David Sakmyster - The Mongol Objective

Chang nodded, surveying the field. “But direct path is most fortified. See? Largest concentration of soldiers appear to guard way.”

“So what do we do?” asked one of the men.

“No one moves ahead,” Renee ordered, “until our seers show us the way.” She glanced back at Caleb, waved her. 45 at him. “Come on, Kreskin. What’s the trick this time? A certain path to take, or maybe some tune we all need to sing to let us waltz on by?”

Caleb shrugged. He took his flashlight and swept it around the shore, along the walls on either side, walls that widened from their river approach, encompassing and enclosing the massive underground field, the army and, eventually, the distant walled city. He blinked, focusing out there, wondering if Alexander had gone around, taking the other passageway with Montross, and if he might even now be up ahead now, looking this way for him.

“Wait,” said Orlando suddenly. “There! Above us.”

Phoebe brought her light up as she stepped closer to him, brushing against him and noticing that he trembled, but still leaned in toward her. She gave him a smile, then looked up at the letters hammered into a marble crossbeam overhead. “Nice work. You keep bailing us out like this and my brother will have to give you a bigger bonus this year.”

Orlando’s voice cracked after the compliment. “So here’s more of those funky letters. Qara, can you do your thing?”

She stumbled forward, her wrists still tied behind her, the bandages on her side soaked through with fresh blood. She looked pale and weak, but she lifted her eyes and with dried lips, read the inscription: “The Secret of the Way Past is the Secret of the Way In.”

Renee glared at Qara, then looked at the script, and then to Chang, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “Pretty close.”

“The secret of the way in?” Renee asked.

“What was the secret of the way past?” Phoebe asked, shining her light on Caleb, who blocked it with his hand. It reminded her, for just a moment, of the descent into that tomb in Belize when as kids they joked at blinding each other to ease their fears. What we can’t see can’t hurt us, right?

Caleb stopped the smile and looked back past Renee and over the field of warriors, the guardians. Thinking. Imagining a course through them, past them. But they covered every square foot, in no particular pattern. The secret of the way past is the secret of the way in. Very symmetrical. Perfect. But no help.

“I have no idea,” he said.

“RV it, then,” Renee barked. “All of you. Do it now, before I risk any more of my men.”

Caleb glanced at Phoebe and Orlando and nodded. The three of them sat cross-legged together on the hard ground away from the mercury-laden water.

“Shouldn’t we hold hands or something?” Orlando asked, reaching for Phoebe.

“Keep dreaming, Romeo.” She gave him a look, then relented. “All right, but only because I know that sometimes psychics can chain their powers if they’re touching.” She noticed Caleb and stopped talking.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll kill your mojo if we link up, but if it’s all the same to you-”

“Just hold our hands,” she snapped.

Caleb sighed and held up his hands. Orlando took his left, Phoebe his right.

“No caressing,” Phoebe hissed, a smile breaking free. Then lower, “At least make this look good for prying eyes.”

Renee glowered at them. “Hurry.”

Phoebe closed her eyes, squeezing both hands, just as Orlando gasped. But it was Caleb who jerked as if electrocuted, snatching his hands away.

“Holy crap,” Orlando said, still holding onto Phoebe. “What was that?”

Caleb frowned, staring at his hands as if expecting them to be covered with second-degree burns. “I don’t know. I saw something, though.”

“What?” Phoebe asked, leaning over.

“Lydia. It was like she was here. In our circle, holding both my hands. Like she had taken your places.”

“How the hell does that help us?” Renee asked.

“It doesn’t,” Caleb said. “But it might help me.”

“I don’t understand.”

Orlando coughed. “Wait! I saw something. Honestly I did. A trail. Glowing, weaving through the soldiers.”

Renee cocked her head. Chang moved in, listening intently.

Phoebe gave Orlando a subtle look to ask if this was just a ploy, but he didn’t even look at her. He stood, releasing her hand, and headed through the Chinese soldiers to the front of the shore. Nodding, he pointed ahead. “I saw it in my vision, a glowing pathway, highlighting the trail we need to take.”

“How wide?” Chang asked.

“Four or five feet.”

“Can you still see it?”

Orlando rubbed his temples, stuck his neck out and stared. Nodded. “I can lead you, just like Caleb led us before on the mosaic floor. I see it.”

“Okay,” Renee said. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t know,” said Caleb. “Why would there be something such as a trail? The clue was that the way past these soldiers must in some way mirror what we did to find the entrance above.”

“I’m not into riddles,” Renee said. “Let’s just test it out. Your boy here thinks he’s seen the way. Let him go a few steps. See how far he can get. If he makes it, then who cares what the clue means? You’re psychics. You don’t need logic.”

Orlando stopped. His gaze swept over the first five rows of warriors lurking in the shadows. He turned and met Phoebe’s eyes. “Um, maybe not. Maybe we should think this through a little more.”

“Did you see it, or didn’t you?” Renee waved him on with her gun.

“No, Orlando!” Phoebe reached out, but two soldiers blocked her way.

“Go,” said Chang, more than happy he wasn’t risking his own men.

Orlando swallowed hard, his raw throat burning with the effort. A dozen flashlights led the way. He tried to look back and catch Phoebe’s eyes, but could only see a swarm of bright lights, blinding him. “Can I get one of those bullet proof jacket things?”

Renee laughed and her voice came back. “Didn’t you say that they won’t help?”

It took a minute for the blind spots to wear off, and then he started to move forward. Lifted his foot and set it ahead, between two infantry men, the hilts of their swords gripped in both hands, the points directed up and inwards, making an inverted V that Orlando had to walk beneath.

His foot touched the ground and he closed his eyes, praying before he put weight on it. He could see it again-the aurora-like trail misting under the feet of the warriors, starting here and then twisting left, then extending forward, around a great bend and then circling up again around the chariots, through the horsemen and in between two largest catapults.

Please work.

“Orlando,” Phoebe called out. “Please be careful.”

A deep, clear breath filled his lungs. And with renewed confidence and trust, he bent under the swords and took one step, then another, following the trail, approaching another warrior, this one with a curved sword over its shoulder, poised as if preparing for a decapitating swing.

His right foot touched down, he put all his weight on it, moved his left foot ahead. But before he picked up his right foot again, the statue moved. Its head swiveled, blank white eyes fixing him with a deadly stare.

“No,” Caleb whispered. Then, “NO! Orlando, don’t move!”

All the flashlights converged on Orlando, dancing around, then hitting the statue, the one that had twisted, the sword rising, trembling.

“Don’t lift your feet!”

Orlando turned his head, trying to balance on the bridge of this foot. His hands were outstretched, reflexively reaching for something to hold until he managed to pull himself back without grabbing another statue, one holding two daggers at the ready. “I think I’m on a pressure plate.”