Prophecy (18 page)

It was all the impetus Doc needed. With one mighty effort, he raised his arm and crashed the silver lion's-head on the temple of the man beneath him. It was not the sharp, decisive blow he had shown to his previous opponent. It was hesitant, stumbling…Twice, three times he raised his arm and, almost painfully slow, crashed it down again. Each time he felt the fingers of his opponent weaken just that little more.

The fourth blow, as weak as it seemed to him, had just enough force for the cumulative effect to render the man unconscious.

Gasping, his head both pounding and reeling as the sudden influx of oxygen from his now regulated breathing began to flow around his system, Doc hauled himself to his feet. Swaying slightly, he looked around, surveying the carnage that surrounded him. Four warriors, all rendered incapable.

Vision slightly blurring, he looked across at where the chief, the shaman and other men of the Pawnee
stood watching him. There was a low murmur in the crowd, and it sounded approving rather than hostile. Despite his “chosen” status, it had briefly crossed Doc's mind that rendering four of your hosts' best fighters incapable was not, perhaps, the best way of making friends and influencing people.

“You have done well,” the chief said. “You have proved yourself the equal of Whitey in besting any who would oppose you.”

“I do not know about that,” Doc demurred, aware of the rasping breathlessness in his voice. It was a judgment that Jak probably wouldn't be too happy about, and that thought alone made Doc smile to himself. Still, it was nice to hear.

“Does that mean I get the job?” he asked in as bright a voice as he could manage, light-headedness lending him a flippancy that would otherwise have been out of place.

“Eh?” The chief looked at the shaman, puzzled.

The stoic medicine man shrugged. “Spirits can make you crazy,” he muttered.

“Oh, good. I am so glad,” Doc said, confusing them further.

With which, consciousness escaped him and he fell forward slowly, face-first into the dust.

 

F
OR
M
ILDRED AND
J.B. the path toward fulfilling their destiny had little in the way of such high points. The interpretation of their shared vision quest, and the manner in which it tied in to the great legends that powered
the progress of the Otoe, meant that they were seen by many as above reproach.

J.B. had already had many a chance to prove himself when out hunting, and in the patrolling guard that kept the children and the women of the tribe feeling safe, riding out at night to keep clear the boundaries of the ville. Mildred had not had this chance, but despite her sex, the wise words of the old seer Milled Red had proved to be correct in some manner. Her color set her apart from the white-eyes, of which J.B. was a part, and this enabled the tribe to see her in a different light. She was an outsider in the land of the white-eyes, just as they were. So she did not face quite the hostility that Krysty had faced with the Sioux in being able to take part in activities that were the preserve of the male.

And now that she and J.B. were linked with Dore and Wahre'dua in the minds of the tribe, they were now both seen as being not a white-eye and a woman; rather, they had become symbols of the way in which the monster-slaying brothers had given themselves to the world. The whole world, regardless of race or creed.

When Mildred went once more to visit the old woman, she remarked upon this. At first, it seemed as though Milled Red had paid no heed. In an irritable tone, she sent the woman who tended her to fetch fresh water, complaining that the herb tea she had been given by her nurse was brackish. It was only when the nurse left the earth lodge that Mildred saw the light sparkle in the old woman's eyes.

“It is a shame to treat her like that, for she is a good
girl in many ways. But not of the brightest, and perhaps inclined to open her mouth before her mind has formed any thoughts.”

“So there's nothing wrong with the tea?” Mildred asked with a smile.

The old woman shook her head with an air of impatience. “Of course not. It seems wrong to scold the child in such a way, as she makes such good tea. But I wished to speak with you with some degree of privacy. First, I must ask you—does it not strike you as strange that you and your friend should have the same vision?”

Mildred thought about her answer. What was the old woman expecting her to say? She chose her words with care.

“We're close. We've shared many things. We've also heard much about your tribe and its legends during—”

The old woman waved a hand dismissively. “No, no, that's not what I mean. In the time since our people have returned to the old ways, I have never heard of any two people—even the closest of brothers—having such a shared experience. I am also suspicious of anything that fits too nicely. And this does.”

“In what way?” Mildred asked, a glimmering of the old woman's meaning sparking at the edge of her consciousness.

