And on and on he sang his barely audible motivational cadence, letting the mindless motivation push him forward. It was all he had.
60
A small hill overlooked the flat plane of Kadwan, all the way to the sea. A long narrow city with rolling hills to the east and the Gulf of Martaban to the west, it had once held a hundred thousand people. But that had been before all the buildings had all been destroyed.
Musso had told them that a direct translation of the original name of the land of the Karen—Kawthoolie—was “land burned black.” Now it seemed the only name this place deserved. Fire burned everywhere. A pall of acrid smoke gripped the length and breadth of the city, hanging low and thick. The occasional scream broke the silence, from what or whom Walker didn’t know.
That this virtually unknown group, lost to the whims of history, could be so powerful was unanticipated by all the analysts. But it shouldn’t have been. After all, it was the Karen who’d stopped the Mongols. It was the Karen who’d stopped Alexander. They’d once been as dominant a group as ever lived on the earth. But the centuries had taken their toll. Now they were a minority, scattered across several countries in the backwater of Southeast Asia, and it seemed that one madman was determined to bring them back to prominence. Saw Thuza Tun believed that for a new country to grow, the old one had to be destroyed. Their language was filled with double meanings. Kawthoolie meant both “land burned black” and “flowerland.” There couldn’t be one without the other. For the flowers to grow, the land of the Karen must be destroyed. And if Walker didn’t do something to stop it, they’d fertilize the earth with the bodies of dead SEALs and fill the world with qilin.
Walker searched the horizon and spotted the cricket field, or pitch, as it was called. This was where the others were. He staggered down the hill into a street below. Cars were overturned. Pieces of rubble, parts of homes, and personal possessions lay upon the ground like they’d grown there. Doll heads and kitchen utensils jutted from the ground like vegetables in a mad hatter’s garden. Pieces of brightly colored cloth whipped from the hard edges of scorched bushes. He’d seen the aftermaths of major attacks in Somalia and Iraq. He’d seen cities destroyed. But this was something more. This was as if the hand of an angry god had come down to sweep the city aside. The closest he’d come to this sort of devastation had been when Katrina had scraped entire communities from the Gulf Coast.
Walker limped down the center of the street. He held his Stoner in his hands. The holster on his right thigh was unclipped. He was past exhaustion, walking into a universe he’d never been in before. He felt alert, but like a great brooding animal, unconsciousness lurked just beneath the surface. He’d run farther and faster than he’d ever thought possible. He’d stopped only once more, when he’d crossed a stream. He’d fallen to his knees and had thrust his head into the water like a beast, gulping, then puking, then gulping some more.
He walked for perhaps three blocks. He wasn’t sure. Here and there the streets had been wiped away. He saw a child buried in the rubble. He moved toward what looked to be a little girl, only to discover that it was a doll’s head. Not just any doll’s head, but the head of an Asian girl doll.
He felt a buzz beginning beneath his skin. He picked the head up gently, as if it were the head of a real child. Cradling it in his hands, he felt the buzz continue beneath his skin, but he ignored it. There were holes where the eyes had been. Its skin had melted in a fall of plastic tears. The buzzing increased. As he felt the seizure coming on, Walker squeezed the head in his fingers. He grunted and took several steps forward.
Then it hit him like an arcane fist.
His teeth chattered as he envisioned a taloned hand reaching into the doll’s eyes, the finger so hot and horrible that its mere touch caused the plastic to melt. It was the hand of a demon. It was the hand of Chi Long. For a moment Walker felt what it was like to be so powerful; then he was able to let go of the head and free himself of its power echo.
Suddenly the world changed before him. Gone was the scorched earth of Kadwan. It was replaced by Washington, D.C. Qilin crawled up the vertical surface of the Washington Monument, their talons tearing into the stone and concrete. The White House lawn was filled with qilin ripping men and women to pieces. In flashes of a possible future, he saw thousands of the beasts in every city, on the sides of every building, eating and killing everything that he’d ever known and loved.
He fell to his knees and retched. With his stomach almost empty, there was nothing to come up. Walker dry-heaved until the feeling left. When he stood, a long string of drool hugged his chin. He let it hang as he took a shaky step forward. Now he knew who had destroyed the city.
He turned on the radio as he stumbled forward. When it was ready, he called in to home station.
“Where are you?” came Jen’s voice immediately.
“In Kad … Kadwan,” he croaked.
“What’s wrong? Why do you sound like that?”
“Everything’s gone. The magic is … so … strong.” He stopped to grit his teeth. His body began to shake and he fought it back down. “Gotta … keep … moving.”
“Jack…”
“How … how long?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“Hoover?”
“Almost there.”
“Uh … good dog.”
“Walker, this is Billings. I’m sorry I got you into this, but we need you now.”
“You got me,” he said, aware that his tongue had made it sound like You goth me.
“Listen closely. Musso discovered something. It looks like a man named Saw Thuza Tun ordered the tattoo suit from the Triad. Tun probably has a modicum of control. We don’t know how much. But you might be able to get through to him if needed.”
“Fuh … fuck that.”
“Exactly. So you need to find the focus. Do you know what that is?”
As Walker stumbled forward he remembered the conversation he’d had with Laws about the use of foci to channel and control spirits.
“Fo … cus?”
“Yes, Walker. A focus. It could be a ring or a bracelet or even a necklace. It could be anything.”
“Underwear. Bar … Barbie dolls.”
“What’d he say?” Billings asked someone.
“I think he said something about Barbie dolls and underwear,” he heard Musso say.
“Ceremonial,” Walker said, the word sounding like Theremonial.
“What’s wrong with him?” Musso asked.
“It’s all the magic,” Billings said. “It’s affecting him like this. We can only hope that it goes away.”
“Gothes away,” he said, stumbling even farther forward.
Suddenly a qilin turned the corner and ran down the street toward him. Walker tried to raise his rifle, but he didn’t have the strength. It was as though the buzz of magic had replaced everything.
The chimera ran straight at him.
Walker screamed in a cracked and broken voice as the beast slid to a stop in front of him.
But the creature didn’t attack. Instead, it sniffed him.
Walker had never been this close to a live one before. He could see the reticulations on the beast’s scales. Each one seemed to be intricately carved. Its eyes glowed a heated orange and its breath felt hot against his skin. Walker couldn’t take his eyes off the spikes. The chimeric equivalent of a puffer fish’s, they jutted out at all angles. One stumble, one bull rush, and he’d be impaled.
“Walker? Are you there?”
The qilin was startled. It jumped back and bared its teeth.