Stolen Innocence
Chapter 6
Beyond the opening of the small cave, a steady, cold rain fell. The mouth of the cave angled downward, so none of the water made its way to the interior; instead the overhang caused the rain to tumble to the rocky facing, providing a watery curtain that further camouflaged the sanctuary. Only someone who knew of the cave's existence could detect it was there, secreted away at the base of a low mountain, not far from a clear stream, flowing quickly, almost angrily with the persistent July rainfall. Snowmelt from higher elevations up the valley added to the stream's girth. Talia had used the waterway during the last leg of their journey to conceal their tracks.
"How did you ever find this place?" Akar asked in wonder, standing in the middle of the cave, staring about him.
Talia set her solar-powered lantern near Akar's feet. It easily illuminated the dry space, which measured about three square meters, its ceiling just high enough to clear Akar's head, its floor relatively flat.
"Bane found it a year ago when he was out hunting."
"I don't remember him ever mentioning it."
"He only told me. It's our secret."
"Why?"
Talia shrugged off her backpack. "It's a refuge to protect me, just in case an enemy ever breaches the monastery compound. Bane told me that I'm to come here, and he would find me."
"Your father doesn't know?"
"Nope."
"Bane doesn't trust even him?"
"It's not that." Talia frowned. "It's hard to explain." She turned away toward a stainless steel locker set against the rear wall.
"What's that?"
Talia opened the lid and knelt in front of it, rummaging inside.
"Are those supplies?" Akar drew closer, staring in amazement.
"Yes. Bane brought them here a while ago, in case there was an emergency, like I said."
"How much stuff is in there?"
"Food and fuel for a week. Are you hungry?" She handed him a small propane tank and pulled forth a hot plate.
Within a few minutes they had tea and stew made with salted yak and desiccated vegetables. The food warmed Talia from the inside out. The temperatures in the valleys were markedly warm compared to what she was accustomed to at the higher elevations, but she was not used to the dampness of the rain, which had chilled her on the last leg of their trek from the League's base. She and Akar spread their coats out to dry as they ate.
"You don't plan on staying here long, do you?" Akar asked. "We should head back before your father finds you. We've been gone for hours now. You've made your point to him. Maybe if we go back soon he won't punish you too badly."
"I won't be here for weeks, if that's what you mean. But I'll be here long enough."
"Long enough for what?"
"For him to understand."
"Understand what?"
"That he can't dictate everything I do."
"But he's your father. You must listen to him and respect him."
"Did you always listen to your father, Akar?" Talia challenged.
He hesitated. "Yes."
She lifted a dubious eyebrow.
"Our parents are wiser than us because of their age," Akar said. "Their wisdom is a gift to their children, not a punishment."
"Did your father tell you that?"
"Yes."
She gently scoffed as she spooned the last bit of soup from her mug. "He told you that so he could control you."
"No," Akar replied in a hurt tone. "He told me that so I would stay safe."
"But you didn't stay safe, did you?" Talia looked pointed at the dark leather patch covering Akar's empty, scarred eye socket.
A rare scowl darkened Akar's brown face. "It wasn't his fault."
"How do I know? You've never told me what happened that day the wolf attacked you."
"Yes, I have."
"I mean you've never told me the real story."
Startled, Akar turned away to look toward the mouth of the cave. "I don't want to talk about it. We should get going; we need to go back."
Talia had not wanted to hurt him, but she also wanted to dissuade him from talking about her father. "Are you afraid?"
"Of what?"
"Of being in this cave."
"I'd rather be outside. You aren't afraid."
"No. Remember, I was born and raised underground."
"I would think that would make you afraid of being here. Doesn't it remind you of that?"
"Sure. But I'm not afraid. Bane taught me to embrace our past; he says it makes us strong, not weak."
Akar set aside his soup mug and sipped his tea before speaking again. "Bane will be angry with you for doing this."
"He'll understand."
"Maybe. But he will be angry that you defied your father and worried him so."
