Kitabı oku: «The Puzzler’s War», sayfa 7

12
Peach

Wake up, Peach.” The splash of water hit my face a moment later and I was up, breathing hard and trying to stop the world from spinning.

It was pitch-dark outside but for the truck’s floodlights. The cabin itself was lit only by a dim red lamp. I turned my head to look at Trevil, then looked in the opposite direction. Brak was in the shadows, perched against the cabin’s wall and the backseat. His head was slumped backwards.

“Is he alive?” It wasn’t the most sensitive of questions, but it needed to be asked.

“Brak’s a warrior. He’ll pull through.” I couldn’t see his expression but there was desperation in Trevil’s voice, as if he was trying to convince himself. “He woke up for a while but now you see him … You’ll need to change his bandage and put on some fresh leaves.”

I turned around to climb over the seat but he stopped me with a thrust of his hand, holding a water skin. “Drink first,” he said. The water was warm and slightly contaminated, but my vessel needed the nourishment.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You saved us back there,” Trevil said. “The way you moved could only be one thing.” He nodded at me.

I did not know what he meant so I simply nodded back and climbed over to Brak.

“Give him some water, too,” Trevil called after me. I managed to put the water skin into Brak’s mouth, but a lot of the water I pumped with my hands spilled out. Brak was barely conscious, and Trevil had tied a rope under his armpits and secured it to a hook so he would not fall over during the drive. He was running a high fever, and I placed a wet cloth on his brow. Changing the bandages was a messy ordeal, but at least we were driving on even ground. I got a good look at the wound and grimaced. I was no field medic, but by my estimate, Brak was not going to make it without serious surgery and some modern treatment.

“Trevil,” I said, as kindly as I could. “We need to get Brak some help or he’ll die.”

“I know, we’re almost there.” Trevil leaned a little into the steering wheel, as if that would make the truck drive faster.

Looking out for the first time I realised we were no longer in the fields but driving through a ruined city.

“Where are we?”

“Changed course. There is a Mender here, one of your kind.”

“My kind?” I was careful with my tone of voice.

Trevil turned his head to me slightly. “I saw you move when we fought them naturalists. No ordinary man or woman moves like that. You are marked, tattooed, cursed, whatever they call you. That’s why you want to go to the City of Towers, to be with your kind.”

There was nothing I could say further that would not betray my ignorance, so I turned my head and watched us drive through what were once wide streets filled with people, now empty and ruined.

“This place is … unclean,” I said, using terms I was hoping Trevil could understand. “There is poison in the air. If we stay here too long, we would get sick.”

“I know.” Trevil turned the truck around a corner, and Brak moaned as his body leaned heavily against the rope. “But the Healer lives here, in the middle of the city.”

“That’s … illogical.”

Trevil shook his head slightly but said nothing else. In the silence that followed I drew my power sword and pushed the button. Nothing happened.

“You’ll need a new power clip for that thing,” Trevil said.

“It’s powered by the sun, but it died on me during the fight. Maybe something got damaged.” I tried to pry the hilt guard free so I could see inside but it didn’t budge.

“Better find a Gadgetier in the City of Towers,” Trevil suggested, then added, “Surely you’ve heard of one of those, they are also of your kind. Where do you come from, Peach?”

I sighed. “From too far away, it seems.”

“Gadgetiers are marked who can work with Tarakan technology. You could bring it to a Tinker—they are the unmarked but they deal with Tarakan stuff, too. They’ll be cheaper but some of them are hacks.”

Hacks, I thought to myself, that’s an old word. Amazing what is gone and what lingers. “And where can I find this Gadgetier?”

“Regeneration, City of Towers, or, if you’re lucky, you’ll run into one in one of the surrounding villages, those which are friendly to the marked, and not a lot of them are. There used to be a lot of Gadgetiers in Tarakan Valley, but no one goes there anymore.”

Brak groaned softly. I put a steadying hand on his middle, but there was nothing I could do anymore. “Why is that?” I asked out loud.

Trevil shrugged. “Dunno, heard there was trouble and now the place is filled with Lizardmen.”

“Lizardmen?”

“Yeah, I know, the guy who told me this was solid, though. I’ve never seen a Lizardman myself. I’ll believe it when I see it.” He pulled over and stopped the truck next to a high wall.