“Simply this. At a time when all thoughts are focused on the prophecy, two people arrive from nowhere. Then they are sent on a dream quest and have an identical vision. It is as though the legend were being written around them by an unseen hand.”

“The spirits?”

The old woman shrugged. “Oh, well, you might call it that. But I am old enough to remember a time when such things were not blindly believed. And there is nothing wrong with a little healthy skepticism. You should cease trying to humor me, and be yourself.”

Mildred could not resist a chuckle. “Okay, you got me there. I suppose I do find it hard to believe in spirits without anything else to go on. But what's the alternative? That something else is guiding us? Some unseen hand?”

Milled Red sniffed. “That is no less possible. The old bases from white-eye military days, when our people were workers in thrall to them. They are scattered around here like gopher holes. I have never seen inside the one that we are near, but I suspect that your friend may have done.”

Mildred nodded. “I wouldn't doubt that John was itching to have a look around. Even though your people don't use the tech, it would still seem like a good idea to him to check it out.”

“You haven't spoken of this, then?”

“No, there hasn't been enough time for us to be alone—” she paused, hearing the nurse return.

Milled Red waved her hand in agitation. “There isn't much time, then. Listen well. You must talk to him about what he has seen in there. The white-eye bases hold the key to the prophecy as much as the spirits. The two may even have become the same over the years, one as a way of explaining the other. I have thought this for many years, but those living now could not understand
how things used to be, and would not want to question. I like you. It has been refreshing to speak with one who is not small in horizon, just the once more. I would not wish harm to come to you because you are unprepared.”

Her voice had dropped to a harsh whisper as the nurse entered, so that she would not grasp the gist of the conversation.

“You are having trouble speaking. I must make you more tea with honey,” the nurse said in a worried tone.

“Don't fuss, girl, it was nothing more than a clogged throat,” Milled Red replied. “Make your tea, but don't worry.”

Mildred left the old woman, with the nurse fussing over her, and went in search of J.B. The words of the old seer were racing through her head. If this area was riddled with old tech and military bases; if there were anyone still alive in any of them, mad, inbred and mutated but still with a rudimentary grasp of how the tech worked; if there were something that worked still on an automatic program…

She did not have to search long before she found him. The Armorer was with a group of men, making bows from finely carved wood, bending the soft, yielding flesh so it was shaped by the tension of the string that ran between the ends.

“John, there's something I'd like to talk to you about.”

“Sure,” he replied, infuriating her as he showed little sign of moving from where he sat, among those she didn't want to hear their conversation—accidentally or otherwise.

“I've got to be getting on, so could you…” She indicated that they move away.

J.B. frowned. “Okay, but it'd better be quick.”

As they moved away, and she tried to ignore his puzzled expression, she was acutely aware of the eyes of the others following them. She made small talk that baffled him even more, until he finally snapped.

“Millie, what the hell is going on? What did—”

She silenced him with a gesture and, looking around to check that they could not be easily overheard, told him of her conversation with the old seer. When she had finished, he nodded shortly.

“Yeah, I can see why you wouldn't want that overheard.” He paused, then added, “She might have something. There was certainly a shitload of activity going on around here before skydark.”

“Why didn't you say anything about this before?” she asked, exasperated.

“Because I never had a chance for more than a brief recce,” he replied, pondering the matter, “and it didn't occur to me that there could be anything going on. Just figured that they'd all be as useless as this one seems to be.”

“Except it's only useless because the Otoe don't want to use it.” Mildred sighed. “I think we should check this out.”

It was easy to approach the redoubt. The tribe thought nothing of the old base, and it was open at all times. Yet they could rarely be bothered to enter without some purpose, so it was essential that Mildred and the Armorer have a reason to enter, in case they aroused suspicion.

J.B. went to Little Tree, explaining that he was more familiar with the old habit of map reading than the Otoe-preferred methods of scouting land, and so he wished to consult the old maps that he had seen when the man had shown him the redoubt.

Little Tree shrugged, figuring it would be no problem, and he accompanied them to the redoubt, where J.B. showed Mildred the wall chart that mapped the maze of redoubts that littered the plains area, completely oblivious to the significance it now held for them.

