Martyr (The Martyr Trilogy) (3 page)

Tell
me what you see as the options.

“I
could reveal him to the resistance.  Use him to demand their surrender.”

But
to show what would seem to them a living Tal-Makai…to their simple minds it
would seem a resurrection from the dead.  It wouldn’t matter if you killed him
again, the fools would find hope in it; they would wait forever for another
resurrection, fighting all the while.

“Indeed. 
Then it would be no better to stage a public execution.  There can be no
advantage to retaining him alive.  Here is the situation as I see it: the Deity
has made a mistake.  It falls to me to correct it.”

Like
lichen creeping over a stone, it dawned on me that I was the object of
consideration.  I took action.  Grabbing my companion (I would have to remember
to ask his name when time was not such a key factor), I ran back into the
previous chamber, and dived behind one of the larger couches.  I heard the fall
of heavy feet behind us, but he didn’t seem to have detected our presence.  I
could see his black boots as he passed beyond our chosen hiding spot, and my
eyes panned to his face.  It was only the briefest of glimpses, but there was
little doubt.  The voice, the smug look….it was Maitland.  He headed for the
door to the dungeon.  A dungeon he would soon be finding disappointingly empty.

“We
need to run.”

As
soon as we heard the door clamp shut behind him, I edged toward the door at one
end of the hallway we first emerged into.  I tried it, and found it unlocked. 
As I pushed it open I encountered some resistance, and discovered why; Maaike
was standing on the other side.  Clearly relieved, she said, “Oh, thank
Chaer-Ul!  Come on!”   There was another hallway leading to the right, and a
high-ceilinged room with big bay windows to the left.  That was the way we
took.  I could see some leafless treetops from the windows, and I drew closer. 
I was able to see a portion of the building we were in.  Not a castle or
fortress, it had paned glass windows and a peaked slate roof.  The structure
itself was constructed of stone.  In the front I could make out fragments of
asphalt amidst the yellow-brown grass that could have been the remains of an
old driveway.  It looked like the private mansion once belonging to someone of
means, long since neglected.  Two guards wearing what looked like mechanics’
jumpsuits conferred near a broken stone wall about fifty paces south of the
building.  They appeared to have swords at their belts.

Maaike
took my hand, leading us through another door to the top of a carpeted
staircase.  Without a sound, she reached a hand behind her to stay us, and we
watched as another guard paced slowly to the right on the floor below.  We
waited until he passed out of view, and a few seconds longer, then Maaike said,
“Let’s go.”  We descended the stairs with a few quick steps, turned to the
left, and started toward a windowed door.  Before we had gone more than a few
paces, we heard a shout from above.  Turning, we saw the guard we had so
cleverly evaded emerge from around a corner and start to run our way.  Other
guards were flying down the stairs, barely touching the ground, shouting commands. 
Without a word, we turned again and ran for the door.  Maaike didn’t bother to
fumble for her keys, but met the door with a well-aimed kick without breaking
stride.  The latch shattered and the door swung wildly on one intact hinge.  We
burst through and ran straight ahead, toward a stone gate about a hundred paces
away.  There was a guard between us and the gate, already drawing his sword and
readying himself for our arrival.  We were unarmed. 

Maaike
didn’t slow her pace.  As we ran, she began to speak in short, calculated
phrases between gulped breaths:  “Beyond the gate…the hill rises…beyond the
hill…a party awaits…whatever happens…meet the party….don’t stop…don’t slow. 
You must live!”  By that point we were a mere ten paces from the gate, and the
guard.  He held a wide stance, hilt of his blade planted at his hip, tip
pointing at us.  Before I knew what was happening, Maaike threw herself onto
his blade.  I saw it emerge from her back, just under her ribs.  She wrapped
her arms around the guard and pulled him close, receiving the blade fully, and
clung to him, unrelenting in her death embrace.  She never made a sound.  I
tried to scream, but no sound emerged from my constricted throat.  I stumbled
but didn’t fall.  I remembered her words; I would not let her die in vain. 
Grasping my companion’s sleeve, I mounted the base of the hill.  I never looked
back.  My eyes tried to well, but I fought it, ran harder.  Seconds seemed to
drag into minutes, until finally, we crested the hill.  There, I could see
something. 

