The Shaktra (14 page)

“It exploded because they built it badly, there’s no mystery behind it. It was just that the timing could not have been worse, what with the celebration we were having and all.”

“Why were you guys celebrating in front of the plant?” Cindy asked.

“Everything in Toule was in front of the plant. It was huge.”

“May I ask one more fool question before we go?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know, I’m getting tired of both of you.”

“Talking to people around town, we hear a lot about Ms. Sheri Smith, and Omega Overtures, but nothing about Mr. Smith.”

“There is no Mr. Smith,” Ms. Treacher said.

“Then who is Nira’s father?” Steve asked.

“No one knows,” the old woman said.

They were twenty minutes deep into the round cave, running hard, when Ali saw an orange light up ahead. It looked like the glow of a torch, but she could not be sure. It might have been more dark fairies and their nefarious weapons. She told the others to halt, to rest, that she would go forward alone.

“Don’t leave us, Missy,” Paddy said, breathing hard.

Farble moaned. He felt the same way.

She listened behind them—in the cave.

“I do not hear the dark fairies at our backs. We might have lost them, at least for now. But there’s someone in front of us, I have to check it out. You’ll be safe here, I think. But if you hear or see dark fairies approaching, call out and I’ll come.”

“Was Missy going to let that dark fairy kill us?” Paddy asked, shaken. She wanted to pat him on his big green skull, reassure him, but she had only one good hand to hold the light. She shook her head.

“No one is going to kill either of you,” she said.

Turning her flashlight on low, keeping it aimed at the floor, Ali crept forward. The air in the cave had changed dramatically.

It was fresher, cooler, there was a scent to it she had never experienced before. Wild flowers mixed with cow dung? She could not be sure. There was also an odor of sulfur. Certainly, it did not smell like Pete’s Peak. From what she knew of the internal geography of the mountain, she doubted they could be anywhere near the outside.

The orange glow was coming from a single burning torch. Moving forward, Ali turned off her light, walked softly, trying to maintain the element of surprise. Her injured hand was a furnace; the burn could have been inside her brain. She could only bear it by reminding herself that she had no choice. Just as bad, she continued to feel a total energy block in the palm, and worried she would not be able to direct enough power to defeat a swarm of dark fairies. She needed a break soon or they would all die, and they had yet to enter the elemental kingdom.

She caught sight of a dark teenage boy. He wore a brown skin around his narrow waist—it could have been an antelope hide—had powerful shoulders, long thin legs. His hair was black, shoulder length, uncombed, and he had the most fascinating face she had ever seen on a boy her age. There was strength there, a wild savagery, but an intellect as well. His black eyes were round and luminous; he had the most intense stare.

Yet he was not looking at her, he did not know she was there. His gaze was fixed on a small brass-colored altar that had been set up on the muddy black floor. There was a metal plate covered with a dark pile of ash, a candle and incense holders, as well as tiny dishes of rice and water. The torch was above and behind the boy, fixed on the wall. For the first time Ali noticed how different the cave walls were; no longer smooth frozen lava, but rough stone, unchiseled, cool to the touch.

The boy seemed to be chanting before the altar.

Ali did not recognize the language. She hated to interrupt.

“Hi,” she said.

The boy jumped up, grabbed a sword, lifted it high, peered in her direction. She was not sure he could see her. He was standing close to the torch, and she had to remind herself that her senses were much more acute than a normal human being. She could even hear and see better than Farble and Paddy. Ali stepped toward the boy, into the glow cast by the torch. He did not lower his sword, but spoke in a strange language.

“Wewe ni nani?”
he said.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” she said.

He paused, frowned. “You’re an American. What are you doing here?”

He had a distinct English accent, and there was a seriousness to his tone.

“I might ask you the same question,” she said. “Who are you?”

“My name is Ra Omlee.”

She held her injured hand close to her shirt, feeling the blood soaking through the material. The pain had her breathing heavily, even when she was standing still, but she did not want him to see she was injured.

“I’m Ali Warner. How did you get here?” she said.

