Wind in the Hands (3 page)

“Beware!” he told his companion roughly. “Some fifteen minutes and militants are here. Let’s run as fast as we can. I have a shelter not far from here, if we can make there, we’ll survive. Come on!”

The Stranger shrugged his shoulders and said discontented:

“We’ll walk there.”

The Soldier was running fast scolding himself for not quitting smoking on time: he was short of breath.

“What has happened to you? Faster!” he shouted turning around, gesturing wildly and mentally swearing: “I must run there and run back to fetch this loony. This Stranger, although crazy, is not alien and is real. I can see through people.”

The Soldier was not turning round; he seemed to hear the sound of an approaching car with armed militants. Having reached the aim in ten minutes, he inhaled deeply, moved a heavy stone aside, and took out an automatic rifle wrapped in oily rags and four doubled magazines with rounds. He was nauseated and his head pulsed from fast running.

“Keep calm, keep calm, they are far away, you still have time”, the Soldier took several deep breaths. Clicking the bolt, he inserted a magazine, loaded the rifle, moved the safety latch in the ‘fire shot’ position, lifted the rifle to the chest level, and moved towards his new companion fast.

The Stranger started to move faster, but seeing the weapon, halted. The Soldier saw an approaching car and waved him sharply to move aside. He hid behind a stone slab and sighted a moving aim.

The Stranger understood everything, looked in the sky and begged,

“Oh, God, I don’t want to spill blood. I’m not here for that reason. What shall I do?”

He started to think feverishly, what is to be done. He was standing embedded, with fear slowly engulfing him.

“I don’t believe. I don’t believe it. Go way,” he whispered.

“Run! Lie down! Fall down!” the Soldier was shouting from his shelter, but the Stranger was standing in the way, closing the line of sight.

“I can’t shoot. I might wound him accidentally. The bullets are loaded, you hit the leg and it comes out of the belly. If militants jump out of their cars and scatter, I don’t know how it is going to end. What if they have shells and grenade launchers? I don’t have time to climb up. I have nothing to do but wait till they come and get out and start to talk. First talk and then kill. But he had better be out of the way. Why hasn’t he run away? Why? He is evidently out of his mind.”

Suddenly shooting started nearby with machine-gun bursts. Hearing the sound, the Soldier could define a gun grade and smiled thoughtfully, “Our people. Just on time. Cleaner fighters.”

The car stopped about hundred meters from the Stranger and turned towards the settlement.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “The path has been paved and blessed.”

The Soldier exhaled, clicked the lever and engaged a safety latch.

“You haven’t left me. I have not been mistaken,” the Stranger said overtaking him.

“You even can’t understand how lucky you are. Hurry up, cleaners are here. By the way, they have saved you. Why haven’t you run?”

“I’m not prey to run away. The God has saved me; cleaner fighters do not know me. The God has saved you, too. Our time has not come yet.”

“It will come, and much faster than you think if we do not hurry: cleaner fighters are nearby.”

“Aren’t they our people?” the Stranger grinned.

“Our people are at home. I’m armed and it’s a signal for them to start shooting,” the Soldier calmed down and even stopped being angry. “Crazy man, nothing to be done.”

“And if other units are here, will cleaner fighters still start fire seeing armed people?”

“First, joint actions are coordinated, second, you can tell your allies by weapons and uniform, well, mainly by helmets,” the Soldier explained.

“Helmets?” the Stranger asked again. “Is it possible to tell a helmet of a Salvation Army fighter from a rebel helmet?”

“It is possible, but hard to do, especially for someone like you,” the Soldier laid a trap.

“Why?” and the Stranger got trapped.

“Because militants do not wear helmets,” the Soldier threw up his hands in a theatrical gesture.

The Stranger smiled approvingly wagging his head.

“Then, let’s hurry. Listen, I guess you can take your helmet out of the shelter, can’t you? You looked cool in sandals, rugged jeans, Love Save the World T-shirt, and the Salvage Army helmet with a punishing sword,” he added seriously.

The Soldier sighed and tried to smile. His face muscles seemed to be unable to allow a smile, although he had good sense of humor. Approaching his shelter, he turned around, removed the magazine from the rifle, unloaded it, picked a cartridge and placed it in a case, wrapped his weapon in a cloth, placed in an opening of the shelter, closed it with a stone, and then nodded to the Stranger and they moved on. In an hour, they approached the roadblock.

“We have come, they know me here. But they think that I’m helping local people, and they will not be excited to see us, but will not shoot either. That’s not bad.”

“I can see that you are liked by all, our people and others,” said the Stranger with mocking respect.

“I don’t need love of these nitwits. I once was in a situation at that roadblock. Two Soldiers drank and decided to have their pictures taken for their girlfriends, and with arms for better effect. They drank more and decided to have their picture taken in a battle. One of them made a severe face and started to shoot, but when you are making a picture from the side you cannot see fire properly. So the half-witted photographer stood in front of the line of fire and shouted, ‘Shoot, friend, and say cheers.’ Well, his friend did not think twice and shot.”

The Stranger looked at the Soldier questioningly,

“Is the photographer alive?”

“He is, such fools, however surprising that might sound, are tough. It seems they quite like such idiots up there. Not only we have found them funny.”

The five fighters were scattered at the roadblock. A sniper at the tower was looking through the scope sight at villagers, passing through the roadblock, and swearing at them bored giving orders over the intercom in the local tongue and making peasants look around bewildered. Fighters were roaring with laughter.

The Soldier and the Stranger approached the borderline. An officer waved his hand sharply calling them to be checked. They moved towards him, but at the safety line, they heard an order via the intercom,

“Stand still! T-shirts up!”

