C l scheel, p.10
C L Scheel, page 10
In spite of himself, Lady Suzanne had captured his curiosity. Touching her, almost holding in his arms, had ignited long-forgotten memories of passion. His Kiamma had been dead for over twenty sunpasses; their time together had been brief, but it had been the only time in his life when he had been happy—and he longed for that feeling again.
"I hope there's room for me in one of those sleighs?"
He spun around and looked up as Lady Suzanne descended the steps. She no longer wore one of Kiamma's gowns, but her curious light-blue trousers that clung to her trim form—the same trousers she had worn at the Pass—and a woolen tunic that fell to mid-thigh. Someone had found a pair of boots to fit her small feet and the edge of her thick gray cloak swept the snow as she approached him.
"You need not risk you life on such a dangerous journey,” he warned. “You have explained everything we need to know, my lady."
"Do you know what kerosene looks like?” she asked archly. “Or what it is stored in?"
Akken'ar frowned. “No, but I am bringing Master Nathan.” He gestured to the young Master of the Keep sitting in the first sleigh. “He has studied your instructions carefully."
"Your Highness, you have only four days to find and return a highly flammable liquid that none of you have ever seen. Forgive me for asking this, but do you think you'll find it in time without me along to help you?"
He hesitated. To say yes would make him seem stubborn; to say no, might make him appear uncertain in front of his men. “It is a perilous journey. There may be skags."
"It is a risk I'm willing to take.” She looked at him unwaveringly. “I can help you. Please let me."
It took him a heartbeat to relent. She was right. They would never find this substance in time without her help. He motioned for her to climb into the second sleigh, seated next to the driver.
He had forgotten how light she was as he lifted her into the seat next to Borkha. She gathered the folds of her cloak about her knees, then looked down at him.
"I'm ready,” she said, pulling the hood over her head.
He tugged his own furs closer to his shoulders. “Hold tight. We travel hard. If we encounter skags, do what Borkha says."
She nodded and took a firm grip of the railing along the edge of the seat. Akken'ar swung onto his horse and signaled the lead warriors to ride out.
At last, the sky was clear. Bright sunshine glinted and skittered over the snow as they galloped south. The horses were eager and ardent after their confinement for so many days. By moving rapidly in the scalding daylight, Akken'ar hoped they would not be noticed by the skags.
They stopped three times, long enough to allow the horses to catch their breath and drink water. Akken'ar dared not let them rest too long. Sometimes, if they were desperately hungry, skags were known to attack during the day.
The first night, wary-eyed warriors stood guard in constant rotation; only three were allowed to sleep at one time. Even Akken'ar stood his turn at the watch.
Lady Suzanne slept in the sleigh, wedged between the driver's seat and the barrels—barely enough room, but at least the skags would be unable to see her if they came hunting for horses or the flesh of men.
When the first milky threads of dawn touched the east, they moved on, heading for the ruins of an ancient city, destroyed in the Cataclyms.
Into the second day, with sixth days left until the Eclipse, Akken'ar began to regret bringing Lady Suzanne along. The farther they traveled from Ironhold, the more vulnerable they became, especially her. Dread inched up his back, giving him chills even his warm furs could not subdue.
The skags favored female flesh; they would catch the scent of her first. No one knew why this was true, but ten centuries of attacks had taught them to hide the women behind their strongest barriers, beneath their deepest cover.
As the sun slipped behind the mountains, Akken'ar ordered them to stop near a stand of dead trees. He allowed a fire to be started, knowing it would draw skags, but he feared for Suzanne. The night promised to be bitterly cold and he doubted she would survive without the extra warmth.
Swords drawn, all of Akken'ar's men stood watch, even young Nathan. The night was bright and clear; the moon encircled by a frosted cloud.
Suzanne suddenly appeared at his side, clutching the folds of her cloak close under her chin. “Do you see them?” she asked softly.
"No. Not yet. But we'll know. The horses will smell them first."
"Have you ever been this far south of Ironhold before?"