A
small group of people stood around a vehicle, an SUV.  Dilapidated and many
times patched, I was a little surprised when it started.  There were three men
and a woman.  I saw the woman’s eyes scanning the hilltop, possibly for
pursuers.  They ushered us quickly into the back of the vehicle, the men
staring at me as if in disbelief.  “Maaike …,” I started, but one of them, a
young, bearded man with dark, curly hair, silenced me with a gesture.  “She
would have come if she could,” he said.  “I know what she must have done.”  At
this the woman began to sob bitterly.  Then I remembered where I had seen her
face before.  Add a pair of glasses, a different hairstyle, and she would have
looked just like the girl who had challenged Maitland in class.  That unhuman voice
had spoken of parallel worlds and alter egos; maybe Maaike had been a
doppelganger of that girl.  I guess she was destined to be brave in any world. 
My accomplice spoke after a time, extending a hand, “I’m Jeyt.”

4

We
rode through a dead wood, following a rut that might once have been a road.  I
had so many questions, but my mind was swimming with the whirlwind of events
that had led me to this point, and I couldn’t manage to formulate a coherent
thought.  I suppose I had also lost a fair amount of blood during my
imprisonment.  Consciousness came and went as it pleased.  I saw glimpses of
trees, outcroppings of stone, flashes of yellow sunlight.  At one point I felt
we had stopped, and I tried to look around.  We were at an abandoned gas
station.  Two of the men from our party were bending back some saplings that
had erupted through the concrete platform and claimed the pumps.  After some investigation
it became apparent that the pumps were dry.  A pack of crows laughed at us from
the roof of the former cash booth.  The few vehicles scattered around the lot
were in far worse shape than our own, seeming to be made of paper-thin sheets
of rust that were perforated in numerous spots, rubber tires almost completely
disintegrated.  Across the road the remains of two massive oil tanks resembled
a pair of beached whales, forever trapped on this sealess strand.

We
resumed our progress, and I fought to remain aware.  The land descended as we
went, our road passing between steep gravel slopes.  To the left of the road I
spotted a trickle.  I didn’t notice when it had started, but it grew as we
descended to a respectable stream, always following the road.  Its water
appeared to be clear, perhaps drinkable.  I craved it.  I asked our female passenger
if we could stop, and she reached behind her seat, handing me a liter bottle of
dirty-looking water. 

“But…”,
I gestured toward the crystal stream at the roadside.

“This
is better.  You’ll see soon.”

We
started to slow down, and I looked at the road ahead.  The stream, small though
it was, had decided to cross the road at last, had been doing so for some
time.  In the process it had eroded away a big chunk of our road.  The neat
slice passed completely through the road from left to right and rendered
continued passage impossible.  Thankfully there was a broad, sloping shoulder
off to the right that merged seamlessly with the streambed.  We pulled off and
began to follow the stream as it had followed us previously.  The trees grew
more dense as we rode, and after traveling thus for a couple of miles, the
stream arced to the left.  As we rounded the bend, the trees separated and the
sand of the streambed was replaced by gravel as we emerged into a clearing
where the water pooled into a shallow pond.  On the far shore, roughly fifty
yards away, were a series of lumpy, white forms.  The vehicle stopped, and the
bearded man handed me a pair of binoculars.  I focused on the white shapes, and
gasped.  Four great white deer – just like the one in my dream – lay
decomposing by the pool.  The woman spoke.

“Magus
poisoned all the running water in this area, knowing our camps would draw from
it.  We lost a number of good people before we realized it.  Our secondary water
sources are not as clear, but are not tainted, at least not yet.”

An
older man with uncontrolled salt-and-pepper sideburns and a green vest spoke
up.  “You met him – Magus – didn’t you?  Did he say anything…uh…useful?”

