Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel (7 page)

When Mull finished jacking off, he finished
undressing and went outside. Sometime after midnight, he guessed by
the position of the moon. The Red Squad would be bedded down for
the night. They would surely have a watchman on duty, so he would
have to work fast and smart.

He didn’t want to kill anyone—not if he
didn’t have to—Galatians were a rare breed and Glonare wouldn’t be
happy if he wasted one. Perhaps the Bulwark or Regalan would be on
duty. Their species weren’t important to the cause, but they’d be
the most difficult to kill, so he was counting on the element of
surprise.

Filling his darts with liquid sleep, he
counted out ten drops. Three for Hogard: Basher of a Hundred
Skulls, two for Dante Armstrong, and the rest of the squad would
only need one drop each to go to dreamland, but he packed spare
darts on the off chance he missed.

Now—time to prepare the transport spell. Once
mixed, the powder would dissolve within ten to twenty minutes,
pulling him back from his destination, leaving him plenty of time
to get what he wanted.

Earlier That Day

(Josephine Rose Albright)

Rain fell throughout the morning. After a
soggy afternoon of riding followed by humidity so dense that Josie
could see water droplets in the air, Prince Loyl decided to make
camp early.

The squad went through its usual routine with
Hogard doing a security check, Josie and Lindsey foraging for
fruits and vegetables, Dante and Loyl hunting for game, Rolf
tending the horses and picketing them out to graze. Lars’s job was
to start the fire and to guard the camp. Food prep was shared by
all. After supper, Lindsey and Josie slept side-by-side in the
middle, while the men spaced out in a circle around them, to
protect against the slave traders, still active though banned by
all the Western Nations. After another hard day on the trail, sleep
came easily to Josie.

Fog swirled around her feet in her dreams.
She was running along a narrow path, overarched by leafless trees,
toward a Gothic cathedral. A huge dome glowed like a beacon in the
dark night. She hefted up her long white skirts as she fled from a
metallic bull the size of a dump truck. Black moss hung from its
rake-like horns. Steam came from its nostrils. Its blazing orange
eyes pierced the night, seeming to bore into her very soul, filling
her with deepest foreboding.

Scrambling up the cathedral’s brick steps,
she flung herself through its heavy double doors and dared to look
back into the fog. A horde of monkey-like demons had stopped a few
feet away from the door, wanting to enter, but afraid to come any
closer. Heart thumping, limbs trembling as she wondered if they
would cross the invisible barrier between the outside world and her
inner sanctum, she watched their eyes fill with hateful jagged
orange flames. The doors shut of their own accord.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she glided down
the aisle of the cathedral, between endless rows of wooden pews.
White pillars rose majestically to a groin-vaulted ceiling trimmed
in gold leaf. Massive golden chandeliers, burning with dripping
candles, hung suspended from the ceiling by golden chains, but the
building was so large that their light barely penetrated the
darkness, leaving the edges of the cathedral shrouded in mystery.
White marble cherub faces, frozen in perpetual expressions of
judgment, looked down from on high.

Somewhere in the distance a hammer clanged.
Curious, she walked toward the sound. The cool floor under her feet
looked like dark wine veined with white and black tendrils. A huge
glass dome the color of blue topaz spiraled gracefully over a
bonfire of dancing blue and white flames, where an angel dressed
like a gladiator stood with a golden hammer. His feather-white
wings, tipped in gold, were spread open. The angel’s glorious
appearance made her feel dowdy and small.

He pulled a sword from the smelting fire, its
blade glowing white-hot as he set it upon a large stone anvil.
Metal clanged like the toll of a church bell as he pounded and
shaped the blade. That’s when she noticed a table stacked with
swords just like the one he was making now. Hundreds of them.
No—thousands. Each one had a crystal blade. When she picked one up,
an euphoric electrical sensation ran through her palm and spread
through her entire body. “Whoa,” she gasped, closing her eyes to
savor the feeling. As it ebbed, she ran her fingers along the edge
of the blade, pondering its smooth double edge. Intricate patterns,
like hollow veins, swirled inside the center of the transparent
blade, but no two swords were identical. She had never seen
anything so beautiful and so perfect.