“I climbed up here this morning. This is my uncle’s cave. No one comes here without his permission.” He added, “All cumbers are warned not to come to this part of the mountain.”

“Who is your uncle? I don’t know him.”

“Everyone knows my uncle. He is Tar Omlee. Chimvi of the Kutus.” Ra glanced down at the pile of ash. “He was our greatest chimvi.”

Ali understood the ashes were the man’s cremated remains.

Other than that, there was little else she understood.

“What is a chimvi?” she asked.

Ra struggled to find the word. “Shaman.”

“You use the word ‘shaman,’ and you look like someone from the African plains. How did you come to be here?” she asked.

“I told you, I climbed the mountain this morning.”

As far as she knew, it was still morning outside.

“Are you spending time in Breakwater?” she asked.

He lowered his sword slightly, did not set it aside, came closer. She saw a hint of blue in his dark eyes, and realized that his skin was more brown than black.

“I do not know this Breakwater,” he replied.

“How can you
not
know it?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Answer
my
questions. How did you come to be here?”

“I climbed the mountain last night.”

He snorted. “In the dark? We are six thousand meters up. No one can do that.”

Six thousand meters was over eighteen thousand feet.

Pete’s Peak was tall but not that tall.

“I’m not alone.” She glanced behind her. “I have friends with me.”

He was suspicious. “Why do they hide back there?”

“I told them to stay there. Until I could see who was here.”

“And they do what you say?”

“Yes. Why shouldn’t they?”

Ra gestured. “You are a young girl.”

“Really? You are a young boy.” She added, “I’m almost fourteen.”

“I’m almost fifteen,” he said proudly.

“You don’t look it. You don’t look any older than myself.”

“That’s because you’re an American, and all Americans do is eat and grow fat.”

“I’m no fatter than you.”

He looked her over. “You do not look thirteen. I think you are lying.”

Ali stopped. The conversation was not exactly going in an intelligent direction.

“That language you spoke, when you first saw me. What was it?” she asked.

“Swahili.”

Ali frowned. “Where are you from?”

He stared at her. “Here.”

Ali almost froze. “Where is here?”

“You silly American. You do not know where you are?”

“I thought I did,” she muttered, frowning. “This is not Breakwater?”

“I told you twice, I do not know that name.”

“Then tell me where we are!” she ordered, and she put some power behind it.

He seemed to feel her power; he was suddenly wary. “You are in Tanzania, in a sacred cave on the slopes of Kilimanjaro.”

Ali sagged against the wall. “That’s impossible,” she gasped.

“What is impossible?”

Her pain was making it difficult for her to think clearly. “I cannot be here.”

“That is what I am saying. I have come here to honor my uncle. You are disturbing me. Leave now, with your friends. You can reach camp five before the sun sets. You will be safe there.”

She shook her head. “I cannot leave here. I have things to do.” She nodded to the ash. “You say this is your uncle’s cave. How much do you know about it?”

He appeared to know something, for he hesitated. “I have told you, this place is sacred. It is for machimvis . . . shamans, not young girls.”

Ali was amused. “You call yourself a shaman?”

He was offended. “I’m an apprentice. One day I will be a chimvi—a famous shaman.” He added, “I have power.”

“I am glad you have power. I have power, too. But now is not the time to talk about it. Did your uncle ever describe to you that this cave leads to other places?”

Ra got angry. “Have you been exploring this cave? That is forbidden! Even I have not been allowed to walk into its depths. Not until I am sixteen. That is the law.”

“I don’t care about your law. I
am
from the depths of this cave. I’m not from around here. Neither are my friends.” She paused. “Would you like to meet them?”

“I want them to leave, with you, that is what I want.”

Ali would have called out to Farble and Paddy, but was afraid her voice might carry. Ignoring his last remark, she started back the way she had come. “I’ll return in a few minutes. When I do, when you see my friends, do not get scared,” she said.

“I never get scared,” he said.

“I used to say that,” Ali muttered as she walked away.

She found Paddy and Farble where she had left them, cowering in the pitch black. Without explaining, she told them to follow her. They were too shaken to argue, and two minutes later Ra was staring at them in amazement. To his credit, he did not try to attack anyone with his sword. But he continued to hold on to it.

