“Warriors! There is the great capital of Cinia. Behold it as it is now, for soon it will be ours to transform!” Wilker shouted, at the head of his brigade.
He turned to the officers accompanying him and paused at his new colonel.
“I hope for your sake, Vinn, that you do your part properly. Don't make me regret choosing you,” he murmured, the calm in his voice in stark contrast to the gravity of his threat.
She nodded, giving him a sideways glance with a frown, though in truth it was more concern than fear.
On the other side, Ness was already on the defensive line with his people. He was sitting next to a huge mobile transmitter under a tent, exhausting all his options, call by call. He adjusted his headset, uncomfortable with the humidity and sand in his hair and body, as he received another denial.
“We can't get through the blockade, General. We can send in the cargo heliplanes if you want.”
“Do so, and report back to me every twenty minutes on the status of the blockade.”
The company had trapped his troops on the border behind a wall of mountains, pulling off a masterstroke by getting them to maneuver to the side instead of the front, by sacrificing their entire hidden camp. The Cinians followed to lay siege to them, finding the vast camp in the caves. But of all those they had seen enter, only a few remained. By the time they realized there were more entrances to the caves, the company was advancing in full force from the rear. Those who had escaped through the side entrances blew up the tunnels to prevent the Cinians from fleeing as they had. And to avoid being trapped in two separate groups, both groups raced to meet and reunite; and they succeeded, but at the cost of losing all their land exits. They were not in such a bad position, as the mountains covered their rear; but this meant that they could not get back to the capital, except by airship. There were more troops elsewhere, other smaller fronts, but they were all in full battle, unable to spare soldiers.
There was no choice: he put another number on the transmitter, that of the Kennéhsian government. The receiver made it clear that the President was not available, even in the urgency of the communiqué, but promised to pass on the request as soon as possible, although his tone, spare and inexpressive, made the General uneasy, uneasy and left in the same situation.
He took off his headset and dropped it on the table: he had to think of something. An hour ago, he hadn’t been so worried about the small group of enemies threatening to attack them. He knew they had planned a surprise attack, using their small numbers and the shadows of the hills; perhaps they had planes and armed vehicles hidden nearby to join them later. He thought that from the moment they observed the defensive preparations, they knew they had failed, and now they were bringing their tanks and vehicles out of hiding, with no choice but to continue their stupid plan. But now he needed to reconsider: in that hour, the enemy force had grown by a third, meaning that about twelve hundred soldiers had appeared from all directions, bringing with them ever better and newer vehicles. Worse still were the combat drones circling the troops; there were not many of them, but they were a demoralizing sight: autonomous combat robots were strictly forbidden worldwide. This had been the case for decades, since the last world war. And by and large, any remote-controlled machine for offensive purposes was treated with the same measure. There were disputes, of course, and some machines were legal, such as automatic perimeter machine guns, which based their legality on the fact that they were defensive weapons. These drones, however, were armed with two guns on each side. It did not matter if they were autonomous or remotely controlled: they were illegal in every way, and society was an unscrupulous criminal organization.
It wasn't enough to turn the tide of the battle, no, they still had the defensive advantage, but it was absurd the way insurgents appeared out of nowhere, from hidden holes in the desert or from other communities that looked like they belonged to different groups and turned out to be pretending. What other surprises would these people have up their sleeves?
He looked at the officers standing nearby and ordered them forward with a gesture.
Neither Wilker nor his troops seemed nervous, just very excited. His supporters were jeering at the soldiers of the military forces in the capital. This seemed incomprehensible to the Cinians, considering the dubious quality of their uniforms in comparison. They wore thick, worn-out clothes in grayish colors, washed out as was their custom, and thick vests for protection. Half wore helmets on their heads, and the other half wore caps if they were lucky. The soldiers were carrying all kinds of firearms and weapons. Whatever they could collect, mostly rifles. They were escorted by a few heavy vehicles: armored half-track vehicles, gray Capellin 01 assault tanks. The few dragonflies that accompanied them flew through the sky without approaching the defensive line.
Wilker moved forward with heavy steps, accompanied by an escort. He made sure he was clearly visible, then raised a loudspeaker high above his head, as if to make sure even the gods could hear.
“Ness, at last! It's been a long time.”
He stepped to the edge of the line to watch, though he never left the safety of the parapets. He put on his special sniper goggles and zoomed in. The wind ruffled his hair, and the sun hid his eyes in a black, impenetrable shadow. He examined Wilker from head to toe. He was curious, he could not deny it, but he could not satisfy it, he ought not.
