Divinity doesn't save you from carsickness, especially in a rickety van with terrible shocks bouncing across roads that barely deserved the name. I'd conceptually always acknowledged "Siberia" as being "the place Commies sent good people to die" but I'd never quite appreciated just how rough this country really was. Even the deep woods parts of the Ozarks I'd been weren't as dense and wild as the country all around us.
A fact that was made manifest when I jerked abruptly forward in my seat against the belt as the van's well-work breaks screeched to a halt, stopping as a wolf wandered in front of us. The creature stared into the headlights, seemingly paralyzed with shock until the Colonel leaned into the horn, sticking his head out the window to shout profanities at the canine for being in his way.
"Damn Wolves," The Colonel made a rude gesture at the wolf as we passed it with a lot more confidence than I felt was strictly appropriate for a wolf of that size as he moved the car back into motion. "They've been getting out of control since the fall of the Soviet Union."
"They were out of control long before 1991. The Siberian packs have been mysteriously large since people were "relocated' to Siberia. I'm sure the sudden increase in carnivores and scavengers was totally unrelated" Kincaid remarked as he looked down at the map. "You're still going to need to go another five kilometers before you even see the turn. Are you sure we have enough gas?"
"We have half a tank of petrol. We need a fill for safety's sake, just so that we can make the city proper without stopping, but we will be fine." The Colonel replied. "And bullshit. Even in the times of Stalin we didn't have wolf packs with hundreds of the awful creatures. If we used the military just to hunt them we would be well employed for the next decade."
"I'm sorry, did you say hundreds of wolves?" I asked in Russian, the very concept of it mind boggling. Wolves were scary at the best of times. Your average person today doesn't really have an adequate appreciation for what a wolf even is, let alone a pack of them. We've lived our lives largely away from the dangers our forefathers lived with. One hundred and seventy pounds of pure killing machine operating with even two or three of its buddies would be all but unbeatable in the dark for most people. A couple hundred? That was preposterous.
"Da." The Colonel replied, looking back at me. "When my country's previous government fell, many people who had been ordered to farm the land and stay here left. They didn't own the land, the livestock, or the crops, the government did. They didn't want to live here to begin with, so they saw it as no real loss to just abandon everything. Some let their flocks into the wild. It has had… consequences."
"And if your government hadn't been forcing people to farm this frozen hellscape nobody would be in a hurry to leave." Kincaid pointed at a point ahead of us to the left. "There, that should be your turn."
I jerked against my belt for a second time as the Colonel pitched the van around the turn at what could only charitably be described as "good driving." Apparently the Russian sensibility for what constitutes safe driving was only a few steps divorced from Hanna Barbera's Wacky Racers. The rules of physics and causality that the rest of us considered in operating motor vehicles were just "polite suggestions" as far as the Colonel was suggested. I swear it was borderline automancy.
Ammit snarled from the rear of the van, leaning past the trio of justifiably worried Russian Soldiers to shout in Goa'uld. "Warden, get that Tau'ri lunatic to drive in something resembling sanity! If I'd wanted to die in a wreck I would have stayed with Enlil."
"I agree with crocodile!" Vallarin insisted in Russian through a forced smile and gritted teeth, though he couldn't possibly have understood what she was saying. If I were to hazard a guess, her talons on his shoulder were more pressing in his decision making. "Good idea crocodile!"
"Da… good idea crocodile." Agreed Marchenko, who had a good view of Ammit's snarling maw.
"Can we slow down?" I asked in Russian, as much asking for my own stomach as for anything else. "This is getting nuts."
"Nyet - you don't want to pause on these roads unless you must. These are mining areas." Colonel Zhukov looked at me through the mirror. "Bratva likely owns most labor in the area. They do not like soldiers - we should not linger."
"Bratva - the freaking Russian Mob. What, the wolves weren't enough?" Kincaid snorted. "And I'm reasonably sure we can take some mobsters."
"Excuse me for not being bulletproof." The Colonel replied. "You are oddly comfortable with the idea of being shot"
"Guess I'm not a Pussy." Kincaid joked. "They marked off a gas station another three kilometers up the road."
"I don't see it." The Colonel replied, narrowing his eyes. "I - wait, ah! Da, I see it now. Yes, I'm sure of it. There it is. We're going the right way, if the pump is there then. The Highway is this way."
"The one to Verkhoyansk?" I asked.