"After I tell him what Papa said, he won't. He'll be angry with Papa, like I am."
"Maybe, but even if he is he would not defy your father as you have."
"Don't be too sure of that when it comes to me, Akar," she said with pride.
"Bane has sworn an oath to the League, Talia. He must obey his master, as you should."
"What about you?" she argued. "You just defied your master."
"You gave me no choice."
"We all have choices; that's what Papa says. You could have chosen to stay where you belonged."
"I told you—I promised Bane that I would keep you safe."
"I can take care of myself. Bane knows that."
"Does he? Then why did he make me promise to watch you?"
"He was just being kind to you; he gave you a purpose."
Akar's narrow eyes darkened with rarely seen anger. "I already have a purpose, in case you didn't ever wonder who fed you and put clean sheets on your bed."
Embarrassed, Talia looked away, rolling her lips together.
"Bane knows I have more value than just being a servant," Akar continued.
Talia forced her gaze back to him. "I know, too, Akar. I'm sorry I said that."
A heavy silence stretched between them before Akar spoke again, "You won't be the only one punished when they find us, you know."
Talia frowned again. "I know. That's why you should go back. You could tell Papa that you were out looking for me but couldn't find me."
"I'm not leaving you. That's final. So quit talking about it."
Though Talia sighed in frustration, a part of her was grateful for Akar's stubbornness. Having him with her would make this easier to bear. She would never admit it to him, but she had been questioning her impulsiveness to strike out from the monastery. Not only was her father's wrath to be feared, but Bane would indeed be angry with her as well, and she hated his scolding worse than even her father's. And then there were the physical hardships to endure as well. She already missed the cheerful, warming fire in the common room and the softness of her own bed.
As she had trekked down from the mountains, she had considered how she had never before done anything truly alone. Since the day of her birth she had had her mother and Bane always there beside her…until Bane had been initiated into the League and had left on assignments. Perhaps, she wondered, she was running away as much to punish Bane as her father. Although she knew she was being selfish and irrational, she felt a sense of insult and abandonment whenever Bane left her, choosing the League's business over her. Why couldn't he have chosen simply to be her protector at their mountain home instead of being a warrior? But, of course, she knew the answers to that question. Not only was Bane well-suited to his new role but he craved it; he wanted to do something with his life, he wanted to be useful; he wanted to show his gratitude to her father for saving his life. And more painful to realize was the fact that her father did not want Bane around her all the time. Had not their most recent argument proven that to be true? Like Bane, Talia desperately wanted her father to love him, but after more than two years, she had begun to realize that such a thing would never develop, and it disappointed her.
For the first time, she saw her father as a flawed man.
###
"We are within two kilometers of the village," Diako said.
Temujin glanced at his watch then the sky through the emerald foliage. "Sunset in another hour. Zakuani, you'll scout their position as soon as it's dark, then report back here."
"I can go," Bane eagerly offered.
"No, I want Zakuani," Temujin insisted.
Bane opened his mouth to object but managed to hold his tongue. He needed to respect his SO's decision; such self-control was one of his major weaknesses, as Temujin had often counseled him, including during his first two missions. Perhaps Temujin was purposefully testing him now. He would rather believe that to be his SO's motivation, rather than Temujin's concerns about his respiration.
Ruefully Bane watched as Zakuani stripped himself of everything except his pair of pistols, checked the coordinates, then melted into the forest.
###
Zakuani's reconnaissance mission provided Bane with a rejuvenating respite, some two hours of silence, listening to the outrageous noises of the forest; every sound seemed amplified to him, putting his nerves on edge. He told himself that this period of rest was one of Temujin's reasons for letting Zakuani scout the target's position instead of him. But Bane found that he could not be grateful for his SO's wisdom. He sat away from the others, not only because they should not bunch together for the sake of safety this close to their target, but because he wanted to avoid giving Temujin the opportunity to speak with him. Nor did he want to afford himself the chance to voice his frustrations.