He adjusted his headset again, and as he spoke, the speakers on the public-services poles vibrated with a low, somewhat flat, but firm and dignified wave.
“I'm sorry I can't return the eagerness.”
“Ah.” He was disappointed by his lack of anger. “It looks like it will take a first round before you show yourself for who you really are.”
“Scott, what are you doing? You know you can't win.”
The other smiled and laughed easily.
“We know what we're doing; you don't need to know. Though I suppose you'll feel it soon enough, old man. Today the phoenix will fall, today the nest will burn!”
The Cinian remained silent, shrunk frowning eyes were fixed on him.
“I hope you have evacuated all the people from this city,” Wilker continued, “for we will not spare any resistance.”
“The dragon lies.” They were only three words, but they fell like a wild incantation upon the Society’s army: they were on the verge of storming the city, with or without permission. Their perjuries, their shouts, their rage and feverish need echoed through the city and into the hearts of the defenders.
Wilker drew a pocketknife from his belt. He brushed the blade with his fingers. One moment his face was blank, the next he bared all his fangs as his eyes rested on him for hundreds of meters.
“I wasn't going to hide forever, was I? Not like you, I've got things to do here and you're in my way!”
Ness tried to control his anger.
“You're not getting anything out of this city, we'll take care of that!”
“I won't? That's what you say, but you're not in a position to do it with such certainty. I'll show you, all of us, what true strength is,” the society leader gasped out of his mind. “You wanted revenge? Well, it's now or never! Move!”
A thunderous burst of crunching and stamping, charged with terrible fury, shattered the expectation. The earth and sand churned and rose with the air, forming a dark cloud in the wake of soldiers' footsteps. Both sides took their positions and the shooting began. The capellines of both sides searched each other with the sights of the cannons, the dragonflies and heliplanes began to dance, each trying to impose its own rhythm. Soon everyone was plunged into a chaos of thumping, booming, and the occasional barking that came closer and closer.
***
The morning sun was glorious, spreading its rays warmer and warmer on the rocks of the valley. Over there was the village, and here below was the Cinian's camp, where their colleagues were in charge of manipulating the battle. In truth, the ruins looked much emptier than when they had seen them yesterday.
“The coordinates tell us to land behind the camp,” the pilot commented, looking at the ruined church with apprehension. “God, what a horrible place.”
“Are you afraid, Burton?” Frances teased him.
“It's not fear, it's just… Ugh, it gives me the creeps.”
“Sure.” She arched an eyebrow and looked down.
“I'm sure,” he grunted. Well, he was scared, but he wasn't going to admit it in front of her.
The Falconer descended to a barren clearing behind the makeshift base. From there they could see parts of the wall behind the ruins.
They hurried to report to the commanding officer who was waiting for them in the communications tent. He sent them the map with all the quality hideaways in the area to the PCCs, and the order to complete their mission in less than three hours, as the capital had called and would be claiming them soon.
“It won't be complicated: it seems that half of the defenders have deserted,” the officer reported. “They think we don't know, but we have a satellite eye on this place. The others don't seem to miss them.”
“Thanks, I hope they didn't take the information with them,” Cam wished a little uneasily.
There was nothing more to share: each to his own.
After making sure they had all the necessary equipment, they left the place and started walking. The plan was to go around the town and try to get in through the back gate where they had left before.
For the time being, there was silence in the place, although a few birds could be heard in one of the buildings in the vicinity.
Finally, they had this view of the church in front of them. And the wall of that whole section, as they already knew, was in pieces. The insurgents had hunkered down behind the sections that were still standing, keeping a constant watch.
“We'll inspect the outer area first,” Cam ordered.
“You mean the whole place?” Burton bowed his head.
“Mmmh.” He put the map on the PCC. “A one-kilometer perimeter will do. And that's if you think it's worth going any further.” He snorted loudly. “Just to make sure there won't be any more ambushes, okay?”
“Yeah. I'll check the buildings to the west. Anything else, just call.” Gerard stepped forward without waiting to hear the rest.
The rest of the team watched in resignation as he walked away.
Cam usually didn't bother with his lack of regard for the chain of command, it was a habit he probably picked up from him. Besides, he agreed anyway.
“And… Well… Can we go in pairs? I just don't like to neglect my chivalry, so I'll volunteer to go with Frances,” Burton spluttered with false conviction.
She let out a mocking chuckle.