"It is the only illusion of civilization out here. Da." He looked down at the gas gauge as he propelled the three kilometers in what only felt like moments. "Cу́ка, if we don't stop to get gas I don't know if there will be another filling station before we run out. It's here or hope the Bratva are feeling friendly."
Our commie-wagon slowed to a stop in a lazy hamlet consisting of a gas station, a church that looked big enough to fit five people at any given time, and a combination bar and apartment building that looked able to house five times as many people as the church. Judging by the outhouses they didn't have functioning indoor plumbing but at least they had electricity judging by the large satellite dish hanging off the front of the bar above a bright red diamond logo with a white letter "c" that held a soccer ball at its center next to the handwritten words "Go Spartak!" in Russian.
As the Colonel unbuckled his belt he froze, swore, and looked a Kincaid. "Uh - do any of you have currency on you? I lost my wallet on the Helicopter."
The mercenary shook his head. "It was on the table in the dungeons in my pack. I didn't have time to grab it."
"I have precious gemstones." I offered.
"I don't think the gas man will accept diamonds." Colonel Zukhov looked back at his men. "Gentlemen?"
"Nyet," Replied Vallarin. "I don't bring my wallet on black-ops… it seems… foolish. Some money, da, but not cards. And even that I lost."
"I didn't bring money." Replied Marchenko.
"I hate all of you and will be taking a diamond from the porcelain man." Kirensky pulled a wad of cash out from his wallet and passed it forward, holding his hand open expectantly. I handed him one of the smaller stones, earning an irritated grunt from Ammit at having given treasure for paper of all things.
The Colonel took the cash and got out of the car, walking over to the main office. He opened the door and walked inside, Kincaid following soon after. As we waited for the two of them to pay for gas, I noticed that Vallarin was looking at me hopefully.
I chuckled. "You've got more questions, don't you?"
"Could I learn magic?" Vallarin asked breathlessly. "To make spells as you do?"
I considered the proper answer to that question. "No - not as I do. If you had the talent I would have noticed when you were re-attaching my head."
"Oh... " Replied the heartbroken man.
"Well, hold on." I held up a finger. "I didn't say you couldn't do magic. Just not the way I do magic. Actually… I probably should teach you all this anyway."
I rummaged under my chair and pulled out a toolbox. I went through it until I found a wax pencil, pulled it out and handed it to him. "Draw a circle on the floor between us."
"Ok," Sergei replied to me, nervously picking up the pencil and drawing a rough circle on the metal floor of the van. It was a bit oblong, but it was more about the "idea" of a circle.
"Ok, now I want you to prick the tip of your finger and think real hard about putting your will into that circle." I waved at it.
"He's not going to give up my soul or anything, is he?" Asked Kirensky.
"No - he's just empowering a protective circle." I affirmed. "Go on son. It won't hurt you. I promise."
Sergei Vallarin pricked his thumb with the tip of his knife, nervously holding out the digit to the circle and putting an effort of will into it. There was a sudden shift in the air and the small circle shimmered with magical energy. "It worked! Da, I think it worked!"
"Well, lets see." I held up a finger and cast a spark out with a whispered effort of "Fuego." The small spurt of fire, barely more than a candle-light, jumped out and dissipated against the circle.
"... Are you telling me that the only barrier to having a personal forcefield is blood, a pencil, and an understanding of basic geometry." Marchenko groaned. "Because if that's true, we gave up the Cold War way too early."
"It will only work against magical energy. Anything physical will burst through it and remove any protection it offered. Protection against both mystical and physical danger is a lot more intensive." I waved my hand through the circle, dissipating it. "It will stop a curse but won't to anything against a bullet, a pebble, or even a grain of rice. Anything "real" can get through it."
"Did not the man bring the paper with him for a purpose, Lord Warden?" Asked Muminah, pointing to a pair of irritated men walking back to the van.
"They did." I replied cautiously, before realizing the obvious. I looked at the Russians. "Hey, is there a Soccer match on tonight? Spartak maybe?"
"That depends… what is today? It was the 18th when we went into the portal… is it still?" Inquired Marchenko.
"Damn it. It's the 19th." I groaned as I checked the timepiece on my wrist. That's the trouble with the Nevernever. It never seems to cooperate when you were on a schedule. Koschei had already had the Archive for days now. I knew that she'd been planning on this for centuries, but even leaving her with him for moments was more than I could tolerate.
"Then yes. Turkey is playing Belgium and Italy is playing Sweden for the UEFA EURO 2000 match." Marchenko replied before making an "ah-ha" noise as the Colonel poked his head in the cab.