It seemed an eternity before Zakuani drifted back through the trees, emerging like a ghost near midnight when the moon and stars hid behind an ashy curtain of clouds. Bane's fingers twitched in anticipation. Waiting for Zakuani's return had been torture. If only Temujin had sent him to reconnoiter, it would have occupied his mind and body.
They all crouched together around the scout to receive his report.
"Are they there?" Diako quietly asked.
"Yes." Zakuani removed his night-vision goggles.
"Did you see the children?" Bane this time, his impatience impelling his question instead of allowing Temujin to query.
"Some of them. From what I gathered, they have them inside the huts."
"How many men?" Temujin calmly inquired.
"Four."
"One for each of us," Diako murmured darkly, almost to himself.
"Did you see Mutara?" Temujin asked.
"Yes."
Bane's fingers twitched again, resting against his assault rifle across his thighs.
Zakuani rummaged in his pack and pulled forth a piece of paper and pen. Diako's small flashlight shined upon it as Zakuani drew a diagram of the village to illustrate the positions of the huts that supposedly housed the children. A dozen huts, six on each side of a central path.
"The huts are small," Zakuani said. "But I believe they have concentrated the children in these three. One man standing watch while two others sleep outside these same huts."
"You said there are four," Bane interjected.
"Yes, but I'm guessing Mutara doesn't stand watch. I saw him head into this hut at the far end, and I never saw him again."
"Very well," Temujin said. "We will move immediately. Once the village is in sight, we will split up. Silence is key, of course. I will move in first and take out the man on watch. Diako, you will have moved around to the west to block that escape route and take down either of the two others if they try to run your way. Zakuani, you will move in from the south, behind the huts where the children are. You will take out the third man while I dispatch the second. Bane, you will enter the village once I move on the guard; you will go to Mutara's hut to take him into custody. Remember, he must be captured alive."
Bane's chest swelled with pride for having the honor of bagging Mutara himself. This eased his hurt pride over Zakuani being sent on the scouting mission instead of him.
"We must do this with as few bullets as possible, lest we injure any of the children," Temujin cautioned.
"The children are not the objective," Diako growled.
Temujin scowled at him. "No, but their safety is important. They are victims, not collateral damage. Understood?"
Diako looked away, simmered.
"Check weapons and coms," Temujin ordered, "then let's move out."
###
With rifles at the ready, they slipped through the forest like snaking wisps of mist, using night-vision technology to find their way and their training in shinobi-iri to move as silently as possible. The clouds remained their allies, blocking any sliver of light from the heavens. Bane and Temujin had blackened the exposed flesh of their faces; everything else was covered by clothing, gloves, and boots. Diako was in the lead, his position concerning Bane, for Diako lacked League training, and though the man moved carefully, he still made a slight rustle and crunch as he walked.
Bane had done his best to prepare himself physically and mentally for this moment. Meditation and breathing techniques—now almost second nature—had kept him calm. He focused on his mask, on keeping his respiration through it as soft as possible. Caution and stealth dictated that their pace be slower and more deliberate than usual, so that worked in his favor. And though the atmosphere was still humid, the night's cooler temperatures helped him as well. Yet Temujin assigning him to bring up the rear had not been lost upon Bane. Soon, though, his actions would prove to all of them that any reservations about his ability to complete the team's objective had been unfounded.
Deep in the night, they came to a halt when Diako raised a hand. Temujin moved forward, touched Diako's shoulder. The African drifted off to their right front. A moment passed. Temujin then signaled Zakuani who then melted away to the south. Bane crouched beside his SO. They exchanged a glance of trust and patience. Minutes slid by as they waited for their comrades to get into position. Then at last they advanced.
At the tree line on the east end of the tiny village—more of a camp than a village to Bane's eyes—they halted under cover. Temujin met his gaze a final time, transmitting to his protégé a multitude of things—a warning for caution, an urging to remember his training, a brotherly strength to bolster Bane, a shadow of concern for his safety. Bane nodded assurance to him, then watched his friend blend with the night even further and drift to the left, to approach his target from a rear angle.
