The Keldara could dig like motherfuckers.
When the chambers were covered, the turf placed on them and the whole business done, the Keldara began to break up, quietly. There was no sobbing from grieving mothers but nobody was exactly partying. Later, maybe. Mike, personally, was planning on drowning himself in beer.
“Kildar,” Father Kulcyanov said, walking over to him. He was still wearing that fucking tiger skin.
Mike wondered, again, if he should tell the old man about the tiger. Kulcyanov didn’t have much time left in this world, he’d probably like to hear that the tigers were coming back.
“Kildar,” the man repeated, laying his broad, spadelike hand on Mike’s shoulder. “It is well.”
“Yes, Father Kulcyanov,” Mike replied. “It is fine. Thanks. I’m good. Thanks for asking.”
“No, Kildar,” the old man said, clenching his shoulder with amazing strength for his age. “You do not understand. It is well. Father of All, Kildar, try to understand that. For you and for the Keldara. For decades the Keldara had no chance to enter what you Christians would call heaven. Yes, we miss our sons and daughters. I had known Ivan Ferani most of my life, and all of his. I miss his gentleness and humor. And… everyone knows that you grieve, especially, for one who was laid here.
“We grieve but at the same time we live in joy. For the first time in decades we have added to the dun. We have lived in shame for a generation, for we could not add to the dun as our ancestors have for time immemorial. We weep not for these heroes, but because their light is gone from our lives. It is selfish. They have, all, men and women, brought honor to our clan such as we have not had in centuries. You, Kildar, have brought our honor back. Do not fear so. Missions will come to you and, for our honor, for her honor, you must not fear. Do not turn from the path of the warrior! Do not forsake us to die of old age and be buried in the dirt. If you do, you shame us before our gods and our ancestors. You will shame her memory.
“So understand this, Kildar. Know it in your bones, in your water, in your soul. It is well. Year upon year, century upon century, we build the dun. It is said that the final battle will commence when the dun of the Keldara reaches the roof of the sky.”
Mike looked up a the massive hill, fully a hundred feet high and three times that at its base. Then he blanched.
“Wait,” he said, blinking in horror. Each of the tombs was maybe two feet high and seven deep. “I thought this was… Are you telling me… ”
“The dun of the Keldara is the graveyard of our heroes, Kildar,” Father Kulcyanov said. “Those that die of old age, sickness and infirmity, they are consigned to the Cold Lands and buried in dirt. They die without honor. These are our honored dead. These rest with the heroes of centuries, Kildar. Rank on rank, circle on circle, layer upon layer, it is the home of our soul. It is our destiny.”
The bar in Georgetown was nearly deserted. It was always pretty busy at lunchtime and got really busy after dark, but in the middle of the afternoon in “The World’s Capital” the busy beavers of Congressional Staffers, White House Staffers, Congressmen, Senators and the predators that circled them were all beavering away.
Which was why Pierson had chosen it for a quiet drink with an old “friend.”
“We know they weren’t nukes, you know,” Pierson said, raising the glass of Bushmills to his lips. If the bartender found it unusual that a full bird colonel in dress greens was drinking in the middle of the afternoon he didn’t let on.
“That became obvious rapidly,” Colonel Chechnik said, shrugging as only a Russian could. He tossed off his vodka and poured more from the bottle on the table.
“I’m thinking smallpox,” Pierson continued. “The SecDef is holding out for Ebola, but I think he’s been watching too many movies.”
“He has,” Chechnik said. It was a virtual admission.
“We need verification that it’s gone,” Pierson replied. “All of it. Everything along the lines.”
“What? You won’t take my word as a spook?” Chechnik said, lightly. “I hope you do get it. But all I can say is that I’ve been told, personally, by our president, that all such research has been shut down and all samples destroyed. Whether that is true… I’m not sure even Vladimir could say.”
“Fuck,” Pierson said, knowing that thousands of hours of very quiet negotiations, personal talks at high level summits and billions of reams of paper would come down to that, that even the Russians didn’t know if everything was gone. The problem with infectious biologicals was that one fucking lab tech holding back one fucking vial could destroy the world.
“I understand that you’re now personna non grata in Keldara Land,” Pierson added.
“I’m sure that will pass,” the Russian said with a shrug. “We both need each other too much to remain permanently estranged.”
“Estranged is, I think, too mild a term,” Pierson replied. “And the Keldara, not to mention the Kildar, have long memories. The Kildar, in particular, is taking this one really hard. I don’t have all the details but… Don’t expect to be invited to tea any time soon. In fact, I’d suggest that you, personally, stay as far away from Mike as you possibly can.”
“Well, at least he got paid,” Chechnik said, tossing off another vodka.
“Yeah,” Pierson said, snorting. “I can’t believe you guys just handed him three nukes.”
“Well, we wished for him to get paid, no?” Chechnik said, grinning. “And otherwise, you would not pay him. He had suffered enough, and done enough good, that he should not be ‘stiffed.’ ” He tossed back another vodka, set the shot-glass down, poured another and then paused, his face suddenly going blank, the bottle suspended above the glass. The neck rattled against the lip, faintly.
“Wait. Did you say three nukes?!”
The tiger propped himself up, hips sprawled to the side, and looked down into the valley.
He’d recently caught a feral pig and was feeling pretty happy. His belly was full and while there weren’t any female tigers around, hey, things changed. This area seemed to be simply crawling with pigs and deer, most of whom had forgotten all about tigers. He’d stay awhile.
He lumbered back to his feet and stretched in the dying sun then raised his head to the purpling sky. He coughed a couple of times and then tried out the roar. But his throat still wasn’t full grown, didn’t have the broadness of a mature male. All that came out was a half-hearted bellow. It was lost on the wind, carried away into the dusk.
Well, there were other days. He turned away from the valley and descended into the darkness of the ravine. It was time to find someplace to lay up for the coming winter. It was going to be a cold one. But spring would come around again. He could feel it in his bones.
Above the tiger, the ravens soared.