Mildred whistled low, then spoke as quietly. “With all that shit under the ground, it's a wonder that we just don't fall through and have done with it.”

“It is kind of impressive, in a way,” he agreed.

She looked over her shoulder at Little Tree before saying softly, “It means that there's a whole lot of computer tech that could still be running, or a whole lot of inbreds who could be doing it. Maybe that's why we had the same vision. Some kind of tech that can bend our minds.”

“Mebbe there is,” J.B. said sourly, “but that kind of figures that something out there knows what these people believe and is moving us all about like pieces in that old game you and Doc like. And that's just as hard for me to believe in as spirits and ghosts.”

“So maybe it taps into what we're thinking, what they're thinking. That's a whole lot of maybes.”

J.B. collected a number of maps from the wall and from old storage units. Map reading would enable him to orienteer that much better.

As they left the redoubt, then parted company with Little Tree, both J.B. and Mildred were wrapped in their own thoughts. Only when they felt it was safe, and they could not be overheard, did they give them voice.

“You saying to me that something is guiding us, like spirits or some rogue comp, even coldhearts who might still be hiding out underground?”

“I don't know, John. I really don't. But it's a possibility we need to think about.”

“Mebbe you're right,” J.B. stated. “Tell you one thing—there's some weird shit happening out there. We've seen that. And the farther out there you get, the weirder it is. Something's causing that to happen. Mebbe the same thing made us see what we did. Whatever it is, we need to be triple red if it can fuck with our heads. 'Cause even if it isn't actively hostile, it sure as shit isn't friendly.”

The stars were in alignment, and the time had come for preparations to cease, and for the fulfillment of the prophecy to begin. The warriors who would accompany the pairs on their quest into the plain, in search of the answer, the secret that would enable their tribe to become the one that would lead the world to a better way, were finally selected.

Now, on the night before they began their journey, the revered explorers were the subject of a celebratory feast. In each tribal gathering, all were gathered in their finest garb. Sweetly spiced meats and potent brews were consumed, and the explorers were given the finest of sendoffs. The shaman of each tribe conducted ceremonies that would cleanse and protect those who were to venture forth, ensuring that the spirits were on their side, and they were safe from vengeful or playful ghosts.

And then, when the shaman of each tribe had concluded his ritual, the chief of each tribe stood in front of the assembled throng and delivered an address that was intended to stir those who were to stay behind and wait, as much as it was intended to spur on those who were about to depart.

And it was then—only then—that, in each tribe, each pair of chosen ones realized that they were not alone.

 

T
HE SHOCK OF HEARING
the chief elder's words as they rang out across the plateau made Ryan pause. A sliver of spiced jackrabbit halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he turned to Krysty.

Looking at him from across three rapt warriors, lost in their leader's words, the Titian-haired woman raised an eyebrow. As soon as they could find a moment when they could not be overheard, it was vital they talk.

 

T
ALK WAS SOMETHING
that Doc could never help. Even before the Pawnee chief had finished his speech, the old man leaned across to Jak and whispered urgently in his ear.

The albino teen was less voluble than Doc, and a sharp elbow to the older man's ribs soon silenced him, if only for a moment.

When the chief had finished, and music had started to play while a ritual dance began, Jak took advantage of the silence and leaned into Doc. “Sorry for hurt. Should keep mouth shut till safe.”

“I know, I know,” Doc said, “and you were perfectly correct, dear boy…But you realize what this may mean?”

“Hell of a big chance.” Jak shrugged.

“Not really. We started from the same place, and couldn't really wander that far in the time we were apart. If there are two other tribes on this plain who have the same aims, then…”

“Yeah, mebbe. What that shit Mildred say about not chilling chickens?”

“Counting, dear boy, and you're right. Nonetheless, it is now our imperative to—”

“Get away from rest as soon as possible,” Jak finished with a decisive nod.

Doc grinned. “Exactly.”

 

F
OR
M
ILDRED AND
J.B. the revelation was not exactly the shock it may have been for the others. The Otoe had gathered in one of the fields that had been left fallow for the season. A ceremonial fire had been lit, and the tribe had gathered around it. Despite the surprise they both felt at the words of the chief, they remained stoic, betraying no emotion even to each other, let alone to the warriors around them.

