Page 75 of Red Demon
“Hello! Syo na!”
Tension crackled in the air as the soldiers turned to me. I scanned the faces, hoping to glimpse Asher, but no one seemed familiar. Doubt gnawed. Mahakal had several hundred soldiers under his command; those tents might hold a hundred at most. He might not be here.
Commotion erupted near the entrance. Soldiers ran to join the guards, digging into bags as they moved into position. Several at the front pulled out gray helmets with mesh that covered their mouth and nose.
“You! Stay where you are,” a broad-shouldered soldier yelled my way, one of the few wearing an officer’s uniform. I recognized the scars over his lips, the golden skin.
“Is that you, Havoc?” I called out. He’d been a captain when I first arrived in Nunbiren, and from the looks of his uniform, no one promoted him in those many years.
From the look on his face, he did not remember me.
I raised my hands, doing as they asked. “My name is Jesse Eirini. I’m here for Asher Eirini. Our father’s dead. I just want to speak to him and I’ll be on my way.”
He paled instantly, looking like he saw a ghost. A soldier ran up beside Havoc, passing him a helmet. Havoc whispered to the soldier before slipping it on.
“Ash? Are you there?!” I shouted, but my voice got lost in the sudden flurry of activity. Two soldiers, their eyes wide behind the visors of their helmets, converged on me with huge crossbows.
“Stand down. Place your weapon on the ground,” a woman with a ponytail said. “You’re being placed under quarantine.”
Frustration bubbled up inside me. “Quarantine from what? I’m immune to SBO. Ask Mahakal, or my broth—”
Ponytail held up her hand. “Don’t make me shoot you. Eirini told us about his brother, although he failed to mention he’d be stupid enough to wander into a classified military camp uninvited.”
Scar-arms chuckled under his helmet. “Stand down. Basic quarantine protocol.”
My insides twisted. Protocol. I decided I hated that word, reeking of blind obedience. I would have always made a terrible soldier.
Still, I released my grip on Istaran and slowly placed it on the ground. Scar-arms directed my steps away. I felt I’d betrayed my sword when Ponytail picked it up. “I’ll be expecting that back.”
“Put this on,” Ponytail said, tossing me what looked like a cheaper version of her own helmet: no tech, but snug around the neck with a mesh filter to cover my face. “Now empty all your pockets.”
“Why?”
“So we can search you, friend,” Ponytail said, with enough stress on the word “friend” to make it clear she thought I was anything but, that my presence here could only mean the worst intentions.
I did as she asked. “Where’s Ash? Or Mahakal?”
“This way,” Scar-arms said, his voice muffled through his helmet, gesturing toward an isolated building on the camp’s edge that a soldier had just finished roping off. The ancient little building had four walls and no windows, the arched stone roof still standing. Perhaps a granary or an old storage shed, centuries ago. Once I was in, they bolted the heavy door shut behind them, leaving me with a single flickering lantern, a bedroll, and a camp toilet.
“We’ll inform the Major you’re here,” Ponytail said through the door. “Stay inside, don’t make a scene, and we won’t have any issues. Try to leave before the Major clears you, and you can expect a crossbow bolt. You can take that helmet off now.”
“Can I at least talk to Ash like this, with the helmet?”
“No,” said Ponytail, as the sound of her footsteps in the leaves grew fainter.
The weight of the silence pressed down in the coming night. I lay awake smelling musty air from the cold stones, grateful at least for my layer of Chaeten fleece. In the morning, a soldier opened the door long enough to pass through a metal tray of bland food and a canteen, offering no news. I exercised as best as I could in the dark, still finding myself with unexplained pent-up energy. I tried not to let my mind wander too far into dangerous places.
Three food trays and a bucket of soapy water later, the door opened and a familiar figure filled the entry. Mahakal, no helmet, a lantern flickering over his grim features and unsettling black eyes. He held Istaran in his hands.
“Jesse,” he said, his voice low and full. “Let me start by saying I’m very sorry for your loss.” He sat on a stone across from me in the little building, rubbing his eyes. “I’d love to hear how and why you wandered into my camp without proper clearance.”
“Where’s Asher?” I couldn’t hide my panic. “What loss are you sorry for?”
“Eirini’s fine,” Mahakal said with a gentle sigh. “A hard-working, resilient man—the heart of his squad.” Mahakal cocked his head. “I meant Nunbiren, and Elder Galen Eirini. It’s quite a loss.”
I whispered a thank you as he studied me.
“I’m uncertain what I find more remarkable.” He leaned forward on his knees. “The fact that you’re the sole survivor of yet another bioterrorism attack, or the fact that you were able to find my battalion in the field. How’d you do it?”