“We’re here. Leave your metal here. I mean all of it, even the sword. Don’t worry, no one steals in this place.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, looking around. The street was dark, full of ruined buildings and a few warped trees. Instead of answering, Trevil shoved his gun under his seat, removed his belt and knife, and even took out several bullets from his pocket. I followed his example.

Once we managed to get Brak out of the truck I noticed the wall we parked next to was made of a mixture of piled stone and wooden planks. We carried Brak to a small door with a bell hanging next to it. There were three simple stretchers leaning against the wall, just two pieces of wood and rough ropes tied among them. We lowered Brak onto a stretcher and Trevil pulled the bell until a spyhole latch opened and someone asked, “Yay? Whose in’it?”

“It’s an emergency, a bullet wound.” Trevil pointed at his own pelvis to emphasize where the bullet hit Brak. “We need the Healer.”

The eye looked down at the stretcher and the latch closed. A moment later the door opened and four men came out, all naked but for a loincloth and a wide leather belt. The first man had a torch in his hand, and on a closer examination I could see he wore a pair of odd earrings made of what seemed to be small human bones.

“Please, hurry,” Trevil pleaded.

The man inspected Trevil, then me. “Would ya be pay da price given?” His accent was thick and I could not place it, but Trevil seemed to understand him.

“Aye,” he answered as two men lifted the stretcher. “I will, whatever the Healer would ask for.”

“Ney be coin, only kind,” the man insisted. “Price be steep, but fair.”

Trevil bowed slightly. “Whatever the Healer wishes, on my word.”

“Take da Patshin to the third hut,” the man ordered, and his subordinates quickly moved through the door.

Trevil began walking after them but the man blocked our way. “You be carry gun or coin? Nay metal in’ere is Healer’s law.”

“We carry no metal,” Trevil turned his head and looked at me, searching for a sign that his words were true and when I blinked and nodded at him, he added, “We left it all in the truck.”

The man nodded. “Then you be follow me, wash and change ya wear before ya stand with da Healer.”

Trevil looked as if he was going to argue but thought better of it. We followed the man inside to a small brick building, where we removed our clothes and washed ourselves with a rough brush and a bucket of water. There was no separation between the sexes and we both had to change and wash together with only an oil lamp lighting the centre of the room. I got a glimpse of Trevil’s body. I am an older woman by any account, but I had to admit I was impressed. He was tall, lean, and muscular, not a gram of fat on him, the sort of body chiseled by harsh living. In Tarakan people only bought or medicined such a body.

He did not bother to glance at me, though, which was lucky because he would have noticed I had no markings of any kind on my skin. The man came back, removed his own clothes, and led us, naked, through a long steam room so hot it was hard to breathe. Trevil walked before me, too anxious and preoccupied to notice me at all.

At the end of the steam bath another bucket of cold water waited for us together with clothes made of blue canvas, which felt rough on my vessel’s skin. I only had a rope belt to tie around the waist. The clothes were the same size for myself and Trevil, so mine almost touched the floor and Trevil’s were almost indecently short.

“We stabilized da Patshin,” the man intoned. “He be ready, and you be too. Da Healer be coming to treat soon, and you be ready to pay.”

He led us out of the building, picking up a fresh torch from a designated holder. Even in the middle of the night, everything felt in order, like a well-run hospital. The main building was imposing even though it was only two floors high. I figured by the old, grand architecture that it was probably much bigger once, maybe used as a life centre, filled with gaming rooms, bars, and music clubs, which was what buildings like this usually turned into long ago, when shopping malls became obsolete. A lot of it was now patched up, though a bit more carefully than the outer wall.

The outer area was dotted with large huts, each clearly marked with a number painted in red on all walls. The ground itself was soft cut grass and there were even flowers and cultivated bushes everywhere. As the wind changed, my vessel’s heightened senses detected the noise and faint stench of livestock, and there was also what looked like a large greenhouse on one side of the grounds. It felt like civilisation here was desperately holding on to the corpse that was postwar humanity. Somehow it made me feel better.

When we reached the hut marked three, it was bustling with activity. Two women came out, one holding Brak’s torn clothes and another a pile of his bloodied bandages. Two torches were burning on each side of the door, and four seminaked men were busy lighting small candles on each side of the road, all the way back to the main building.

A man dressed in a white sheet, a cap, and a face mask came out of the hut. His attire was stained red as well. He took his face mask off, leaned over, and whispered something in our guide’s ear. The man nodded and turned to us.