“Now
is not the time, Denkel,” said the bearded man.  “When we are safely within the
camp…”

The
woman spoke up. “Safe!  The only safety is on the move.  Do you think he is not
tracking us already?  We won’t be able to keep camp here beyond this night.”

“I
think not,” replied the bearded man.  “This was already a stretch for Magus;
I’ve never seen him stray so far from the city.  No doubt you were the reason
for his excursion.”  He was pointing at me. 

“And
we were lucky for that, Jager.  We wouldn’t have stood a chance of recovering
him if Magus had held him in his stronghold.  Chances are, he hadn’t held him
for long when we received word.  He was probably still trying to decide how
best to kill him.”

“I
think you’re right about that,” I chimed in.  “I overheard him talking to someone
about the very matter.”

“Apologies,”
said the woman.  “We’ve been talking over you as though you were not here.  I’m
Kaire.”  She extended a hand.  “This is Jager, Denkel, and that’s Tryst at the
wheel.”  He waved over his shoulder with a wink in the rearview mirror.  “And I
believe you’ve met Jeyt.”  The thin ex-con nodded in my direction.  “Jeyt,”
said Kaire, “I was glad to see you.  We were coming for you next.”

“Of
course you were.  I was actually a little annoyed that my stay was cut
short….was really starting to acquire a taste for the rat.”

“Haven’t
lost that sense of humor, I see.”

We
rode on beyond the clearing.  We reentered some woods, but only for a short
time before it opened again, this time revealing a golden field.  Here we made
our own road, veering to the left and heading for what appeared to be an
impenetrable tangle of undergrowth.  I looked behind us, and saw that the
yellow grass was not matted by our passing, but sprang back to its original
height with remarkable resilience.  We pulled up before the undergrowth, and
stopped.  Kaire and Jager jumped out, grabbed handfuls of shrubbery and began
pulling.  It swung open like a gate, and Tryst wasted no time driving through. 
Closing the way behind us, Kaire and Jager rejoined us.  Our drive proceeded
now through a much thicker wood, mostly of towering pines and smaller
evergreens.  They were the first plant life I had seen thus far that was not
yellow.  We rode in a deep trench that rarely deviated from a straight course
for several miles.  Then I felt us start to slow.  I looked to the road ahead,
and saw two armed guards, one on each side of the road, before an arch made of
twisted vines.  I stiffened, but Kaire laid a hand on my shoulder.

“Peace,
these belong to us.”

The
guards waved us past, smiling broadly, straining to catch a glimpse of
something as we passed.  As we continued to drive slowly beyond the gate,
several young boys and girls emerged from the trees at either side and ran
alongside our vehicle, shouting, “Martyr!  Martyr!”  Then among the trees tents
started to appear, and campfires.  The intoxicating scent of roasting meat
reached my nostrils.  Small groups of people stood here and there in groups of
two or three or four, staring at us, then turning inward upon themselves and
muttering excitedly.  So obvious and so unanimous was this response, that a
wave of excitement could be observed passing from one cluster to the next, on
both sides, following us as we rode by. 

“They’re
really glad you made it back,” I said.

“What
you’re seeing isn’t for us,” Kaire answered.  “It’s for you.”

“Yeah…I’ve
been meaning to ask about that.  What’s all this “martyr” business?  Who do
these people think I am?”

“I
think it best we leave that discussion to the Commander.”

“You
understand I’m not who they think I am, don’t you?”

“I
understand you don’t think you are.  I don’t know what to think just yet.  But
I must ask you, for the sake of all of us…”

“Ask
me what?”

“To
let them think what they will think…at least for now.  You don’t have to lie. 
Just don’t deny anything.  Can you do that?  Will you?”

“Look,
I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be having this conversation if you guys hadn’t
rescued me.  I’ll do whatever you think is best.”

“Thank
you.  Really.  It will mean so much to them.  And who knows, maybe they’re not
wrong.”  I raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing more.

“In
case it comes up, there’s a name you may hear, the name of the one they think
you are.”

“Tal-Makai,”
I said. 