Not taking his eyes from the surrounding gloom he said, “No. It has always been forbidden to travel to the cities of the Ancients."
"Forbidden by Saint Kyrk, I assume. Have you never questioned why it is forbidden?"
"Because the saint warned there were too many dangers: contamination of the inner self and the blood plagues.” He flicked a sideways glance at her. “We are not fools, my lady. The blessed saint had good reason for forbidding travel to these places. Those who did, never returned."
He heard her draw in a startled breath. “Contamination ... Surely not after all this time,” she whispered.
Akken'ar did not answer her but continued his vigilant watch. She stood by his side and did not leave for a long time. Finally, she uttered a soft “goodnight” and slipped away.
The remainder of the night passed uneventfully and near dawn, he gave his warriors a chance to sleep for a short time. Even he managed to rest briefly, but kept his sword within reach and one eye on Suzanne.
WHEN THE SUN shone brightly, Suzanne scrambled into the sleigh as the warriors saddled their horses. They had five days left to find the burning liquid and get back to Ironhold.
As they drew closer to the city, the lead riders were sent ahead to find the easiest route. They soon returned, galloping fast over a low ridge of hills.
Akken'ar ordered the sleighs to stop and waited until the approaching horses slid to a halt.
"My lord, it is just over that rise,” the first warrior said, pointing in the distance.
"Are there any stone roads?"
"Yes, and the snow cover is still deep enough for the sleighs."
Suzanne braced herself as the horses jerked the sleigh into motion. Not much farther and she would see for herself what was left after a thousand years. Once they crested the ridge she gasped, loud enough for Akken'ar to hear. He reined back, riding abreast of the sleigh.
"Are you all right, my lady?"
"Yes, I'm fine.” But she wasn't. She hadn't really known what to expect. Destruction, yes, but not to the extent she saw. Time and nature had obliterated the town to indistinguishable rubble. The snow had buried the crumbled buildings into soft shapeless mounds. Centuries of vegetation, weeds and leaves had choked the streets; winter-dead trees, thrust up through the cracked and broken pavement.
Only the sound of muffled hoof beats and the hiss of the runners broke the eerie stillness. The wind did not whisper through the ruins of crushed buildings, or sift through the drifts of snow. No birds chittered from a tattered wire or swooped above them searching for crumbs or seeds.
There were no scavenging animals either—no lurking feral dogs hunting for a meal. They must be dead, she reasoned. Either disease or contamination had killed them. Or, they had all been eaten.
Suzanne's heart felt like a knot of lead as they passed what once had been a school; vines and overgrown vegetation had smothered it, asphyxiated it like a monstrous snake, leaving behind the bones of bricks and coils of twisted, chain-link fencing.
Akken'ar's grim expression startled her. She knew he did not recognize anything—the buildings, the streets, the fragments of a once thriving little town—but he did grasp its meaning. This, undoubtedly was where some of his ancestors had lived and died. Suzanne held back a rush of tears. In some way, they were her ancestors, too.
They passed through the southern perimeter of the town, up a long climb to the crest of another ridge. Suzanne suddenly smelled the sea and thought she heard a seagull screech.
Borkha stopped the sleigh.
Shock silenced her. Suzanne stood up in the sleigh and gazed out over an ocean, a southwestern ocean, stretching as far as she could see. In the distance, she could make out the snowy caps of a few solitary mountain peaks. What once had been part of an entire continent, was now under water. At the edge of the world, Suzanne finally allowed herself the bitter tears of unimaginable loss.
Chapter Eight
SUZANNE WAS NOT allowed to grieve for long. Akken'ar watched her, waiting patiently until her tears were spent. Finally, he nudged his horse alongside the sleigh and reached across the space between them to take hold of her hand.
"Lady Suzanne, it is only the sea. It has been here a long, long time.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her for a moment, as if trying to read her thoughts. “The people who lived here have been gone for hundreds of sunpasses.” He shook her arm a little. “They're gone, my lady."
She nodded and slowly sat down on the seat. “I know, but they must have died so horribly. The earthquakes and the contamination..."