“No, no, no. Wait a minute! Not only do I have a higher rank than you, survival skills and medical experience, I was captain of my own SOD recruit squad and I'm an expert at sneaking up on distracted innocents like you with my glowing knife,” she smiled. “You sure you don't just want to go with me, and this is the excuse?”
Burton wasn't amused.
Cam was, but he didn't laugh… much. He cleared his throat to shake off the distraction.
“You go left and search the houses and brushes out there; Frankie, you go northeast, and I'll look northwest. Let's go!”
“All right.”
She turned to go to her area, past where Burton was. She ignored him.
The other watched Cam with a blank stare as he fiddled with his gun.
“I know, I know, I'll get it over with.”
To the south, Gerard zigzagged through the shadows, scanning every nook and cranny. He was almost certain that no one from the Society was outside the fortress.
He made his way through what appeared to have been a small square. Next to it was a small rectangular building that looked remarkably well preserved. He looked down at the ground, and the dirt was full of boot prints. He approached cautiously and listened carefully. He pushed open the double door and looked inside: there was broken glass, drink glasses and dried bloodstains everywhere. He guessed it was an active tavern, and from the looks of it, there was a lot of violence going on. He entered in one stride and saw that there was also a large wooden and steel table covered with dust and dried remains of food next to it. On the other side were many old tables, chairs, and piles of sacks. At the bottom was a staircase to the second floor. Gerard chose to examine the table. He ran his fingers along the sides until he stopped at a broken handle. He opened it slowly, afraid there might be people upstairs. There were notes, old printouts, recipes and the like: nothing important. Then he felt something as he reached under the papers. He pulled out a cell phone, dirty, with a cracked screen. He turned it on: it worked. Unbelievable! He reached for the MT, the multitool, on his belt and connected a small cable to the phone. The MT helped him access the device, and once inside, he went through the files, the messages, the logs. Gossip… poisonous conversations… daily orders… Then he got to this message:
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Luis, there is a meeting tonight at the base. You better be sober enough to pay attention, you and those good-for-nothings in that filthy bum shack. Higgins says we're going to test the device again. We need one more. Tell them if no one volunteers, I'll pick one myself. So, you'd better make up your minds right this instant. Remember why we're doing this and be strong. For Dragon, don't let us down.
Colonel Douglas Blackburn.
It was a strange note, but Gerard had expected something like this. He tried to remember if he had seen any unusual machines the last time, but nothing came to mind.
He finished his check promptly, for apart from the tavern there was really nothing of note.
By the time he returned to the rendezvous point, the rest of the team had also finished, having found nothing more than the traces of these people's daily lives.
“This place is lonelier than the Cinian desert,” Frances concluded.
“Yes. I think they're all inside.” Burton shook himself. “Supposedly, a lot of the defenders sneaked out, didn't they?”
“That is what the officer said,” Cam confirmed, his eyes fixed on the west. “Here he comes.”
The first lieutenant returned his captain's salute and joined him at a trot.
“Sorry for the delay. The west area is clear.”
“Now we can go in,” the captain smiled.
“Guys, before we go any further, you should know that I found a phone in one of the buildings I searched. There was a message mentioning some tests with a machine, though it didn't say what kind; and it seems they needed people for it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yes, I think they are doing some kind of experiments. And another thing, something insignificant but strange, it says, ‘By Dragon, don't let us down.’ Seems to me that's a proper name, not a noun.”
Cam looked at it with a thoughtful half grimace.
“Could be anything, I guess. Let's not jump to conclusions from one note, shall we?”
“Great, human experimentation with a device: now I'm really going to have nightmares,” Burton muttered, his mouth covered.
“Well, let's see if we can get into the annex without being seen. Come on!”
This time they stayed together, leaping from shade to shade, from building to building, running crouched behind the rubble, keeping an eye on the soldiers who kept running back and forth, checking the places where they thought the besiegers were. Then they reached the last building before the small open space that separated the back gate from the streets.
Cam sent a written message and the squad waited.
Shots were fired at the front of the fortress.
All the soldiers nearby rushed to the other side, leaving them free passage.
They jumped into the open and ran with their heads down. Burton opened the gate and scanned the interior with his pistol raised. At his signal, the others entered after him and carefully adjusted the gate.
The interior showed fresh marks: footprints and fresh bullet holes left by the occupants in their struggles to get out or defend themselves. There was no movement, and the only sounds were the gunshots from outside, a distant dripping of water and the squeaking of rats scurrying about the place.
