myself tumble forward out of the trees and roll onto the edge of the path.

“Oh, sweet Earth Mother,” I laugh, flinging a water skin onto the ground next to me. “This was some good wine. Hey, Paul, what took you so long?” I start to sit up, and then flop back down.

The Disciple stops in his tracks to look at me, then takes a step forward as he responds, “I’m not Paul. Who are you, and what are you doing out here?”

“Not Paul?” I say, as I prop myself up on an elbow. Little Crow has slipped out of the trees and silently moves up behind the man. “He went for help after I broke my ankle, and left me this wine to ease the pain. But now it’s all gone. Do you have any wine?”

“I wouldn’t give you any—” The Disciple’s disgusted reply is cut off when Little Crow presses the taser to the man’s neck and discharges the device. It is the surest way to take someone down without damaging his clothing, or staining it with blood.

Little Crow catches the Disciple’s dropping body, and we drag him well back into the trees, then quickly tie and gag him.

I am in luck, for once. The man is a fair approximation to me in height and build. I quickly remove his robe and clothing, along with a dagger and short sword, then bundle it all up while Little Crow leaves to get Malsum.

Now that I have my disguise, we continue down the hillside toward where the northern trail meets the town gate. We cautiously sneak across a couple of clear stretches, but eventually reach a small wooded stand straddling a creek, about a hundred yards from the city wall.

By the time we get into position, the sky is starting to lighten up, so we need to enact our plan quickly, while Little Crow and Malsum still have enough darkness to get back to Angie.

The ambush spot we chose is just out of sight of the main gate. Quickly, I change out of my clothes and into the Disciple garb. I stash my clothes inside a hollow tree, optimistic that I will be back for them.

Then we wait.

Little Crow crouches next to me, his warmth reassuring in the brisk night air. Right now he feels like the brother I never had. I grip his arm silently in thanks for being here with me.

“She is a good woman,” he whispers to me.

“Who, Angelina?” I respond. “I’m glad you two are getting along.”

“Of course Angie, but I meant Danae. You are a lone wolf used to wandering the land, coming and going as you wish. But my friend, there comes a time when every wolf must start his pack. Danae has more to offer than you realize.”

I am about to ask him what he means, when we hear the gate swing open. A few minutes later, a small patrol of about half a dozen men emerges around the bend. There are a few more than we wanted, but their formation is relaxed, and they walk in a broken line. This casual patrol expects no trouble.

Little Crow points to my left and I nod, moving close to where the rear guard will be when they pass. As they come abreast of us, they joke about a wench some of them shared earlier that evening, and a prank they are going to play on one of the new recruits in a competing squad.

The last man is in front of me when the lead Disciple falls to Little Crow’s arrow. Malsum leaps into the middle of the group and takes down two more.

While Little Crow and Malsum take on a couple more men, the remaining two have the expected reaction to the lioness: they turn to flee. As they run past me, I jump out of the trees and fall into place, staying a few steps behind them.

When they near the gate, the two men begin screaming for the guards to open up and let them in.

“There’s an army out there,” one hollers. The other cries out, “A monster with two heads killed the sergeant. It’s a bloodbath.” The first one adds, “Our whole squad is dead, all of them.”

A door swings open just in time to let us in. The two Disciples I followed come to a stop to catch their breath and report on the ambush, as I dash through the gate and dodge several guards who are coming outside to assess the threat on the road.

Instead of stopping, I cry out, “I’ll get some help,” and turn quickly toward some buildings on the right.

Moments later, I scramble into the shadows and leave the entrance behind me, just as a loud bell starts clanging. I run along the inside city wall until I have put a number of buildings behind me. After confirming that I am not being pursued, I drop down into the shadows next to a small woodshed, and sit while I catch my breath.

This was almost too easy, but I am not under any illusion. Getting inside the town walls was the easy part. Infiltrating the Temple is where it gets interesting; all I have to work with are Angie’s memories from when she was a teenager. Who knows what might have changed since she left eight years ago?

The sky is lightening fast. I have caught my breath. After making sure no one is watching, I stand up and straighten my robe, then walk through a small alley that leads away from the wall, until I reach a street.

Aside from a handful soldiers running toward the wall, there is not much of an alarm over what happened outside. Though it is barely dawn yet, a surprising number of people move about, most of them dressed in clothing other than Disciple robes.

The majority of men and women wear simple gray pants and shirts. Based on the deference they show to the black-robed pedestrians, they are definitely a lower class. Probably servants.

A number of individuals pass me, wearing gray sorts of togas with large, brilliant yellow sunbursts stitched on their backs, and large, black leather collars bound around their necks.

The sunburst symbols are clearly reminiscent of those worn by Jews under the Third Reich; it proves again that the Disciples are equal opportunity exploiters of the past.

These must be slaves; the first few are led by wealthy-looking men and women holding chains that are attached to the collars. A couple of slaves walk by on their own; they must be either trusted, or higher status. But I never see one in the company of a Disciple.

The Disciples stride through the street assertively, so I make sure to adopt the same demeanor as I walk. For good measure, I take the medallion I found when we rescued Danae from the first Disciples, and slip it over my neck, but keep it draped under my clothing. I just want it to be ready if I need to employ it.

Angie said the Temple was more or less in the center of the town, but the streets are winding, and I have no idea how navigate my way there, which raises a certain amount of anxiety in me, because the city is still just waking up and I am wasting valuable time.

All I can do is keep moving, even when I come to an intersection and have to decide which way to go. Better to make three assertive right turns and go around a block, than make a hesitant left turn and draw attention to myself.

The small city is a marriage of new and old. This must have been a county seat in the Old Days—possibly even a small college town. Everywhere, rough new construction has exploded in a haphazard growth of shacks and small buildings, scattered like weeds that pop up around the older buildings and expand into any open space not being used for foot and cart traffic.

As a result, the streets are unpredictable. I make a couple of wrong turns, which lead to dead ends. After a couple of hours, I pass the same intersection for the third time. Anxiety increases and starts turning into anger at the drunkard who laid out these streets.

As the saying goes, when what you do keeps leading to the same results, do something different. So I decide to just follow the main flow of traffic, and that takes me into a small market.

Ahead, one of the brethren walks past a stall and simply grabs a roll without paying for it. Apparently rank has definite privileges here. After exercising that privilege myself a few times, I have a pocket full of fruit and a couple of rolls.

At one point I pass a group of six Disciples. One of them calls to me.

“Brother, we need another opinion here. We can’t agree on whether taking a bite of something and spitting it out without swallowing the food actually breaks a fast.”