With his night vision, Bane focused on the armed guard. The man moved slowly, with short, shuffling, tired steps down the center of the village, staying mainly in front of the three huts that held the children. All was silent. A small fire burned in front of one of the dwellings, and two other men lay nearby on the ground, sleeping just out of the circle of weak light. As Zakuani had said, the domed huts were small. If there were indeed two dozen children inside, they would be sleeping nearly on top of one another, hot and uncomfortable, if they could sleep at all in such conditions. The huts appeared to have only one opening—the entry point. They seemed to be constructed of a frame of long, thin branches and saplings that had been bent and intertwined then covered with large, dried leaves like shingles.
Bane's attention turned to Temujin emerging from cover near the hut closest to the guard. His mentor appeared more so to float than walk as he slipped alongside the rounded dwelling. Bane gathered himself, ready to rush forward, down the center toward the hut where Mutara lay. He turned his goggles in that direction, hands tightening upon his rifle, lining up his route. But then movement caught his eye, and his breath caught.
Diako. What was he doing, breaking cover before Temujin neutralized the guard? Insubordinate fool!
The African crouched just outside Mutara's hut, pausing only an instant before he went through the low doorway, knife in hand. Bane wanted to shout into his com for Diako to stop, but he knew it would do no good, nor could he break cover without alerting the guard who might then detect Temujin.
Just as Temujin slipped from behind his cover and expertly slit the guard's throat, a girl's scream shattered the night, ringing out from Mutara's hut. The other two guards instantly awoke, reached for their weapons, Temujin vulnerable in the open. Bane's rifle was up in an instant. His precise shot blew through the forehead of one of the men. He could not fire upon the other, though, for Temujin was momentarily in his way. The man ripped off a burst of gunfire at Temujin. The muffled screams of frightened children came from inside the huts. Temujin ducked beneath the hail of bullets like a wraith, fired off his pistol as he did so, struck the assailant in the arm, momentarily foiling his shots. But Temujin did not take cover behind the huts, for to do so would put the children inside at risk from bullets directed through the hut at him.
Bane sprang forward, running along the opposite side of the camp, behind the huts, toward Mutara's shelter, toward his own target. As much as he wanted to help Temujin further, he knew he had to focus on his own objective and leave the rest to his SO and Zakuani who would now be flanking the remaining gunman.
He neared the rear of Mutara's hut, expecting to hear angry male voices inside but instead heard only the gunfire from the other side of the village. Something caught his eye—a ragged opening in the rear of the hut, near the ground, something just created. An escape route! Was he too late? A blur of movement there. Bane brought his rifle to bear.
"Stop or I'll shoot!" he shouted, halting to one side, near the back of the next hut for concealment.
Instinctively, like a turtle into its shell, the small figure disappeared back into the hut. Small, too small to be a man. One of the children! Mutara had a human shield. But where was Mutara, and where was Diako?
"Come out!" he ordered. "I won't hurt you." Of course he knew the child might not understand English or any other language he spoke, but he tried again in French. Nothing. He could not wait. The child—and anyone else still alive inside—could dart out the front of the hut and possibly be shot in the confusion or vanish into the forest.
Bane took pistol and knife in hand and dove through the tight opening, his broad shoulders ripping through the organic structure of the hut. Wood snapped, and leaves cascaded. The greenish world of his night vision revealed a flash of movement to one side, and something wooden struck sharply against his head, but the lack of strength behind the blow caused him only to flinch. He sensed no one else inside with him and his small assailant as he pushed away from the blows, bringing his weapons to bear. The child fell away, mouth open in terror. A teen-aged girl.
"It's all right," Bane said. "I won't hurt you."
But the girl began to scream. Her terror, however, was not derived from the menace of his weapons. No, her horrified stare lay upon his mask.