“Amazing,” she gushed, “but won’t it break
the first time it’s used against a metal blade?”

“Who can wield the divine blade of the
master?” the angel asked. Flipping over the sword in his hand, he
continued to pound it between the hammer and the stone. The sound
morphed into war drums, causing her heart to thump to the beat.

“Tell me, holder of the four winds, what do
you seek?” he asked.

She wanted to hide behind a pillar, but her
feet wouldn’t move. Shaking hard, she held up the Seeker of the
Four Winds.

“I am looking for the Blood Map,” she replied
timidly. “Can you tell me where it is?” He frowned, but did not
reply. “Can you at least tell me if we’re close?”

“You are seek the wrong things in the wrong
places.”

“What should I be seeking then—if not the
map?”

“Seek the map and you shall find the word.
Seek the word and you shall find the truth.”

“Uh,” Josie felt like a little cricket under
the gaze of a mighty eagle. It took every ounce of courage to
question him again. “By
word
—do you mean like the bible or
something?”

“Repono Scientha Three. Eleven.
Seventy-seven.”

“Huh?”

“For the glory of Galatia!” a man’s voice
sounded behind her. She turned to see Red Wakeland the First coming
at her with an ax. Again.

“Whah!” She dodged to avoid having her head
split.

His faithful dog, Zena, sprang straight for
her chest.

“Arise, Galatians!” she heard the angel call.
“Arise!”

Her eyes flipped open to see the stars
peeking between the leafy trees overhead. The smell of smoke was in
the air, and some kind of commotion on the other side of the
campfire. Disoriented, Josie sat up to see the huge black and brown
shaggy dog from her dream attacking a naked man who had wandered
into camp. Zena?

“Huh?” she said, trying to rub the sleep out
of her eyes, wondering if she was still dreaming.

The man was speaking in a strange language,
but she was sure he was cussing. Zena had sunk her teeth into his
wrist. The rest of the camp was sleeping, but Prince Loyl’s sword
was under the dog’s front paws. Speckled feathers drifted down
around them. The man punched Zena on the side of the head, but she
refused to let go. He vaporized into a puff of gray smoke, leaving
only his wail of frustration echoing through the forest.

The dog barked ferociously at Josie.

“Good girl,” Josie stammered placatingly.

Reaching out with her right hand, she tried
to touch Zena, but the animal dissolved into thousands of tiny
white birds that flew off to plant themselves in the heavens as
flickering stars. So groggy, her heavy lids fell, and sleep
overtook her once again.

..............................

Josie was roused by someone shaking her
shoulder. As her eyes adjusted to the bright light filtering
through the treetops, she saw the squad gathered around her in a
huddle. Smacking her dry lips together, feeling numb all over, she
sat up with a groan. All the while, harboring the feel that she was
forgetting something important.

“What’s up?” That’s when the pain began to
register. She looked down at the starburst pendant and seeker. The
chain was still intact, but the skin around it was torn, bloody,
bruised. “Hey!” She grabbed it, wincing on contact. “What did you
guys do to me?”

“Nothing,” Prince Loyl assured. “But we think
there was an intruder in camp last night.”

“I did a rewind,” Lindsey said, “but I
couldn’t pick up an imprint, which means one of two things: magical
interference prevented an imprint or there was no intruder.”

Lindsey’s words seemed muddled, not making
sense at all.

“Red had an ax.” Josie said, barely
remembering the dream that had jumped into the real world. “There
was a naked dude fighting with Zena right here.”

“Red?” Lindsey’s voice went up a notch. “He’s
in Galatia.”

“No,” Josie shook her head. “Not the mayor.
It was Red the First and his dog.”

“I saw human or humanoid tracks,” Hogard
grunted, “a bunch of bird feathers, but no dog.”

“I smell the humanoid.” Loyl sniffed the air.
“Definitely male, familiar, but I am unable to place the species,
face, or name.” He sniffed again. “But there is no dog scent.”

“That’s because it was a ghost dog,” Josie
said, realizing how crazy that sounded only after she’d spoken.
“The spirit of Zena.”

The Galatians glanced uneasily at one
another.

“You must have been dreaming,” Dante
suggested.

She held up her aching wrist. “Is my blood a
dream?”

