Читать книгу The Puzzler’s War - Eyal Kless - Страница 20

A dream, but not a normal one, I knew. Finally, Command was reaching out to me, but I knew instinctively that this dream briefing was different than usual. An image of a woman came into view. She was a warrior by the way she stood, not young but still powerful. Red hair, and black markings around her neck and ears. She turned to me, drew a power gun, aimed, and fired. But as I flung myself to the side she changed into a young woman in her teens, dressed in a simple brown linen dress. Her hair was voluminous and red, and she had grey eyes, fair skin, and a strong body. She could have been stunning if it were not for a slightly wide chin. The warrior’s younger self … no … her child … the warrior’s child. The younger woman was my target, Emilija, and the mother was her protector.

I was lying in the mud and saw a name written, Vincha, before I rose slowly and realised I was standing in a field. From afar I could see the familiar silhouette of the City of Towers and my heart skipped a beat. Then a splash of muck stained my clothes as someone stepped over a puddle and walked past me. It was Vincha again, gun in hand, looking with open suspicion in all directions, but not seeing me or the shadows that surrounded her. I felt the urge to follow, saw her walking towards her daughter, who was standing with her back to us, oblivious, as shadows grew around her. The dream was telling me that there were others looking for the girl … but who? Before I could find out the answer the warrior jumped into the shadows and disappeared. The daughter remained, although she began to fade into the distance as bells began to ring. The image changed again into a fountain I recognised, and lastly into a bird which landed on a wide straw hat. It was a rendezvous point, a place where I would make contact.

I woke up to the sound of chimes, curled up on a thin rug that was spread on the floor. The dark chamber had no door, and I saw three people slowly passing the entrance as they walked the lit corridor, one holding a pot filled with burning incense and the two others playing delicate chimes. Turning on the rug, I surveyed the room. There was no one with me in the small, windowless chamber, empty of furniture save for several other hand-stitched rugs, a candle holder with a short stump of a candle in it, and a knee-high wooden table. As soon as I rose to a sitting position, three more men came in. Since I did not believe in coincidence, it was logical they were standing outside, waiting for me to wake up. One was carrying a bucket of water with one hand and a smaller, empty bucket in the other, another lit the candle in its holder and the third man was carrying a tray, which he placed on the small table. It contained a loaf of freshly baked bread, hard cheese, several vegetables and a covered plastic cup.

“Wash, use the empty bucket for yar needs, and eat,” one of the men ordered, but not unkindly. “Then you shall cleanse and see da Healer.” His accent did not come out as natural as the others’, a little distorted, like he forced it upon himself. I made a mental note of this, even though it seemed to be of no importance.

“How is Brak doing? And Trevil, my companion?”

“See da Healer, then all will clear,” the man said.

Both men stayed in the room as I took care of my vessel’s bodily needs, and other people who passed the room could see me as well. Despite occupying a vessel, I had to remind myself of my time in the military in order to relax enough to relieve myself in front of strangers, a sign I was slowly merging with my new body. As soon as I was done one of the men carried the bucket away without a word. The food was simple, but after surviving on a severed leg, nourishment pills, and food scraps, it felt incredibly good. I took my time eating, savouring each and every bite. The vegetables looked fresh and the cup contained boiled water, still warm. Like everything else in this area, it was contaminated, but with a surprisingly low dosage considering where I was located.

As I ate I thought about the dream briefing I’d received. My mission was clear and the dream came exactly on time, a week after awakening, once my brain waves completely merged with the vessel, making deep sleep a possibility. Yet something felt wrong. On the one hand, only Tarakan Central Command had my unique brain patterns and the ability to send me dream sequences, which was good news. That meant that contrary to what I had heard so far, Tarakan had survived. Someone had woken me up, given me a body, and ordered me on a “find and retrieve” mission. It would have been a laughably easy assignment under normal circumstances, way under the level of my expertise or my rank, but in this new, broken world, without the help of satellites, global communication, facial and body recognition scanners, and the ability to reach any point on the globe within an hour, this simple mission felt like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

There were other things in the dream sequence that worried me. By my last few missions, a few of Tarakan’s more advanced foes were already suspected of having the technology to pick up dream sequences, and as a result the dream should have been a little vaguer. This mission briefing felt like a parent pointing a child to a task, a gross breach of protocol, which could also be the result of all of Tarakan’s enemies having been wiped out. The dream world should have also been richer, more immersive. This one lacked complexity and depth, reminding me of an old virtual reality game I had once tried in a museum, when you had to put a mask on your face in order to play instead of immersing your consciousness into the machine. Something was amiss. That I knew for sure.

Since there was no way I could solve my concerns regarding Central Command, I forced them aside and my thoughts shifted to last night’s events as I chewed on a bitter radish. It was unlikely that the man calling himself “the Healer” had managed to hide a cell regenerator in his palm. Even the emergency combat version of it, used on the fields of battle, was the size of a human arm and took some time to function. Technology could have advanced forward as I hibernated, but it seemed improbable that Tarakan managed to minimize the size and accelerate the speed of the cell regenerator to such a degree. I went as far as considering that he was an Angel who had replaced his arms with medibot arms, but that was going too far.

