The Chain in Sardok

            Nascine locked the door. Tarson was lying on his bed, reading. After what had happened, he seemed reluctant to leave the hotel room. A week had passed since her incident at the bar. The House was out there, clearly, but if they were still looking for her, they certainly had not made it known.

            It was not the first time Nascine had been confronted with intimidation. She wondered about her escape in the bar. Had that man really been aiming for her when he opened fire? He could not have been more than ten feet away, yet here she was, pleasantly devoid of bullet wounds.

            If she were the House, she would be very curious that someone else was trying to find Jaroka. Having identified a rival, she would shadow them, supplementing her own inquiries with the progress made by the third party.

            Nascine’s plan would likely disappoint them. She had spread the word as best she could, among the networks in Omlos, that she wanted a meeting with Jaroka. Narcian Intelligence, the University of Carathon, the Watchers (Arizradna’s quasi-monastic spy organization,) and now apparently the House should all know that she was looking for Jaroka at this point. She hoped that the assassin had friends in at least one of them, and Jaroka would come find her.

            There were two potential pitfalls, of course – that the Narcians or the Arizradna would want to take her in themselves, or that Jaroka would rather kill her than come talk. Nascine and Tarson had a strict policy of keeping the blinds closed at all times.

            She went to bed, and sleep came surprisingly easily. Her dreams were vague and formless – a phrase here and there, instantly forgotten, or an idea that popped up only to dissolve.

            In the middle of the night, she woke up. There was a faint illumination from the light coming up under the door, and in it she could see Tarson sitting up in bed, breathing heavily.

            “Hey,” she said, her voice coming out much quieter than she had anticipated.

            Tarson glanced over. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

            The damage was done, though. Nascine felt wide-awake. Despite the apparent danger, she had slept far better than she was used to when out on a mission, what with the comfortable bed and the climate-controlled room. “It’s fine. Are you ok, James?” She remembered that his name was not, in fact James, but Chris. Still, as a rule, she forced herself to use the cover identity.

            Tarson seemed to find this amusing. He allowed one breath of bitter laughter. “I’m just… dealing.”

            Nascine reached over and turned on the light next to her bed. For a moment, it was painfully intense, but her eyes adjusted quickly enough. She could tell just by the straining muscles in his back that Tarson was upset. “You want to talk about it?”

            He stretched out, cracking his back. “The last time I was in Omlos, I was here on vacation. Perfectly lovely city. Good bars, decent theater scene. Just… a pleasant trip. But now… the same city, the same exact part of the world, and I’m afraid to set foot on the sidewalk for fear that someone is going to kill me.”

            “I see.”

            “How do you do it? You’ve been with the Rookery what? Nine years? How can you stand to live this way?”

            Nascine scooted up to a seated position. “It’s rarely like this. But even when it is… you get used to it.”

            “I don’t know if this is something I want to get used to.”

            Nascine nodded. “My first mission was over in Sardok. There was a piece of jewelry, one of those long necklaces that look like a big chain, worn by… I can’t even remember her name. Anyway, this woman, about three hundred years ago, she was the wife of some important nobleman or general… some fascist brute, is what I’m getting at. The man’s name was… Harsgal, I think. Anyway, this piece of jewelry, a big golden chain with emeralds set in each link, it was in the ruins of Banafel.”

            “Really?” said Tarson, impressed.

            “We’re talking black, choking miasma, the water is practically sparkling with radiation, and… well, here’s the part that made me want to give it all up: We get the thing, and we’re just getting ready to head out and cross back into Narcia when a twenty-foot tall monster attacks the camp. I’m talking a real monster – it had the body of a man… kind of, but instead of a head there was just a spiraling vortex, like a tornado turned on its side and flattened to a disk.”

            “Wow,” said Tarson.

            “I was terrified. The thing was tearing apart the building we were in, and I thought it was going to just suck me in and grind me to a paste.” Nascine realized her heart had begun to pump faster as she told the story. Nine years, and the memory still shook her. “But then, the Expedition Head stands up and starts chucking bits of rock and concrete at it. One of them hits the thing square in the vortex – and it does not like that one bit – and then it just scrambles away.”

            “That sounds pretty scary.”

            “Oh, I was a wreck. I couldn’t stop bawling my eyes out. So that’s when the Expedition Head comes to me. I say ‘I want to go home, I never want to do anything like this ever again.’ Then he says ‘Why? You’re doing such a good job.’ So I say ‘I almost died!’ and then, well, he just smiles at me and says: ‘But you didn’t.’” She shrugged, smiling, and Tarson gave a confused smirk.

            “That’s it?”

            “Well, he was right. I didn’t. We came out of it just fine. Every one of us made it home intact. And I went on to travel with him for seven years.”

            “Wait, who was your lead? Someone I might know?”

            “Gilbert Tartin.”

            Tarson searched his memory. “Wait, Tartin? I thought he was too scared to leave his office!”

            Nascine reluctantly nodded. For all the confidence and bravery Tartin had shown, all of that had ended on the Sarona expedition. Nascine wondered if a similar fate awaited her.

(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2012)