"Out - all of you." The Colonel replied. "I'm going to need you."
"Worried about the Bratva Colonel?" Joked the Lieutenant.
"Screw the Bratva, I'm about to walk into a Siberian bar on game day and tell the mechanic to stop watching the match." The Colonel brandished the wad of cash. "I don't give a shit how much money you hand him, that's begging for a bar fight. And if I'm in a bar fight I want the scary one to eat someone."
He switched to english for the final sentence. Ammit's eyes glowed in anticipation as she muttered in Goa'uld. "You might be back on my good list creature."
"No eating people without my permission." I affirmed in English before flipping back into Russian. "Seriously, you don't want her off the wagon."
"Have you met soccer hooligans? They're as likely to bite her first." Vallarin jibed as he disembarked, following me and Muminah as we got out of the truck. Marchenko and Kirensky took up the rear, taking positions on either side of our potential escape vehicle. Ammit gave an approving nod as she walked past them.
Kincaid stood next to the door of the bar, holding his weapon up and motioning for us to enter. I looked at him incredulously. "You're seriously letting us walk in first?"
"You're durable and I'm a better shot for covering fire." Kincaid replied as though it were too obvious to require discussion. "You want to get to the Keeper or what?"
"My god." The Colonel sighed in exasperation, opening the door. "It's a bar, I'm expecting broken bottles and harsh words, not a siege."
We walked in to the bar… and discovered nothing. Well, not "nothing." There were all the things one would expect to find in a bar, stools, bottles, glasses, tables, chairs, a pool table, and a large TV playing the game. There were also plates of bar food still warm and steaming from the kitchen and frosty cold glasses of beer and liquor. You know what there weren't?
People. The only place in town that I would have put money would be full to bursting and there weren't any people. Oh, there was plenty of clothing. An entire village's worth of it, but there were no people.
"That simplifies fears of a bar fight somewhat." Vallarin joked, walking over to the bar and downing a pint as he looked at the game. "Turkey is doing quite well… who would have guessed?"
"The Turks?" I replied, cautiously walking into the bar and extending my wizard's senses. There was magic in the air. It was nearly imperceptible so why did it feel so damn familiar? I caught a glimpse of motion out the side of my eye and spun on my heel, turning my staff to the source of the motion.
As I flared the runes along my staff, letting motes of fire pour from it like molten rain I aimed it in the direction of a small, furry shape that had been lingering near the back exit. It yelped in fear, it's unnaturally yellow-gold eyes reflecting off the light cast from my staff as it fled out the back exit.
"Охуе́ть that was a wolf!" The Colonel jumped back as the door shut. "What was a wolf doing here?"
"Watching Turkey win." I joked, before the joke immediately stopped being funny. I groaned as an idea hit me. "Ammit?"
"Yep." Replied the huntress.
"When we got here did you smell people?" I inquired.
"Yep." Replied the huntress as she stretched her arms and legs, limbering up.
"But you don't smell those same people now, do you?" I thought back to the cabin we'd left and the dog-bitten chess pieces.
"Nope." Ammit twisted back and forth, clicking her vertebrae in anticipation of exertion.
"But you do smell wolves. You smell lots of wolves." Wolves like the ones that had crossed our path. Wolves like siberia had been full of since plenty of people had a reason to want to disappear into the wilderness. "Hell's bells!"
I ran out of the bar screaming, "Don't shoot!" at the top of my lungs as the howling started. "They can think - don't shoot."
I don't know if you've ever been somewhere to hear a wolf howling. First one, then dozens, all baying for blood - but there is a primal, atavistic terror to it. There is a memory attached to that keening cry that harkens back to a time when men used to cower in their caves and pray that those wolves were coming for someone else. The Alphas had been able to scare the crap out of pretty much anyone, and there had only been a few of them.
There were a lot more than the Alphas. I don't think there were hundreds, but there were plenty thank you very much. And they were all focused completely on Ammit. Because of course they would be. I had brought an apex predator into their territory and they were worried about the pack. The approached cautiously, snarling and baying. They gave the men with guns a wide berth as they circled round to Ammit, snapping and growling at the threat.
"Get on the ground." I snapped at Ammit.
"Excuse me?" Ammit scoffed.
"They just want to make sure that you're not here to hurt them. They've never seen an Unas before. " I looked at the collected mass of wolves, my gaze landing on a particularly large, gaunt, dark wolf, with brilliant, feral amber eyes. It was sniffing the air speculatively and tilting its head as it looked at me. I put two and two together and became more convinced of my plan than ever. "You scare them. Get on the ground and lie on your back."