“Da Patshin lives, but just so,” he said in the same accent as the torch-bearing man. “We stop da blood coming but bones are broken and blood seeps inside. He be weak now. Only Healer could help or he be gone to the great dark by morning, no later.”

So this was it? No modern medical treatment, emergency medifield equipment, or even real doctors, just voodoo nonsense. Brak was done for. I kept my mouth shut though, there was no point in commenting, criticizing or drawing attention to myself. Maybe I could convince Trevil to drive me to the City of Towers once Brak died. Worst case, I’d have to steal the truck, or kidnap and use Trevil as an unwilling guide.

The torch-bearing man nodded to his colleague, who bowed and departed quickly, then led us into the hut.

It was lit by several dozen thick candles. Brak was laid on a table and was covered by a canvas blanket. He looked no better than when we moved him out of the truck.

“Brak.” Trevil tried to walk towards the table, his hand outstretched, but the man grasped Trevil by the arm as two others moved quickly to block his way.

“No touching da Patshin,” he ordered. “You stand in da far place.” He pointed at the corner. “No touching da Healer too, understand?”

Trevil took a steadying breath and nodded, visibly controlling his frustration as we walked to our designated place. Excluding Brak and us, there were four other men and three women in the hut, which made it crowded. I touched Trevil’s arm for reassurance, and he looked down at me for the first time since we entered the premises. His face was flushed with anxiety. He loves him, I thought as I stroked his arm, a show of compassion meant to establish an emotional bond between us—or at least that was what my training told me was the right thing to do.

“Don’t worry.” I said the words that Trevil had said to me back in the truck. “Brak’s a warrior, he’ll pull through.”

Trevil smiled weakly and patted my hand gently.

Good. Trust will make things easier later.

A slow drum beat began, and everyone in the room went down on their knees and faced the door. Trevil and I quickly did the same. The sound of singing came from outside, male and female voices in beautiful harmony, changing chords with the slow beat. At first, it was just a hymn I recognised, an old melody with certain religious roots. If my vessel had a brain amp I could have known its exact origins. As the choir walked closer to the door, words were added and the volume of their singing gradually increased with every sentence.

Praise da Healer, Praise da Healer

Praise him so, for he is no darkness

Praise him so for he brings light

Pay the Healer with your love

Pay da Healer with your life

The chorus repeated the words several times, and the song crescendoed as the door opened. A dark-skinned man wearing a thin white robe stood at the door. Everyone in the hut bowed deeply, touching their foreheads to the floor, and we followed their example. When I rose back to my knees I saw that the man’s face and legs were covered in black spots, which on second glance proved to be something more than sunspots or some kind of skin disease. There was something a bit too orderly about them. The shapes were unnatural, almost geometrical, meaning this voodoo healer must have tattooed his entire body. Behind him, outside the hut, stood the choir, each man and woman holding a candle in both hands. Many of them bore the mark of long exposure to a contaminated environment. Some even had peeling skin, exposed raw flesh, the sort of damage that would normally cause excruciating pain, but they all stood there, singing.

The effect of the torches and candles was like a halo of light coming from behind the man, and that, I had to admit, was quite impressive. The man opened his robe and let it fall behind him, leaving him completely naked and unashamed. I noticed that his testicles were either missing or too small to detect. He was otherwise whole, with those strange black marks covering the entirety of his incredibly thin body.

Everyone rose to their feet and bowed again as the naked man walked to the table. Two men took the canvas covering off Brak’s body and I saw Trevil grimace. The wound, although clean, was ugly, and blood was dripping from it.

The naked man bowed his head and touched Brak’s body with both hands. He grimaced in a show of pain.

Nothing more than an act, I thought. What did I get myself involved in?

“Da man bears metal in his flesh and poison in his blood. He is close to darkness,” the naked man intoned in a croak. “Darkness wants him, he belongs to it now. Who wants me to bring this man to da light?”

“I wish so, Healer,” Trevil bowed stiffly as the naked man turned his attention to us.

The naked Healer turned and walked towards Trevil. “And who might you be to the man to bring him back from darkness? Who begs me to take upon me another’s pain?”

“His name is Brak, and I’m his cousin,” Trevil said.

But the naked man shook his head. “You are no blood of his blood. Your words not ring true. Lies lie in darkness. Only truth brings back to life.”

