Page 21 of Enemy Within
Kilaqqi smiled. “I thought, when we first found you, that it was the cold that had your souls out of balance. But when you warmed up, you were still missing something. One of your three souls was gone.” He snapped his fingers, holding out his empty palm. Dirt stained the center. “I went to go find it. Down, into the underworld, across the river and into to the ghostlands. It is the land of the dead down there, inKhergu. Where theAgdylive. Evil spirits that can steal a person’s soul.”
Sasha said nothing. He’d never been one for religion, not the Eastern Orthodox faith of Russia, nor the western, individualistic Christianity. One of his fellow pilots had been a Buddhist, after falling for a girl during his time studying abroad in China. As a boy in school, he’d learned about the tribesmen of Siberia and their animist beliefs. Primitive, his teachers had said. Simple nature worship.
“I searched for your soul, but the reindeer came and told me there was nothing to find. TheAgdyhadn’t taken anything.” Kilaqqi’s dark eyes peered into Sasha, as if they knew his secrets.
“Then where is it?” Eyebrows raised, Sasha stared. The old man wanted to tell stories. Fine. He could listen.
“You cut it out of yourself.”
Sasha stopped breathing.
“You cut out the parts of yourself you do not want. Threw them away, like you could get rid of them. But you cannot. They are a part of you. Forever.”
He looked away and tried to breathe. Smoke stank like death and stung his nose. He closed his eyes, started counting in his head. Recited pre-flight procedures for his old MiG. Anything to not listen to Kilaqqi’s voice.
“Cutting out a soul is no easy thing. What hate you must have within you, of yourself. You have hurt yourself—”
“Stop. Shut up. Quit talking.”
“You can let it back in. It is out there, waiting for you.”
“This is crazy talk,” he snapped. “You’re just a tribesman!”
Kilaqqi smiled and grabbed another dried leaf. He broke it over the flames and started to hum.
9
Southern Siberia
JACK AND SERGEY LURCHED over rough ground, keeping the Angara on their left as they headed south. Sergey stopped every hour or so to check the ice on the river. He came back each time with a frown and a shake of his head. “We keep going,” he said. “We will cross when we can.”
They moved slowly, and as quietly as they could. Jack kept a rifle in his gloved hands as he sat in the passenger seat, constantly scanning for anything around them. Any sign of the shooter, or that they were being pursued. The sun had just risen, turning the sky a muted, heavy lead.
The embankment ran out, and they turned into the mountains, putting more distance between the river and their jeep… and Ethan.
Ethan’s absence was an ache in Jack’s heart, a sense of loss that hovered around him. Where were their shared smiles, the looks they traded in silence as if they could read each other’s thoughts? The hand that would slide into his during the drive, a simple act that made the world feel warmer? Sometimes he said things Ethan swore were on the tip of his tongue, and they’d laugh together, their worlds aligning like pages turning in a book. Being without Ethan, without that effortless love and care, was like a piece of himself was missing.
Sergey, silent and dour behind the wheel, did not make things any easier.
Not much had been said since their conversation at the river, when Sergey had nearly broken down but had gripped Jack’s hand instead. Where was the Sergey who could talk to a wall and make it laugh? Befriend a lamppost, spin a yarn that captivated whole rooms?
Jack kept quiet, watching out of the window.
“Tell me how you and Ethan came to be lovers?”
He turned and stared at Sergey.
Sergey wouldn’t look back. His jaw clenched, and he gripped the steering wheel, one elbow propped on the windowsill with his hand on his forehead. “I only know what the media reported. And all of it contradicted each other. I do not know what actually happened.”
Slowly, Jack began to speak. He told Sergey about their friendship, about how Ethan was a breath of fresh air in a stilted world. How, even as the president of the United States, he’d become starved for human interaction and friendship. What Ethan had risked giving that to him, and how their friendship had grown, deepened, and become something more.
“Sound familiar?”
Sergey said nothing.
And then he told Sergey about the kiss. Ethan’s hopeful, aching heart wishing for the best, and Jack, shocked and shaken and reacting without thinking. How they’d fallen apart, and then had come back together, ironically, to stand against Sergey in Prague.
Finally, Sergey reacted. Frowning, he shook his head, as if trying to understand. “You… didn’t know this about yourself before Ethan?”