But Milled Red had been carried from her earth lodge to witness and partake in this feast. As the oldest member of the tribe—even if a woman—it had been almost a necessity that she see the beginnings of the goal for which she had been waiting all her life.

Mildred and J.B. used the cover of the celebrations to approach her.

“Oh, well, I think I know what you want to ask me,” the old woman said before either of them had a chance to speak. “If I knew of the other tribes, why didn't I mention them?”

“Something like that,” J.B. murmured.

The old woman shifted painfully, grimacing, then said, “Think of it this way. If I had mentioned it, you
would have been itching to escape and search for your companions. For which I would not blame you. But—and this is important—by staying here and learning much of the prophecy, and looking back at the old times, as I'm sure you have,” she added with a wry smile, “then are you not better equipped to try to find your companions once you have left the village, and are no longer under close observation?”

“So how do you know that we won't just make a run for it and leave all thoughts of the prophecy behind?” Mildred asked. “After all, you might be skeptical, but you're still Otoe.”

The old woman laughed. It was a harsh, grating sound, but not without warmth. “True enough. I have always lived with the idea of the prophecy. Yet I have never been convinced by stories that have no real basis. It may prove to be true. Yet even then, that is no guarantee that it will give the people exactly what they wish for. There is some old saw about being careful when it comes to such matters.

“No. The reason that I am convinced that you will see this matter through has little to do with the Grandfather, and everything to do with fate. It is a much harsher taskmaster, and shows neither favoritism nor interest. You have been set on this course by blind chance. Blind chance has thrown your companions an equal lifeline. Of course, we don't know that for sure. Coincidence is a friend of this land, however…

“You will follow the path that fate and chance has set you. In many ways, there is little else you can do.”

The old woman gave a little chuckle as she finished. Despite the tenor of her words, her voice betrayed no malice. She was simply stating the facts as she saw them.

J.B. looked at Mildred. There was resignation both in his tone and written on his face. “She's right. It's like we're caught in a current, and we've just got to see where the tide takes us.”

 

M
ILDRED AND
J.B.
WERE
riding at the head of their party when the first storm hit without warning. The skies were clear, the ochre-tinged blue forming a haze over the sun as it beat down on them. There was no sign of any cloud cover, and yet it seemed to J.B. that in the blink of an eye, a vast bank of dark, thick, broiling cloud had grown almost directly above them. The air grew thick, charged with static, and although the temperature did not change, the kind of heat had a textural change that was palpable. From a dry scorching on any exposed flesh, the air now became clammy and sticky, sweat forming on their skin and weighing heavy as the moisture seemed to increase in mass, almost too weighty to move and roll down their necks and backs.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Mildred murmured, casting a wary eye at the cloud, which was black and gray shot through with yellow.

J.B. shrugged. “Seemed to appear when I blinked.”

“I wonder what it's going to do.”

As if the elements had chosen to answer her directly, the first drops of rain began to fall. As heavy and round as the globs of sweat that would not dislodge from her
brow, they hit the ground around the gently pacing horses with a force that kicked up globs of muddy dust, pitting the surface of the prairie with tiny pockmarked craters. They hit the flanks of the horses, stinging like stones tossed from a distance, causing the animals to snort and toss as the strange intrusions disturbed them.

They were no less disturbing for those who rode on their backs. The heavy, mordant parcels of water seemed to sting the skin as they landed.

Chem rain. That was no ordinary cloud that rumbled and danced above them, unleashing its deadly load.

Yelling to one another to find cover, the exploratory party turned its horses, scanning the land around for something that would provide cover. Anything, given the urgency of the circumstances, would be a relief.

Was it fate or the hand of the Grandfather that saw them close to a small rock hill, with a cave in the face? Or was it that the storm was only happening because they were near to the cave?

If the latter, then there was a chance that something omnipotent was manipulating them. But they could not waste time to wonder about that. They had to take their chances as they arose, and so they rode for the cover that the cave provided. Their faces, forearms, any exposed skin, itched as the rain hit it with an increasing force. Skin became waxy, then soapy, as the acids locked into the parcels of water were freed by contact and ate away at the top layer of epidermis on every rider.