"Could you have stopped it? Or kept them from dying?"
She shook her head.
"They are dead, but we still live. We must take what they left behind and survive. If we are to defeat the skags, then we must find the burning fuel."
Suzanne nodded, suddenly ashamed of her tears. Akken'ar and his men would not waste time mourning the past. They certainly knew of it, a cultural memory, but they had never seen the Cataclysms. Neither had she. All Suzanne had was the memory of her own lifetime and the ability to imagine the horrors of a monumental catastrophe that had occurred a millennium ago in Akken'ar's past.
She looked at him astride his horse—proud and determined. He did not need her tears, he needed her knowledge.
"You are right, my lord. I'm sorry. There's nothing more to do here."
He signaled his men to proceed, but continued to ride alongside the sleigh. She could tell he was trying to find something to say to her, something to ease her distress.
"What is kerosene stored in? Barrels?” he asked.
"Sometimes, but it is often kept in smaller canisters. I am hoping we'll find it in large metal barrels, called steel drums. If we can't find kerosene, then maybe gasoline."
"Gasoline?"
"Similar to kerosene; it also burns. Actually, it is ... was ... more common than kerosene."
"My lady, how do you know all this?"
"I have ... read a lot ... and ... studied,” she said slowly, hedging. Now was not the time to explain that she was an author of fantasy tales, nor to discuss her theories on time travel. She barely understood how water boiled, much less the physics of traveling into the future. Besides, Alice never bothered explaining to the White Knight how she fell through the rabbit hole.
"You've read many books?” he asked.
"Yes, more than my share.” Suzanne sat up straighter in order to see clearly what she spotted in the distance. “Borkha, please stop the sleigh."
The big man obliged her, reining the horses to a halt. She held her hand to her eyes and squinted against the brilliant afternoon sun.
Akken'ar stood in his stirrups, his gaze following where she was looking. “What is it you see?"
"There,” she said pointing. “That's where we'll find burning fuel."
It stood not more than a few hundred yards away, a trim structure made of cinder block and steel, standing alone in the middle of a snow-covered field. After ten centuries all the windows had been broken out and little remained to indicate it once served as the control tower for a small airfield. Trees and bushes had reclaimed the runways; the airplanes were all gone except one. Wind, sand and sun had scoured its painted color to bare steel. The tires had long since deteriorated, leaving the jet standing on its metal wheels, like rusted talons clutching the frozen ground.
One of Akken'ar's men looked up at the dead hulk. “What, by the gods, is that?"
"It must be the carcass of some kind of great bird,” another said in an awed voice.
Suzanne heard Akken'ar make a disgusted noise in his throat. “It is a machine made by the Ancients.” He glanced at her, seeking confirmation.
"Yes, it is. But, it was a very useful machine, used for transporting ... things.” She saw his uncertain expression and decided not to elaborate; she'd let that one lie. Later, she'd try to explain flight, along with relativity and the big-bang theory. For now they needed to find that fuel.
A renewed sense of urgency forced Akken'ar and his men to hurry. The day was growing old and the shadows lengthened as they skimmed across the open snow heading toward a small building she had spotted at the far end of the field. All the warriors had drawn their swords. Akken'ar silently gave them instructions to fan out and look for skags, then helped her down from the sleigh.
The ancient metal building creaked and rattled in the late afternoon wind. Suzanne knew Akken'ar and his men did not like entering a building filled with the decaying remains of machines and equipment. Ingrained fear made the warriors tense and wary. Each bang and clatter caused by the wind, seemed to stretch their nerves, and made their movements taut and cautious. A building filled with large, unknown objects was also the perfect hiding place for skags.
It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, but as she inched through the hangar, she saw the last remnants of a civilization she recognized. Trucks, rusted-out hulks choked with dead weeds and dirt, had been parked in neat rows at one side of the building. A last-ditch effort to save what vehicles were left, she guessed. Maybe the survivors hoped to use them to get away.