“Hey, you loon up there! You’ll give yourself away!” the Soldier shouted and said to the Stranger, “Animals! They can see that we are not strangers and still humiliate us.”

“Local villagers also feel bitter, but can’t you see how gladly they raise their shirts,” the Stranger noted.

“Some of them may be militants with weapons and explosives and they generally like to undress…”

“And will surely demonstrate their death belt, hoping no one will notice it.”

“If you do not check, there will be many militants. It’s a psychological game.”

“Our world is a game, you always play to win, deceive, cheat, but not only players suffer.”

“Can we go?” the Soldier shouted. “Or do we have to take off our trousers?”

“Good idea,” the fighter came down from the tower. “Go, take off your trousers. We’ll look and might see something, I have magnifying optics.”

Guffaw could be heard all around.

“I will let you watch, you brat. You won’t find it funny! You will have nothing to watch with,” the Soldier snapped and moved towards the wit.

Three fighters immediately aimed at the Soldier, bolts clanked, and safety latches clicked.

“You cross the second line, you lie down and never get up,” the officer said and added scornfully, “attack at a roadblock, so I have the right.”

The Stranger caught the Soldier’s hand that was ready to vehemently attack them all hand-to-hand.

“Stay calm. I will speak with them,” he said softly. “Brethren, do not humiliate us. You don’t know the reasons we are here. We have almost been killed by rebels, and do you want to kill us too? Search our papers if you don’t believe your experience. We are peace makers. If I’m not a good peace maker, my friend is a real pacifist,” he nodded at the Soldier.

“Such pacifists do more harm than terrorists,” said one of the fighters spitting at them.

“I won’t argue your point, but you are not politicians or judges. Do you really believe we have explosive in our pants? I won’t protest, we have explosives in our pants, but its action excites ladies.”

The fighters at the roadblock laughed approvingly. The officer waved his hand and they passed through the fence to the bus stop.

“I would never think you can joke like that. So strange. I cannot see through you. And I have seen many kinds of people,” the Soldier looked at the Stranger and asked him sharply, “what do you want from me? Who are you?”

“We must understand something. I have heard something. We need associates, we find them and discuss everything,” and the Stranger looked his companion directly in the eyes.

“Who do we need?” the Soldier asked suspiciously looking aside.

“The Seer.”

“Himself?”

“Yes,” his new companion shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

“The Seer will not let us in. Who are we and who is he? Rulers, ministers, generals, and wealthy people from all over the world are dreaming of talking with him. This person does not care for us or respect anyone.”

“He will admit us,” the Stranger was confident. “Let’s exchange mobile phone numbers. Think and let me know if you are coming with me to him or not.”

The Soldier fell thoughtful for some time,

“Ok, write down…”

Chapter 4. The Seer

The Seer had lately rarely spoken in public, although he thought it important to show his rare talent he was lucky (or unlucky, opinion differed) to have. In his childhood he knew that he could feel what people were thinking, could see something others could not see or determine (although that required special conditions) the past and the future, mentally influence the behavior of people and not only of those susceptible to hypnosis.

Travelling around the world, he met people with paranormal abilities, learnt from them, and perfected his skills to earn using his talent. He performed in shows, consulted businessmen, and helped politicians. He was rumored to make bets via his nominees but was not known to win.

He did not consider himself a healer but could suppress pain and alleviate disease symptoms. He helped with different nervous disorders, mobilized the organism to have an energized immune system find and repair failures.

Before solving a complex issue, the Seer was in absolute solitude, ate almost nothing, and concentrated on his task, like a vibrating string, all nerves, and ready to fight without the smallest doubt in his success.

He usually had mass hypnosis sessions making people embarrassed. He seemed to enjoy when he made respectful citizens, politicians, military men, or businessmen helpless and especially those who looked down at him helpless. Such people irritated him most of all.

Once during his anniversary performance the Seer asked a man sitting in the first prestigious seats and wearing an expensive suit to go up the stage. This man was eyeing externally non-representative Seer with scorn and grinned: the Seer was short, made fussy and nervous gestures, was always frowning, lame and wore old-fashion spectacles. A man, sitting in the first row, was unlucky to say unceremoniously, “Now, let’s see your tricks.”

The Seer’s eyes burning through flared with anger: most of all he could not stand when people took him for a manipulator, a trickster and did not believe in his abilities. He would never forgive that.

The manager standing near the stage perfectly knew what the Seer could do when he was enraged and literally took his head with his hands. That expensive-looking man was a district prosecutor who was known as a cruel, proud, and influential man. Without doubt, the Seer recognized him. Like a boa constrictor, he looked at the Prosecutor with an unblinking and paralyzing stare and crushed his will. At first, the hypnotist made up the image of a small dog. Fixing it in his head, he conveyed the dog image to the Prosecutor as if placing it image with a mouse click to the head and said firmly and clearly, “You are a dog.”

The Prosecutor’s eyes became meaningless and glazed. A respectful man went limp, became drawn, went down on his knees, stood on all fours and started to sniff something. His wife opened her mouth amazed and stared at the stage with horrified eyes. The Seer took a pen out of his pocket, threw it down, and ordered,

“Take it and bring it to me.”

Even when he was young and was in the service or military courses, the Prosecutor did not fulfill commanders’ orders so high-spiritedly as that one. On all fours, leaning on his knees and palms, he ran up to the pen lying on the floor, carefully fetched it with his teeth and brought to the Seer in the same manner.

“Good dog. Good dog,” he took the pen out of the Prosecutor’s mouth, wiped it fastidiously with his handkerchief and tenderly tousled a new dog at the back of his neck. The Prosecutor had never been happier in all his life as at that time. His eyes were shining and he even tried to lick the Seer’s hand, but the Seer removed it just on time.