“Yes. 
How did you…”

I
simply smiled.  It occurred to me that in spite of being indebted to these
people, I really didn’t know any of them.  And it might just work in my favor
to play along, at least until I had a better idea who I could trust.

At
last we pulled up before a circle of larger tents, and Denkel motioned for me
to get out.  He and Tryst led me to a folding chair before one of the tents,
while Jager and Kaire remained at the vehicle, conversing.  Shortly two young
girls arrived and furnished me with a tray containing cuts of roasted flesh and
a pitcher of beer.  They giggled and twittered, then backed away without
removing their gaze from me, turned and skipped off whispering to each other. 
I didn’t dwell on that, but immediately tore into the meat, washing it down
with greedy gulps of beer.  I nearly spilled the pitcher when another girl,
without warning, began to clean my head-wound by dabbing at it with a moist
cloth, then applied a salve and wrapped my head with bandages.  I had to push
it off my eyes so I could see to continue my feast.  Another appeared and asked
if I had any other wounds; still another whether my pitcher needed refreshing. 
Just then Kaire emerged from the trees at my back and sent the girls away.

“I’m
sorry for leaving you alone like that.  They mean well.”

“It
wasn’t a problem, really.  It’s not every day I’m treated like a returning
hero.”

“The
Commander will be anxious to speak with you, but has not yet returned from the
field.  I would suggest you get some rest; you may use the tent behind you if
you like.  A pair of guards will be stationed at your door, just notify them if
you have need of anything.”

“I
will, thank you.”

Kaire
walked back in the direction from which she had come.  I polished off the rest
of my meat and ale, and set the tray on the ground.  A heretofore unseen girl
scurried up and removed it with a smile.  I rose, and was surprised to not feel
the now familiar throb in my head.  Maybe that was a pretty good salve they
had, or maybe it was the beer.  What I did feel was exhaustion.  I dragged
myself through the doorway of the tent behind me and collapsed on the blankets
laid there for me.

I
slept an uneasy sleep, aware of an increasing bustle outside my tent, whispers
growing to an excited hum of voices.  I tried to sink back into unconsciousness,
was successful for a time, but ultimately found myself focusing on the sounds,
attempting to separate individual voices.  Aware of a presence, I cracked open
my eyes and scanned to the tent flap, where a face stood silhouetted against
the brightness outside.  Seeing me stir, the figure spoke.

“Sir,
the Commander has returned.”  It was one of the serving girls.

Someone
had laid a pile of clothes near the doorway.  Of course, I was still wearing
the bathrobe Maaike had given me.  Maaike …such a young girl, gave her life
without a thought.  I doubted I could ever do what she had done, to give so
selflessly.  Was there even any cause I believed in so strongly?  I pulled on a
pair of faded jeans and a coarse cotton shirt with a Nehru style collar.  There
was also a waist-length brown leather jacket and brown shoes.  Everything fit
perfectly.   

I
peeked out of the flap, and the guards stepped aside to allow me to emerge. 
Kaire approached me.  “The clothes suit you well.”

“Thanks. 
I was told the Commander was here?”

“Not
here, yet.  The party was spotted from one of our surveillance towers, and we
were notified by a signal fire.  They’ll be arriving in the camp shortly.  Come
this way.”

I
followed her out of the small circle of tents and into the woods along a wide
path, but not the one we had ridden in on.  It seemed to be the general
direction in which people were moving.  About fifty paces ahead, three great
forms rose slowly over a rise in the path.  Three of those great white deer,
each bearing a rider.  The riders, and the beasts, were armored, but not in the
finely crafted and detailed suits of legend.  Their plates were makeshift
creations, scraps of metal and plastic secured with pieces of cord.  The riders
themselves wore what looked like a collection of sporting pads, welders’
gloves, and motorcycle helmets. The two riders at the sides carried long
spears, and the central one had a great bow on his back.  As they drew near,
the other two held back while the archer approached us.  I now understood the
purpose of the stepped wooden structure at the roadside – a necessity for
dismounting beasts of this size.