There were no planes in the hangar—probably all of them used to get as many people out as possible. Which made her wonder about the single jet outside. Why didn't they use it to escape? A discouraging thought came to her: no doubt, there was no one left who knew how to fly it.
The light was fading fast and Suzanne made herself hurry, looking behind stacks of crates, on work benches littered with tools and under musty rotting tarps. Desperation began to mount. There had to be some kind of gasoline or fuel in the hangar.
After having thoroughly inspected the entire building for skags, Akken'ar's warriors began their own cautious hunt, poking swords into dark corners and peering into the hollow shells of the trucks.
"They certainly knew how to work metal,” she heard Master Nathan say.
Suzanne had spoken to Nathan only a few times during their journey; she did not quite trust him after he betrayed her and Master Eika to Master Jonovar. Nathan kept a polite distance, rarely speaking except for the most rudimentary courtesies.
"So many machines and oddities like this...” he said. She heard a loud, hollow ‘thunk’ as Nathan kicked something. Suzanne hesitated for a moment; her heart began to pound in hard, nerve-wracking beats. Maybe...
She hurried across the hangar with Akken'ar close on her heels and tore away the filthy fragments of a plastic tarp from the object Nathan had kicked. “Bingo,” she whispered.
"Bingo?” Akken'ar looked at her skeptically. “Is that another kind of burning fuel?"
Suzanne smiled to herself. “Never mind, Your Highness. When we get back to Ironhold, I will try to explain everything."
Under the tarp were six dirty, but intact, steel fuel drums. Suzanne knelt down and rubbed the grime away from the side of the drum. She could have wept with relief. In large, neatly stenciled letters was the term ‘JET-A'—commercial jet fuel. She remembered that bit of information, a research fragment needed for her first book. And jet fuel was mostly kerosene.
"Is this what you are looking for?” Akken'ar asked, his gaze intense.
"Yes. This is a type of kerosene and there is enough here to burn hundreds, maybe thousands of skags."
Something close to joy lit his stern face and of the warriors standing close by. Akken'ar sheathed his sword. “We take all of it,” he ordered crisply.
She held up a cautioning hand. “They are extremely heavy, my lord, and we have to make certain they are full.” She bent down and caught the sharp, gassy odor around the plug to the bung hole. “Try to shake it,” she said motioning for Borkha and another warrior to move the large canister.
With a little grunting and straining, they managed to tip the drum on its edge and moved it back and forth. A distinctive sloshing and gurgling sound could be heard coming from inside. Suzanne grinned at Akken'ar. “Take ‘em away."
Some ancestor in the prince's past had been mechanically inclined, or a military mastermind. She saw perception fire in Akken'ar's blue-black eyes; he had grasped the meaning and the enormity of the situation immediately. Orders came swiftly: discard the wooden barrels; clear a pathway to the sleigh; bring rope and tackle.
After a brief discussion, the warriors worked out the logistics of loading all six steel drums into the sleigh. Urgency overcame their fear of machines. Piles of metal, junk and debris flew out of their way as the barrels were rolled out of the hangar. Suzanne stood back, not wanting to get in their way.
The sun was almost gone. They had to start their return to Ironhold this night, or they would miss the Eclipse. She hoped they had enough time. The six canisters weighed down the first sleigh deep in the snow, making it too heavy for the horses to pull. As she watched Akken'ar direct the final loading, she noticed he had recognized that fact and ordered the last two barrels unloaded and put into the second sleigh.
Twilight settled over the hangar and the ancient airstrip. They had not seen or heard any skags during their entire journey, but Suzanne sensed they might not be so fortunate going back. The wind picked up and she suddenly heard a soft scrabbling sound behind her. She hoped it was her imagination or the wind stirring something inside the hangar. The sound grew louder; she didn't want to call out if it was only the wind...
Suzanne spun around, a scream on her lips as she saw a pair of bright yellow eyes glinting in the dim light. She blinked and let the air out of her lungs in a relieved rush. On the roof of one of the decayed, old trucks stood a cat—a glossy black cat with a mouse clutched in its jaws. One cat. The only living thing she had seen since leaving Ironhold.