“Are we going towards the church?” Burton scanned every inch in front of them.
“There's nothing interesting on the ground floor, we already checked that,” Cam whispered. “There's the basement where Gerard was held, and there's a second floor in this annex, maybe an attic. Did you see the round windows?”
“We will have to split up to cover everything in time,” Frances said.
“Yeah, I know. Any requests?”
“If you don't mind, I'd like to check out the upper floors,” Gerard asked, eager to get started.
“You want to go alone?” Cam studied him discreetly: maybe he wanted to avoid talking to the others about Scott, or maybe he just needed more space, he always needed space.
“That is the plan. And to tell the truth, I wouldn't want to go back to that dungeon anytime soon.”
“Right: you'll cover the upper floors,” he cleared his throat, satisfied. “Very carefully, since we barely made it out last time. We'll be very careful today.”
Gerard noticed his captain's concern and chuckled reluctantly.
“I will be careful, really.”
“Granted. We'll proceed to the underground. Good luck.”
He nodded and headed down the corridor to the right, towards the storage room where he had found the antidotes earlier in the day. The stairs to the upper floor should not be far from there.
Burton waited a moment before opening his mouth.
“I know he is, but doesn't he seem more aloof than usual today?”
“Yes,” he searched for something to say, “he will tell us when he wants to. But he does his job well, and that is what counts.”
“I hate working alone, especially in a place like this, well, it's weird and creepy.”
“Relax Burton, if you get caught by a rat I'll save you.” Frances looked at him with mischievous amusement.
“What if it was a horde of mutant rats?”
“Soldiers…” How they loved to babble at critical moments!
They immediately turned to him and dropped the game.
“I'm sorry, sir,” they both whispered.
“We'll go to the church and look for access to the basement or dungeon or whatever they have down there,” Cam continued. “Gerard put in the report, that it was in the nave, to our left, first door behind the boarded fence. Let's go!”
After walking down a long, empty corridor, awkwardly past where they had been locked up, and through the dusty transept, they reached the door, and from there only the top of the stairs were visible, as there was no lighting below. They paused for a moment to listen to the darkness and then began the descent; the walls proudly displayed the dried bloodstains their inhabitants had been careful to add over time.
The steps were made of stone, so stepping on them made only a faint sound, and all sound was muffled by the structure of the building, so silence reigned.
They reached the end of the path: a room, a wide enclosure with a few doorless entrances. The trio turned on the night vision sensor of their goggles: a gloomy place, its walls made of regular blocks of gray stone. There was something strange about the place, even though it was dry, there was a faint musty smell.
They examined the entrances, one at each end of the room and two at the front. The latter led down to two simple rooms with cells; Gerard had certainly been in one of them. The ones at either end were narrow and vaulted. Both had metal signs nailed to the rock: “Workshops/Laboratories/Sanctuary/Electric Station” and “Nursery”. Behind it, only a few of the polygonal slabs that adorned the floor could be seen. A strong stench of enclosure and a great saturation of dust particles filled the air.
“Surely this place had been used as a bunker during the war of separation or the War of the Line. There's probably a whole steel structure behind that rock now,” Cam put his hand to his chin. “After it was abandoned, it became an area used by travelers and of course our rebel friends for shelter… Mmmh.”
“What's going on?” Burton looked up at the ceiling.
“This place is too poorly maintained to be a military base. I don't think this is their real center of operations. Especially now that we know there's more of them than we thought.”
“That makes sense,” Frances agreed, “but what was Scott Wilker doing here instead of at his military base?”
“That's what we're going to find out! Surely Wilker and his people are here for a reason.”
“So, are we splitting up again?” asked Burton without much enthusiasm.
“Yes, we need to cover as much ground as possible and… Argh.” The air was pungent, and Cam sneezed. “How awful! You two take door one,” he pointed to the left, “and I'll take door two. We'll keep in touch and meet back here.”
Burton became interested again.
“You mean, I'm going with Frances?”
“Yes, Burton, you're going with her. And listen, at any sign of serious danger, get out of here immediately, is that clear?”
“Understood,” Frances agreed as she surreptitiously scanned the assigned hallway.
Cam turned and Burton watched him walk away. As he turned, he realized that Frances had passed him, and he had to run to catch up. She was walking very peacefully without him.
“Wait a minute. Wait, I'm right behind you.”
“Calm down, buddy. Just follow me.”
