John Carter (10 page)

Carter turned as Dejah ran down from the balcony toward him, her arms spread wide. Her face was bruised, her wedding dress shredded, her hair smeared with blood. An Earthman would have recoiled at the sight of her.

She was the most beautiful thing Carter had ever seen.

“No,” he said. “Not quite finished.”

They embraced with a fire and a passion unique on two worlds. And in the ruined Palace of Helium, all eyes turned, with great curiosity, to learn the meaning of their new Jeddak's words.

“. . .
WE GATHER
under the mingled light of Barsoom's first lovers, Cluros and Thuria…”

Once again the words rang out under the shattered palace dome. But this time, Tardos Mors spoke them with joy and pride. And the lovers who stood on the broken dais, amid dust and rubble and spilled blood, were Princess Dejah Thoris and Captain John Carter.

Carter smiled at Dejah, raising the goblet to drink. Then he stopped and glanced down at the twin rings on his finger. He pulled them off, held them up to the light, and studied them one last time. Then he placed them down tenderly on a silver tray and allowed Sola to take them away.

Carter drank deep, then handed the goblet to Dejah. She drained it, sealing their union.

“By the ancient rite of moon and water,” Tardos continued, “you are bound together. Husband and wife.”

They kissed like long-lost lovers, like worlds reunited after centuries apart. The palace erupted in a thunderous cheer.

But that night, Carter found himself restless. He rose from their wedding bed, taking care not to wake Dejah Thoris, and strode out onto the balcony. Helium lay spread out below, battered but unbroken, a many-faceted jewel of life and light.

“John?”

Dejah walked up behind him, wrapping her silk-covered arms around him. She felt warm, comforting.

“Homesick for the Thark nursery?”

He smiled. “I'm sorry. I just had that feeling you get, suddenly…that you've left a light burning. Or a door open, maybe.”

She cocked her head at him, questioningly.

“Go back to bed.” He stroked her cheek. “I won't be long.”

She took his hand and kissed it. “Don't be, John Carter of Earth.”

After she was gone, he left the chamber, strolling up several flights of stairs. Up here, a small terrace overlooked the vast chasm dividing the two halves of Helium. Woola scampered up to join him, yelping, startling the lone guard at his post.

Carter stared up into the night sky. A blue-green star caught his eye: Earth. He reached into his boot and pulled out the medallion. Six simple words could transport him all the way across that distance…

“John Carter of Earth,” he whispered.

With all his strength, he hurled the medallion out over the terrace. Woola barreled to the balcony's edge to fetch it, then stopped, staring down into the blackness of the chasm. He turned and grunted at Carter.

“You're right.” Carter rubbed the animal's muzzle. “John Carter of
Mars
sounds much better.”

When they returned to the bottom of the stairs, the guard bowed low, dropping to one knee.

“Sire, I must express the deepest of gratitude. You saved all Helium—”

“Please.” Carter held up a hand. “The honor's mine.”

He bent down, helped the guard to rise—and Woola growled.

“Fair enough, Earthman.”

The guard gripped Carter's hand tight. Too late, Carter watched as he morphed into the deadly shape of Matai Shang.

“My people play this game in moves that last for centuries,” Matai said. “Did you think one setback would drive us from Barsoom forever?”

Then Carter saw the medallion in Matai's hand.

The Thern shot out his other hand, touching Carter's bare chest.
“Och Ohem,”
Matai recited.
“Och Tay. Wyees Jasoom.”

The medallion pulsed. Woola yowled. Matai Shang sneered in triumph.

Carter felt a deep shudder ripple through his body, a wrenching sensation he'd only felt once before.

No
, he tried to say.
No, not now!
But he was paralyzed, unable to speak. The medallion flared bright, nine legs of light spreading out like hot blue mandibles. And in a burst of light, John Carter vanished.

In the cave, a lone shaft of moonlight danced across the vein of gold.

Carter shot upright—and pain lanced through his stiff body. Old, decaying clothes cracked and ripped, shredding to powder. He coughed, shaking dust off his face. Every muscle ached, atrophied after years of stasis.

Then he saw the skeleton that had been Colonel Powell. A few shreds of Union braid still hung from the rags of his uniform.

Carter lurched to his feet, fighting the pain. He searched the remains of his pockets, his shirt, and then dropped to his knees and began scrabbling in the dirt. “No,” he whispered. “No. No…”

Nothing. No medallion.

He lurched over to the large rock, the one with the nine-legged spider carved across its surface. He slapped a hand against it frantically, desperately.

“Och Ohem,”
he gasped.
“Och Tay, Wyees Barsoom. Och Tay! Wyees BARSOOM!”

Weathered fingers dug into the rock, clutched frantically at the etching. Traced its pattern beneath his hand.

“Barsoom,” Carter said weakly. But it was no use.

Captain Carter was back on Earth.