Finally, I accepted the facts as I saw them; that this man somehow healed Brak, that he was worshipped by the men and women here, and that he had some kind of interest in me. His speech about the steep price was a matter of concern. Now that the orders of my mission were clear, I was not about to waste time or risk myself unnecessarily. I finished my meal with a drink from the cup, feeling its warmth course through my body. It was time to get some answers.

I rose and indicated to my guardian that I was ready. He led me through a short corridor dotted with doors leading into small side rooms, very much the same as the room I’d slept in. Most of them were empty; a few had groups of people sitting on floor mats, listening to preachers or meditating. We passed a chamber where a large group of people were busy having slow, ritualistic sex. There was a supervisor, or a teacher of some sort, standing above them as couples of both sexes copulated in a deliberately slow rhythm. My vessel was created with all the anatomical features of a human female and was able to have sex, of course, and I admit that walking among the writhing bodies did wake up some long-hibernated desires. Instead, I was steered towards a larger corridor leading outside, where I was taken again to the steam room and went through another process of cleansing. A pair of rope sandals and a long grey dress awaited me as I emerged. This time the clothing was made of linen, still a little rough on the skin, but a great improvement.

I was taken back to the main building and led up to the second floor. Surprisingly, there was no large hall, no high dais, or an adoring crowd. The only person in the medium-sized room was the man with the bone earrings. He bowed a little as a form of acknowledgement and gestured towards a rug. As in all the chambers I had seen in the building, this one had almost no furniture, with only a few comfortable cushions on the floor. I sat down on one of them, but before I got too comfortable the Healer came in and I rose to my feet. Instinctively, I decided not to bow this time.

The Healer was naked except for what looked like a bandage surrounding his pelvis, in the same place where Brak was wounded. He held a walking stick made of gnarled wood and limped slowly into the room, assisted by one of his four guards. What a show, I thought as I scrutinized his markings.

The Healer motioned for me to sit down, and he positioned himself slowly and with a theatrical grimace on a cushion next to me.

“How are you?” There was no better way to begin the conversation.

The Healer handed his walking stick to his aide and turned to me.

“Da Patshin is back in the light. My burden is a shadow of his. I heal by morrow.” The Healer’s eyes were large and brown, full of kindness, warmth, intelligence, and openness, tempting me to trust him. I was immediately on my guard.

“You mean you took Brak’s wound upon yourself?”

“I see your eyes not believing.” The Healer shook his head and gestured at his bandaged side. “I can show you his wound but you’d say I harmed myself.”

“I just don’t believe in miracles,” I said in an even tone. “What I saw definitely falls under that term, so I am looking for a logical explanation.”

He smiled knowingly. “What is a miracle for one, is natural for another. The man called Trevil swears you move and fight like the marked”—he indicated the markings on his own body—“but we see no markings on you, and the man called Brak says so, too. Maybe you can do miracles, too?”

This time I found myself nodding in acknowledgement. The man had a point. There were many things I did not know.

“You are from far away, a different land and time. You do know of the marked, for you it is a miracle, but you were born not from a woman’s womb, how that is not a miracle? The world is a miraculous place.”

How did he know that? Despite my training I tensed on my seat.

The Healer held his marked hands up in a sign of peace. “Worry not, Miss Peach, I am here for da helping. Say what you need and if this is in my power, I will make it happen.”

Things which were too good to be true were usually a lie, but if this man was willing to help me …

“I need to get to the City of Towers,” I said, unwilling to expose the rest of my mission.

“Then da man called Trevil will pay da price of taking you there.”

“And my own price? You said yesterday that the price is always steep.”

“There is always a price,” the Healer agreed, “but by helping you I pay a debt.” The Healer put both of his hands on his heart. “My own debt.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Hear my story, then.” The man straightened on his pillow. “My first mark appeared when I was already seventeen, and it was not in an obvious place …” The Healer smiled for the first time, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “It was actually discovered by someone else, the girl I was going to marry. I was twice a fool, to think our love would endure and to believe she would not betray me. I was seized the very next day and taken to the elder and he who put the knife to me.” The Healer pointed at his crotch. “He cut the essence of my manhood. I was put in a cage and left outside da village, to heal or die. I wanted to die, but my body be strong even when my spirit be broken and the mark tainted my skin. On the fifth night, a man came and saved me, a special man. I be marked on my body, but he be marked on his soul. This man helped me heal, and his price was that I would help whenever you showed up at my door. He described you to me, said you will be moving like the marked and that you would bring death wherever you go.”

“That is … impossible.”

“Only for those who do not accept truth.” The Healer indicated himself. “I can cure people and take their wounds on me. You can move like the wind without having a mark on your body, and the man who saved me foresaw that you would come here and ask me to help you. He told me that this would be the best of the foreseeable futures.”

“Who was this prophet?” I asked.

The healer leaned over and whispered, “His name … was Nakamura.”