Burton mumbled, for he was not in a good mood, let alone enjoying being the lowest ranking. The funny thing was that she had turned down the offer to have her own DOB squad. Well, it wasn't really strange: they were a close-knit group.
The corridor was wide enough for three people to walk side by side; and just a few meters ahead, they saw a staircase to the left leading to another corridor. The main corridor was still downhill.
“It says 'Electric Station' there,” Burton pointed to the plaque.
“Pfff! But there's not even a light bulb! I really wonder what the point is.”
Frances approached the side hallway and poked her head cautiously.
“I can go that way, and you can go down this corridor,” Burton suggested.
“Really? You want us to split up?” she asked incredulously.
“Not that I want to! It's the logical thing to do if we want to cover as much ground as possible in the shortest amount of time, isn't it? And it's not like there are many enemies down here.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“Well, this place doesn't really look dangerous.” She looked around to make sure. “All right. Don't turn off the PCC.”
“Of course not.”
He had already said it: he hated being alone in places like this, but he wanted to prove that he could do things perfectly well without help. Besides, he was dying to know what kind of electric station they could have in a place like this.
Frances studied him for a moment before turning back to her own path.
***
Cam had followed a straight corridor from where Frances, Burton, and he had separated and walked down it until it opened into a fairly large circular enclosure, about twenty meters in diameter. The light hit him with such force that he instinctively closed his eyes in pain. He took off his goggles and rubbed his eyes. He half-opened one to see again and ended up opening them both like saucers. Would you look at that! A half-smile formed on his lips: he had thought the nursery thing was some kind of jargon for something else, but it turned out not to be.
The sun filtered into the herb-filled enclosure through skylights in the edges of the roof, forming thin lines of light. He stood under one of them and looked up. Probably, he thought, what was up there was some ruined building outside the town center that the soldiers had not checked because of its condition; perhaps they used mirrors to bend the rays inward. He felt he had underestimated them, those bastards!
A trickle of water trickled through a hole in the wall and ran through the place like a tiny stream. With these few resources, herbs, mushrooms, and even some insects had managed to survive and form a small ecosystem. The plants were no more than thirty centimeters tall, but they were healthy and green. He noted with interest a few striking colors: small white bellflower and, in a few darker corners, brown mushrooms.
There was no sign of blood or weapon marks on the cylindrical concrete and stone wall. Apparently, the society's aggressive soldiers did not visit this area.
He continued to check his surroundings, calmly and thoroughly. On one side of the threshold to the small nursery was a long, dense vine that reached the ceiling. Cam moved it, pulling at a tangle of the hanging plant, and thought he had found his target: another exit, almost imperceptible behind the vine. Entering, he had to walk a short corridor before coming to a metal door. It was unlocked. He entered and was stunned: a metal table, tools scattered everywhere, a transparent glass refrigerator that revealed many containers with substances of various colors and something that made him grimace: pieces of meat of dubious origin. The two spotlights hanging from the ceiling were crudely installed, and the walls were covered with sand-colored painted plaster. The enclosure could barely hold about seven people. Judging from the location and discretion of the room, he assumed that very secret experiments were being conducted there. Its occupants had kept the place free of any information, and the vials had no labels. No computers or telephones or simple notebooks: nothing.
***
Gerard inspected the upper floor: the ceiling was high, about five meters, and there were small skylights here and there, at the top edges, facing outside. The walls were made of gray blocks, regular, porous. There was a long corridor, and to the right were all the doors. Perpendicular to it, there was a shorter corridor with a large window on one side and a wide door on the other, leading, he assumed, to a room connected to the apse. And perhaps at the end of that corridor he would find the parallel to the one he was traveling.
He looked door by door. Almost all the rooms had beds, so they must have been the bedrooms; a mezzanine-like platform covered half the room, and there were more beds upstairs. They looked like the headquarters of a tavern, for there were empty bottles on the floor, not to mention the strong smell of liquor that seemed to waft from every corner. But unlike the small tavern in the abandoned building, this place was very well lit. The glassless windows let in a gentle breeze, and there was very little dust on the tiled floor.
He turned and walked into the perpendicular corridor. The large door was made of old, dry wood, but in good condition. The room behind it must have been huge compared to the small bedrooms.
He turned the doorknob carefully: locked. There was no one outside, hopefully no one inside. Willing to take his chances, he drew his pistol, making sure the silencer was on. He aimed at the old-fashioned bolt and fired. The impact echoed down the corridor, but there were no ears to hear it.
