He uncapped the flask, and Scott felt a strong smell of distilled alcohol. He raised his eyebrows. There has been a great shortage of alcohol at McMurdo lately. “You might want to ask Jerry about this,” Petri said, correctly interpreting his expression. He approached Ne Tarveg and, supporting the head of the half-conscious man, poured a glug of the liquor into his mouth. Ne Tarveg coughed and spluttered, but some of the color returned to his face, and he opened his eyes and nodded his thanks.
The companions exchanged glances. Now that they were relatively safe, the horror of what had happened hit them in full force.
“It is just as the old legends say,” Omrek said quietly. “The monster rose from the ice to punish the unworthy.”
“What do you think will happen to it?” Petri asked nobody in particular. “Do you think there might be more… creatures like that lurking under the ice? Imagine if they begin to breed again and start a colony…” he shook his head, evidently torn between fascination and horror.
“I doubt that’s likely,” Scott said, though he wasn’t feeling very sure of that. “With the extreme temperatures out there, it won’t survive long.”
“It might be driven back to the warmth of this valley,” Petri pointed out.
“That’s right, Pete. Keep up the brighter prospect.”
“But did you see how splendid that creature was? It had flippers as well as wings, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it swims as well as it flies. If it can get under the ice, and doesn’t need to breathe very often, it can be preserved from freezing again. And it would have plenty of game. Nash wouldn’t keep it from being hungry too long, I bet he was more like an appetizer…”
Scott felt a chill run down his spine. As distasteful as Nash had been, he could not have wished such a gruesome end upon him. “It was just like a dragon from the ancient tales,” he said quietly. “The only thing that lacked was for this creature to actually breathe a tongue of fire…”
“A bit of a good fire wouldn’t hurt us here,” Petri said reasonably, rubbing his arms. Their clothes were now about as dry as they would be able to get without being taking off and thoroughly aired.
“We had better get going, I think,” Omrek said. “Any delay won’t help Tarveg. Scott, I will help carry him the rest of the way. Manari is well enough to walk on her own now, I think.”
They hoisted Tarveg up, not unlike a seal being brought home from the hunt — a position which would surely have humiliated the Anai warrior, had he been in any condition to protest. After a rigorous march, exhausted, light-headed with hunger, their limbs aching with the weight of their companion, they crossed the river and reached the edge of the village.
A small host of Anai warriors, all geared up for a march and carrying long spears, bows and stone hammers, met them on the outskirts of the settlements. It was led by Tahan, who had her bow slung behind her back, along with a full quiver of arrows. Overwhelmed by relief, she ran over to Scott and, on impulse, threw her arms around him. “Thank the Spirits, you are safe! And Omrek and Manari, too!” she proceeded to embrace her brother and his wife. “But Ne Tarveg…”
Ne Riorag, ashen-faced with worry, elbowed his way forward. “What happened to my son?!” he called out desperately.
“And where is that evil man who had tried to carry Manari off?” demanded one of her brothers.
“You need not worry about him anymore,” Scott said grimly. “Right now, the only thing that matters is Ne Tarveg. Tahan, would you get some men to help us carry him to your house? I’m afraid my arms are about to fall off.”
Half a dozen strong Anai men, directed by Tahan, carried Ne Tarveg into her house and laid him upon the bed. His damp clothes were stripped off and hung up to dry, and Tahan covered him with soft furs to keep him warm. Ne Riorag himself had cut off the bandage to examine his son’s wound.
“I have never seen anything like it,” he said in a hollow voice. “There does not appear to be much blood, but this has weakened him greatly… it must be the power of the small deadly weapons the strangers carry…”
The hut was packed with people. Besides Tahan and Ne Riorag, who wouldn’t leave his son’s side, Omrek and Manari were there as well, the latter holding little Egan in her lap, and Stanley and Jerry and Zoe. After the first moments of agitation, Scott noticed that Jerry was sporting a brilliant black and purple eye.
“What happened?” he asked.
Zoe shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You won’t believe it, but somehow, Corby managed to wriggle out of the ropes and attempted to run. So Jerry, instead of calling for help, tried to tackle him single-handedly. The idiot,” she added tenderly.
“I gave him the old one-two,” Jerry said, accepting a cup of the hot fermented brew Tahan was handing round.
“You were nearly knocked out. If it weren’t for those two fellows who ran in and secured him…”
“But what really happened, Scott?” Tahan scrutinized. “Where is that evil man, Victor Nash?”
Scott met her eyes. “He is dead. It is quite a story, Tahan, but right now we’re in a hurry. Stanley,” he turned to the pilot, “you will need to fly us back to McMurdo as fast as you can. We need to get this man to the hospital,” he gestured in the direction of Ne Tarveg. Stanley nodded.
“We might have to do two flights,” he said. “I doubt we’ll all fit in, counting the friends of Nash… unless you just want to dump them on the ice, in which case I won’t blame you.”
“The prisoners can stay here for a day or two, under the supervision of the Anai. They won’t try to escape if they know what’s good for them. Ne Riorag,” Scott addressed the older man, “we will need to take your son to our…” he searched for the proper word in Anai. “To our settlement. Our healers will be able to treat his wound properly. Do you understand?”
Ne Riorag bit his lip. “Is my son in danger?” he asked quietly.
“I hope not, but he needs help, and the sooner the better. We can’t take him without your permission, though.”
“Ne Riorag,” Tahan touched his shoulder, “trust Scott. He is a friend, and so are those who came with him. They will help Ne Tarveg. Our healers have never seen wounds like his, they won’t know what to do.”
Ne Riorag nodded. “I agree,” he told Scott, “but I want to come as well. I want to be with my son.”
“Of course.”
Scott had his misgivings about how the old man would handle the flight in the helicopter, but he needn’t have worried. Though Ne Riorag was evidently awed by the unfamiliar contraption, and his face grew greenish as the helicopter began to rise in the air and he looked down from the window — his fingers surreptitiously touched the glass, which was a substance entirely foreign to the Anai — he was much too focused on his son to be as fascinated by the trip as he would have been otherwise. He held Ne Tarveg’s hand and bent his face low, and whispered a few words nobody could hear or discern.
Their arrival at McMurdo caused a small sensation. They were met at the helicopter pad by a crowd of agitated people who had lots of questions and very few answers, but there was no time to linger. Scott called for a stretcher and a team of medics, and in a few minutes, the wounded man and his father were conveyed to the hospital, accompanied by Scott, Zoe and Jerry.
Dr. Hope was professional enough to do her duty first and ask questions later, but once Ne Tarveg was admitted, treated and stabilized, she walked out of the room and met their anxious faces with a puzzled frown. “Scott, I believe I am entitled to some explanations. Who is this man? Where did you bring him from? What on earth is he wearing? Those two look absolutely wild, and they don’t speak a word of English.”