Lars knelt next to her, examining the cuts on
her arm and had her bend her wrist.

“Any pain?”

“Some, but no biggie...I was dreaming about a
cathedral. The Angel of Galatia was there making swords and he told
me
Seek the map and you shall find the word. Seek the word and
you shall find the truth. Repono Scientha Three. Eleven.
Seventy-seven.
”

“That’s weird,” Lindsey said. “He tells you
to seek the word and then he proceeds to give you numbers.”

“I’m just repeating what I heard.”

“But back to the naked guy,” Loyl
interrupted. “Was there anyone else with him?”

“I didn’t see anyone else,” Josie said.

“Did you recognize him?”

“I was so shocked about him being naked, uh,
my eyes weren’t exactly on his face.”

“How did he look?” Lindsey asked in interest.
“Was he buff?”

“Not bad,” Josie had to admit. “All I know
for sure is that he had black hair—I mean on his head—well,
that
was black too.”

“Girls, stay on topic please.”

“Look,” Rolf said, picking up a blade of
grass coated with dried blood, and handing it to Loyl. “It could be
Josie’s.”

Loyl sniffed it and then Josie’s arm, wincing
when the fumes of Lars’s antiseptic hit his sinuses.

“I can’t confirm anything,” Loyl admitted.
“Regalan senses are acute, but they have their limits.”

“We were drugged,” Lars said, showing him a
fistful of thorns. “These were hollowed out and filled with an
anesthesia of some kind. I found four thorns on Hogard. Three on
Dante. The rest of us were shot with one or two.”

“Jumping Jehoshaphat,” Josie said, holding
her neck. “He could have killed us in our sleep.”

“Whoever did this is still out there—perhaps
with plans to steal the Seeker of the Four Winds.” Loyl’s sharp
green eyes scanned the forest. “Pack up. We’ll try to lose him on
the trail ahead.”

As the excitement died down, and the dart
drug wore out of her system, Josie became aware that something
besides her wrist felt strange. Her legs felt somehow exposed.
Peeking beneath the blanket, she suddenly realized that her jeans
were unzipped and pulled down to her ankles along with her panties.
Her breath caught in her throat, the twittering of the birds
silenced, the woods faded away, and for a brief moment the world
stopped turning.

“No, no, no…” She shook her head, running
back through the play-by-play of her dream. “It couldn’t mean
that…Oh, god—could it?”

“Don’t just lie there like a dolt,” Lindsey
said, tossing a full water bottle in her lap. “I took care of
filling your canteen for you—you’re welcome is the proper response.
Now help me roll up the blankets.”

Shakily, Josie discreetly pulled up her
clothing and mechanically went through the motions of packing.
Nausea came up the back of her throat. She ran to the edge of the
bushes and vomited. She returned, wobbling like a drunk, tearing a
leaf off a nearby tree to wipe her mouth.

Lars had been rolling up his blankets, when
his back stiffened. He spun around to look at her with deep
concern. Damn his charisma, Josie thought. There was no hiding
anything from him. He had felt her fear, her concern, her horror.
But he couldn’t read her thoughts. Would he be able to put it
together?

“Josie!” He rushed to her, trying to steady
her staggering footsteps. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said, pushing him away. “I
just need a minute.”

Running back to the bushes, holding a hand
over her mouth, she heaved up yellow bile.

“Are you going to be able to ride?” she heard
Loyl calling impatiently from the campsite.

“Just give me a minute,” she said.

“Hurry up,” she heard Hogard yell.
“Daylight’s a-burning.”

Lindsey came around the corner. “Good Lord,
girl, you look awful. Are you OK?”

“No,” she said, voice quivering, bewildered.
“My pants were pulled down. I didn’t pull them down, Lindsey. I
didn’t. I didn’t. So it had to be...it had to be someone else.”

“The intruder,” Lindsey gasped, then her hand
shot to her mouth. “Oh, fuck, Josie, no! No.”

Josie shook her head and the tears became
uncontrollable. She flung her arms around Lindsey, sobbing into her
chest.

“Oh, sweetie.” Lindsey stroked her hair.
“Maybe he was just looking for money or hidden jewelry. If he was a
rapist, surely he would have went for me over you, so try not to
worry.”