“We are not blood,” Trevil admitted, and immediately the attitude in the room changed. My guess was that lying to the man calling himself Healer was not a light offence. Perhaps that was his way out of curing the incurable, to save face in front of his fanatical followers, and if that was the case, my own troubles just got worse.

The torch-bearing man stepped forward to intervene. “No lie brings life,” he said in a harsh voice. “Da Healer shall not—”

But the naked Healer silenced him with a hand gesture; his brown and almost freakishly large eyes were on me.

“And who ya be?” he said.

“A traveller, from afar,” I answered as vaguely as I could. This was not technically a lie. The naked man seemed to forget Brak altogether. He stepped closer to me, and I fought the urge to enter a battle stance. I let him get close until he reached out and touched my chin, his hand uncomfortably warm. I stood motionless as he manipulated my head right and left, standing so close to me I could smell the stench of his breath.

“Your clothes be off,” he ordered. I saw several of his men tense in anticipation of a refusal. This is just a vessel, I reminded myself as I undid the rope belt and let the crude material slip off my shoulders, but the next thought that flashed through my mind was, But it’s the only one I’ve got.

This time Trevil did notice I was unmarked. I saw him register it, but he was too worried about Brak to react.

The naked man scrutinized me. Strangely enough, I interpreted the expression on his face as a mixture of curiosity, disbelief, and even fear, not lust.

“You are a woman from a different life?” There was a question in his tone of voice, as if he was trying to confirm something.

I nodded, trying to hide my surprise.

“You are a woman of many skins?”

I looked around the room. Naked and weaponless, my chances were slim even with ESM. I could take their Healer prisoner, but I’d need Trevil to cooperate and leave Brak to die. That was not going to happen.

I nodded again, and watched the naked man take a hasty step back, his expression betraying shock, even fear. One of his men took a protective step forward but the Healer motioned him to stand and turned to Brak.

“I take this Patshin back to light, if he be willin,” he said, “but you shall both pay steep”—he motioned to Brak—“for he be close to darkness.”

Trevil stood stiffly, but he might as well have been on his knees again. “I can’t speak for her, but you can take everything I have, the truck, my weapons …”

The naked Healer shook his head once. “No metal, it is forbidden, you pay with kind and service, and I tell ya what price by the morrow.”

Behind the Healer’s shoulder I saw the man with the bone earrings looking surprised at this. My guess was this was not the way things were normally handled. Two things I knew for sure: I was not going to agree to serve this strange naked man and his cult for any length of time, but I was not about to declare my intentions at this particular moment. If Brak would die, as he surely would, I would most likely be free to go. If he somehow survived the night, I would make sure to be dressed and armed before I’d deal with the situation. The best course of action at that moment was just to stand there and let things play out.

Trevil looked at me briefly and I shrugged my consent. “I agree,” he said, and the Healer turned and walked to Brak’s body.

The choir outside was humming as we gathered around the body and placed our arms on one another’s shoulders. I had no time to retrieve my clothes, but no one paid any attention to my nakedness.

The Healer touched Brak’s body and a moan came out of him, echoed by the Healer’s own moan of mock pain.

“He be far gone into darkness,” he said as the men and women began to hum in unison, “far from where pain be. I must take his burden.” The Healer began rubbing Brak’s body with his hands. “I must take his pain.” His hands touched the open wound and Brak arched himself up off the table suddenly, crying with pain. The Healer joined the cry with his own and arched his back as the hum grew louder. I turned my head and saw Trevil’s eyes widen with fear.

“I must take his wound.” The Healer placed both hands right on the wound, and Brak’s body began to convulse so violently two men had to rush forward and hold him down. Two others grasped the Healer, who imitated Brak’s movement while screaming in pain as he maintained pressure on the wound with both hands.

Suddenly something small fell from Brak’s wound to the floor, and both Brak and the Healer screamed and arched their backs in unison once more. The Healer collapsed back into the arms of his followers while Brak’s body lay still on the table. The chorus began singing loudly as the Healer’s body was carried out by his followers. Trevil rushed to Brak’s side, crying his name, and I was left standing alone, naked and bewildered as the people around me rushed to leave the hut. I took a step forward for a better look, and there was no denial of what I saw. Brak’s wound was gone, not even a scar. I bent down and picked up what had fallen from the wound. It was covered with blood and distorted, but I had seen enough of them in my life as a soldier to recognise I was holding part of a bullet in my hand.