“Huu ni muujiza!”
he whispered in awe.

“I know how you feel,” Ali said. “Ra, this is Farble and Paddy. Farble is a troll, and Paddy is a leprechaun—in case you were wondering. Guys, this is Ra, he is a chimvi from Tanzania.” She added, “You don’t have to shake hands if you don’t want to. But you might want to put down your sword, Ra. We mean you no harm.”

“Hili halitaezi kuwa Iinatendeka,”
he mumbled.

“English, please,” she said.

“My uncle spoke of such things,” he said quietly. “I was . . . not convinced.”

Ali teased. “You thought maybe he was lying?”

Ra stared at her, lowered his sword slightly. “Who are you?”

“I told you, I’m Ali Warner, a skinny American. Look, this mountain is more than it appears. Have you heard of America’s Pete’s Peak?”

“No.”

“It’s in the Pacific Northwest. . . of the United States. A little while ago we were there. And if you hike deeper into this cave, you’ll end up there as well. But it sounds like your uncle knew that about this cave.” She nodded to the ashes. “May I ask how he died?”

Ra shook his head. “You would not believe me if I told you.”

Ali glanced at her elemental friends. “Are you sure about that?”

Ra reconsidered. “I found him here. His chest had been . . . burned away.”

“When did you find him?”

“A week ago. I brought him back to our village to be honored, and now I have brought his ashes here, where they are to stay.”

“Do you know what killed him?” Ali asked.

Ra was slow to answer. “Demons.”

“Your uncle spoke to you about demons?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever seen any?”

“No.”

Slowly Ali took her hand away from her shirt, showed him her raw palm.

“A demon did this to me,” she said.

Ra paled. “My uncle was burned that same way!”

Ali nodded toward the rear of the cave. “My friends and I are here because we’re running from a bunch of demons. They have weapons that are able to shoot bolts of fire—like laser beams.” She paused. “You know what lasers are, don’t you?”

“I have seen your
Star Trek,”
he replied.

Ali was delighted with his reference. When she thought about it, his command of English was excellent. She suspected he had grown up on a diet heavy with American TV and video games. At the same time, he gave the impression that he was from a simple tribe. It was a puzzle.

“Those are phasers, actually, but it is the same difference. These demons are real. We came here, into your uncle’s cave, to hide from them. But I have to go back to where they are, and probably confront them.”

Ra finally set down his sword and examined her palm. He had courage; the sight would have made most kids their age faint. For that matter, looking at it made her dizzy. But Ra did not flinch as he studied the exposed muscles.

“You need medical attention,” he said. “A hospital. There is one in Arusha that is good. This wound will get infected soon.” He added, “I will help you down the mountain. My uncle’s ashes can wait.”

Ali shook her head. “I don’t have time for a hospital. These demons I spoke of—they come from another realm, and I have to close the door to it.”

His earlier insolence returned. “How can
you
close such a magical door?”

“Laddie, watch your lip. Missy is queen of all the fairies,” Paddy said.

Ra jumped back. “It speaks!”

“Aye. I can wiggle me ears, too, if you like. Now help Missy with her hand and treat her with the respect she deserves.”

Farble grunted and nodded his head. “Geea,” he said.

Ra was confused. “Who is Geea?”

“I have a few names,” Ali said. “Look, I would love to go to a hospital and have a doctor treat this, but I don’t have time. Do you have any bandages?”

Ra nodded, stepped to a pile of clothes beneath the torch. Ali saw that he had pants, boots, and a jacket. He probably had only put on the antelope hide to perform his uncle’s burial ceremony, but she thought he looked kind of cute in the skin.

Ra returned with a first aid kit, opened it for her to see. There were rolls of gauze, white tape, rubbing alcohol, scissors, and antibiotic cream. There were also several crudely rolled cigarettes.

“What are those?” she asked.

“Opium. You should smoke some.”

“I don’t do drugs.”

“You are not
doing
drugs when you use them to stop pain.” He added, with a note of respect, “Your pain must be great.”