As if this were not enough, the rain was now falling harder. The drops fell so closely together that they be
came almost like a constant stream. Sheets of rain fell in front of them, making progress akin to riding through a waterfall. The streams of liquid made their skin blister and ulcerate at a rapid rate; the going underfoot became treacherous and thick, a quagmire that caught at the hooves of the horses, making them slip and stumble.

Yelling instructions or encouragement to one another became impossible as the coruscating rains fell harder, driving into their mouths, nostrils and eyes, making it all too easy to lose their bearings.

More by luck than judgment, testament only to their ability to set a course against all obstacles, the exploratory party made it to the cave. They had scattered, but somehow all managed to find their way to shelter. Using water from their canteens to wash the chem rain from their eyes, they looked out on the land. It was lost now beneath a bubbling, churning river of mud and water that was swept along by what kind of a current they could only guess.

“Better not rise too much,” Little Tree murmured to J.B. “You notice something? This is no big cave, and it gets narrow down the back, there.”

J.B. squinted into the darkness that lurked behind them. It was a dim light, but even so he could see that Little Tree was right: the cave quickly narrowed as the walls and ceiling closed in a funnel. He turned and looked at the river of mud that was flowing past the opening. The rain still fell, and the mud lapped closer and closer to the mouth of the cave, seemingly inexorable in its search for them.

And then, as suddenly as it had started to fall, the rain ceased. The sheets dried to a few desultory drops that glittered with chemical colors in the sun that now poked yellow fingers through the dark of the fast-scattering chem cloud. In less than a minute, the storm cloud that had lain so heavily was gone, the rain now nothing more than a memory as the skies returned to their ochre-streaked blue. As the exploratory party watched from the cave mouth, the rivers of mud hardened and baked with a ferocity and speed that was almost shocking. Where only seconds before there had been a churning quicksand of viscous fluid earth, there were now hard-baked ridges of dirt that rose and fell, tracing the contours of the flow in a way that would make progress on horseback slower. Columns of steam rose from the ruts as the air reclaimed the water, the rains now rising back to…what? Nothing but blue, now that the cloud that had birthed them was gone.

“The spirits are playing with us, testing us,” Little Tree said softly.

Mildred looked at J.B. “Yeah, or someone or something….”

Wary now of the elements that lay beyond the cave, the exploratory party mounted their steeds and ventured out into the now clear day.

Was this an error of judgment? It seemed that way, as in only a few short minutes they found that the same baking heat that had dried the mud rivers and scattered the dark clouds had now left them with no shelter from its piteous glare. Not wishing to drive their mounts too
hard, the party had started at a sedate pace. Yet even now, after such a scant passing of time, it seemed to be too fast. Under the relentless rays of the malicious sun, they slowed almost to a crawl. The heat was dry and oppressive, weighing down on them like molten lead. Their skins itched from the chem burns, and began to fry under the sun. It was hard to concentrate, to form any kind of coherent thought, but it did occur to Mildred that the weight was a constant theme: first the rain, now the heat. As though something was attempting to sap their strength as they ventured toward the area that was their goal.

Any further such train of thought was arrested by what she could see and hear ahead of them, through the haze formed by the heat and rising water vapor.

 

R
YAN
, K
RYSTY AND THE
Sioux party had also experienced an anomaly in the weather, but theirs was more familiar to them. They had seen clouds form and gather in the distance, each swirl of darkness on the horizon to east and west. Yet their part of the skies remained clear.

Krysty's hair gathered at her nape, giving her forewarning of what was to come only a few moments before the first wisps of moving air signaled the beginnings of a windstorm.

“The Grandfather sends this to test us,” one of the warriors yelled.

“More likely because we're stuck between the two cloud pressures,” Ryan murmured to Krysty, “but whatever's causing it, we need to find shelter.”

The woman nodded. It was unnecessary to add the need for speed that she felt, as Ryan was already ahead of her. A dust storm caused by raging winds was what had got them into this situation, and he was damned if he was going to let the intemperate climate catch him out a second time.