He opened the door carefully. The place was empty, a little emptier than the rest of the building, if that was possible.
It was dark.
A sound nearby made him jump backwards, to cover. He listened in complete silence, his right hand brushing the holster: something moved in the dark background of the room. It ran, and when the footsteps stopped, there was a muffled rumble: wood, yes, it had fallen on wood. Then he heard nothing more.
Gerard didn't flinch.
He closed his eyes and turned on the night sensor.
When he opened them again, he was surprised to find that the room was incredibly well kept compared to the rest of the place. Over simple pilasters, ribs protruded that connected to the ribbed vaults of the ceiling, which was higher than the rooms, about six meters.
First, he looked for the escape route of whoever had been there. There were no more doors, but at the back, to the right, were loose bricks. A gray pilaster concealed a hole in the floor, and from there the floor below was clearly visible: the apse and its low, poorly laid wooden roof. The air was thick with dust.
Whoever it had been had been frightened and hadn't felt like fighting. That was unusual, he thought, for a society soldier. If he had gone to call the rest of the soldiers, he had to hurry.
He scanned his surroundings, and his attention was almost immediately drawn to a curtain so high and wide that it almost covered the wall parallel to the door. He nodded: there had to be a large window behind it, covered with whimsical disdain. Just below it was a long, almost new, wine-colored armchair; and on either side, two wide shelves filled with books. Easily two hundred of them. Unbelievable! How could there be books in a place like this? Digital texts on phones, computers: understandable, but good old books? Ordinary soldiers wouldn't have been there, only Scott or a few chosen ones. Gerard approached the left one, the biggest one. It was as long as the wall would allow and about three meters high. It was made of steel and stood out very much from the rest of the room, rustic.
He began to search the texts for something that might be useful.
After browsing for a while, wary of any enemies that might be on their way to get him, he realized that the dominant subjects in this small library were five: European history, electronics, electrical energy, computer science, and, very out of place, mythological compendia of various civilizations. Today's knowledge and yesterday's beliefs in one place.
Gerard raised one eyebrow and squinted the other: how could these two very different subjects be related? Perhaps they felt an affinity with the old gods for their primitive philosophies of survival of the fittest; perhaps they found these ancient extinct societies fascinating. Were they extracting something from the old and infusing it into the new? If so, it was clear that this something was tainted with a thirst for revenge and change.
He sighed and put down the book. He turned and went to the second bookshelf. The titles revealed nothing new; it was more of the same. Then he noticed that there were two lines that did not glow from the dust: the fingers of a recent consultant. The book they were heading for was not as dusty as the rest either. Bingo. He picked it up and read the cover: Robsonian Chronicles.
“‘Over that, that were once upon a time, amidst the ice and snow, a noble, flourishing land of dancing lights…’”
So began one of the subchapters. He left that part and browsed through the book, looking for signs of recent use. He stopped at the point where the book no longer resisted being opened, at a paragraph that was stained with black drops, ink? No: old blood.
“’As the age of the Phoenix drew to a close, our innocent confidence began to fade along with that of the inhabitant of Caliginous Mountain; he, obsessive, he, deluded. The Conqueror, Dragon, swore on his mountain that when the corrupt peoples ruled this land, he, who had earned the right, who had earned the power, would have the last word, the great conquest, the ultimate revenge. For the proliferation of the mother of corruptions, innocence, would inevitably produce a sick civilization that only believes but knows nothing.’”
What does that all mean? he thought, furrowing his brow even more.
He turned a few pages in a hurry and stopped at one where someone had turned a corner.
“‘Is he dead or alive? It is uncertain, and that uncertainty is a terrible thing,’” he read on. “‘I fear the history that once was will be again, and the past refuses to be easily forgotten. He will bring war with him.’”
Now it sounded more like a prophecy than a story. He read on, this time to one of the last pages.
“‘The mountain is the only thing left to remember now, but I have no heart to go back there. My father is gone, the inhabitants of the valley are gone, the inhabitant himself is gone; but I have work ahead of me, for this is something that time should not erase.’”
Something fell loudly, not far away, on this floor, perhaps below, near the stairs. A whisper, the cocking of a gun, a pair of feet brushing the floor, two pairs, three, four… Must have been seven to ten.
He hurriedly closed the book and drew the gun. No, no, he couldn't stand alone against a squad of armed infantrymen.
He stepped back slowly, bit down hard on the book, and jumped through the hole in the floor like the stranger had done.