"Not everything can be solved by surrendering Warden." Ammit snarled, acquiescing to my demands nonetheless.
"Tera West - if you wouldn't mind. I would appreciate not being torn apart by wolves tonight." I addressed the wolf that had caught my eye, before addressing the collective pack. "We're all missing the game. Wouldn't you rather watch Turkey play."
The collective mass of wolves stopped, somewhat confused to be addressed in conversational tones. None of them quite so much as the Wolf I had apparently correctly guessed to be Tera West, the lupine thermomorph and once Fiance of Harley MacFin. I'd lost track of her after the death of her Loup-garou lover, apparently her loss had been too great to even stay within the confines of the United States.
The dark wolf leapt forward and in an instant had melded into an naked, striking and dark-skinned woman with dark brown hair flecked with grey. She approached me cautiously, sniffing me as she examined me with amber eyed perplexion - ignoring the rest of our group as she circled me, addressing me in English. "I know you."
"You do." I replied.
"You've changed." Tara sniffed my hair as she walked behind me, earning her a look of utter contempt from Muminah. "You're older. Older than you should be."
"Who isn't?" I replied, earling a snort of amusement from Tara. "Why are you here?"
"I teach cubs." She shrugged to the mass of wolves behind her. "These learn better. They understand hunger."
"Are you teaching wolves to become people or people to become wolves?" I inquired.
"Does it matter?" Tara scoffed, looking down at Ammit. "Who is she?"
"A friend, like you." I replied calmly but firmly. "We're here to meet the Keeper."
"Quikinna'qu will find you if he wishes." Tara shook her head. "You do not find him."
"I need to find him." I insisted. "It's urgent."
"Wise men do not rush the Keeper." Tara leaned in to look at Mumina, ignoring her contemptuous glare. She sniffed Mumina twice before declaring. "I like this one. She is a good choice for a mate. She will make a good mother."
The whiplash from utter contempt to a full body blush seemed likely to break Muminah. I re-directed the subject for fear that the idea of "fathering children with the Warden" might become a tenant of the region. "Tara, I must meet him. There is a child in danger."
"You are determined to walk into your doom on behalf of others, aren't you?" Tara sighed, making a barking noise to the collected mass of wolves. The group all shifted, changing back into men and women of various ages. They all seemed to be in fantastic shape though - something about going werewolf, it always seemed to give you washboard abs.
The naked mob sauntered past us and into the bar to put their clothing back on and get back to watching the game. Vallarin turned to the Colonel and said, "Sir, I respectfully suggest that we edit this part of the report to avoid the implication that a collective of naked villagers got the best of us."
"Da - I think that would be wise." The Colonel sighed and accepted a pint offered to him by a barmaid who would have been appealing to look at even before she was naked.
"Tara - please help me. Someone is trying to do things to a little girl. He wants to hurt her worse than the curse hurt MacFinn." I pleaded with her. "I swear on my magic that it's true."
Tara looked at me with those inhuman amber eyes, her face inscrutable as she considered my words before she looked up at a tree and said. "Brother Crow? Are you listening?"
A bird fluttered down from the tree and landed on the ground next to us. It cawed three times before ruffling its feathers. Ammit looked over at the bird from her supine position. "So if we're all not killing each other and talking to birds… can I stand up now? Or is this still part of the plan."
"Give me a second Ammit." I replied.
"Fine, fine - I was comfortable anyway." Ammit crossed her arms and looked up at the sky.
"Uh, hi brother bird." I addressed the crow, feeling remarkably stupid. "I need to meet the Keeper. It's really important. I will agree to come under a banner of truce - but I need to meet with him."
The Bird Cawed once. Why?
"Did that bird just talk?" Marchenko groaned. "Have I reached the point in my day where wolves turn into nudists and birds talk? Is this what happens when you die in hell?"
"Shut up Marchenko." Vallarin shushed him. "I want to see what happens."
"The Archive was taken by Koschei. He has her in Buyan." I replied, choosing honestly for the sake of brevity. "I want to save her."
The Bird Cawed again. Why?
"Because it's the right thing to do." I affirmed.
Yet another caw. Why?
"Because she's a child and you should save children in danger." I insisted.
Just as I was starting to worry that the only thing this damnable crow could say was why, it asked a new question. Why you?
Finally, an easy question. "Because I promised I would protect her."
The crow nodded once, and cawed again. Good.
And in a flash of light - we were no longer in front of the bar.