. . .
FIFTY
million miles apart, and no way to bridge the gap. No way to telegraph myself back, to return my body and soul to their true home. Like a fool, I had thrown away my medallion back on Barsoom.

I stepped outside the cave and stared into the dark Arizona sky, so familiar and yet so cold. So alien, now.

And then I thought of Matai Shang, of his knowledge of Earth and our history. That meant the Therns were a presence on this world as well as on Mars. This cave in Arizona, its carvings and the Thern I'd killed there, were proof of that.

There might be other places. Other Thern way stations, hidden somewhere on Earth.

As soon as I realized that, I knew what my gold must be used for.

For ten bitter years, dear nephew, I searched. I followed every possible trail of rumor and legend, from darkest Africa to the Arctic wastelands. At times I despaired of ever locating the Therns again.

And then, in the Orkney Islands of Scotland, I found them.

I shall spare you the tedious details, but suffice it to say: I managed to obtain a medallion. But before I could return to Barsoom, there were many plans I had to make in secret. And the Earthbound Therns were now following my movements closely, plotting to reclaim the property I had taken from them.

I can trust no one. Except you.

No doubt much of this is puzzling to you. But I promise that soon you will understand the cause of my sudden death, my bizarre funeral instructions, and the reason the mausoleum door can only be opened from the inside. One thing I have learned from the Therns: if my body dies on Earth, then its “copy” shall also perish on Mars.

Know this: you are the key, Edgar. This is the task I entrust to you, along with all my worldly fortune. Protect my body, for the Therns will attempt to destroy it. Indeed, in the time it has taken you to read these pages, they may already have done so.

I slammed my uncle's journal shut and leaped up, the implications of his words ringing in my mind. I rushed out of the study and outside, dashing through the night air across the pathways and hedgerows.

In the dark, I almost slammed up against the mausoleum. I ran my hands all along its surface, searching frantically. Nothing. No indentation, no keyhole, no depression of any kind.

You are the key
, Uncle Jack had written.
The key.
But where was the lock?

Then I noticed the epitaph written above the door:
INTER MUNDOS
. My eyes darted to the letter E, then to D. E-D. Edgar. I pressed the two letters in succession. Nothing. I stood frustrated for a long moment. Then I remembered the telegram, the strange missive that had brought me here in the first place. I fished it out of my vest pocket and smoothed its crumpled surface.

DEAR NED

SEE ME AT ONCE

“Ned,” I said aloud. And I remembered one of Uncle Jack's quirks: he never called me Edgar.

I reached back up to the inscription on the tomb and pressed the letters N-E-D in succession.

The door rolled open on well-oiled gears.

I stepped forward, peering into the dark. And stopped short at the sight that greeted me.

An empty casket. In an empty tomb.

A sudden movement caught my attention, and I whirled around just in time to avoid a plunging dagger. A wiry man in black suit and bowler hat reared back and raised the dagger again, aiming straight for my chest. I cringed, knowing this was my doom. I have never been a fighter.

Then a gunshot rang out, and the man fell to the ground.

Behind him stood my uncle, Captain John Carter. His revolver still smoking.

“Good lord,” I said, stunned. “It's you.”

Carter smiled. “Hello, Ned.”

He pulled a small vial from his pocket, tossed it to me.

“Toxin derived from the puffer fish,” he said. “Simulates death.”

He knelt down and began to examine the assassin's body.

I stared at the vial, beginning to understand. “You never found a medallion. In the Orkneys or anywhere else.”

“No. But I was right about the Therns.” He ripped open the bowler-hat man's shirt to reveal a Thern medallion, adorned with the nine-legged spider design. “That's why I'm so grateful to you for bringing me one.”

“I was just…bait?”

“No, no.” He stood, moved tenderly toward me. “You're far more than that. I really do need a protector…that is, if you're willing.”

Suddenly I was overwhelmed by emotion. I clasped my uncle in a fierce bear hug, almost knocking him over. He returned the embrace, then patted me firmly on the back and handed me his pistol.

Then, as I watched, he stepped into the mausoleum. The medallion seemed to glow slightly in his hand.

“Good-bye, Ned,” he said. “Oh, and Ned? You should take up a cause. Fall in love. Write a book, maybe.”

“Can't you stay a bit longer?” I asked.

He shook his head, straining at the heavy door from inside. “It's time I went home.”

The door slammed shut.

Write a book
, he'd said. And so I have.

There's one more thing. As I stood outside the tomb, pistol heavy in my hand, I could just make out my uncle's muffled voice from within.
“Och Ohem. Och Tay…Wyees…”

And then—for just a second—I thought I heard a woman's voice entwine with his. A rich, deep voice, born of a world where savage women fought alongside men for a cause greater than themselves. The voice of a true princess of Mars, welcoming her warrior husband home.

“. . . Barsoom,” she said.

“Barsoom,” he echoed.

Within the tomb, there was a brief flash of light. And for the last time, John Carter was gone.

END