Sunday morning in San Fransisco.
Dozens of drivers going about their business gawk at the body and physique of one N'Dovu, African immigrant, skilled stick-fighter, and a really scary guy, towering above everyone else in the street and, if he was in a crowd, would be carving a path through it as people try to avoid the heavily-tattoed, bone-speared body-artist who really does make a huge impression.
At the moment, he's hanging about in the area of the Vapor Room, even though it's not actually his shift. Indeed, the bar is closed at the moment; it's not really something that goes on during the day, as it tries (and semi-succeeds) in emulating those ultra-hip clubs that are closer to the city centre.
Today, he has a mission.
Today, he's going to find some pants that fit.
And while there aren't that many, there are enough new-age, drugged-up hippies about that either don't see properly or just don't care about the monster of a man roaming the streets (it's also a bright shiny day, which makes a huge black guy really stand out) who might just be willing to help him get done what needs the doing.
Taking a deep breath, N'dovu glances -- briefly -- at those around him. Most are of no concern, and are too distant from the spirits to bother speaking to; indeed, they see the spirit marks N'dovu bears, and fear them.
Fools.
Shaking his head, he roams slowly up the street, trying to remember if one of the coffee shops in the area is also a popular hangout for those waiting to get into the Vapor Room, or just those who go to the Vapor Room in general.
Hippies (would-be-brothers, as N'dovu sees them -- lacking the true ambition to become more than just relaxed, and misusing drugs for something other than contacting spirits) aren't hard to find in the city. Though, finding one who is active, and interested in more than being happy is more difficult. Still, the would-bes tended to have a keen grasp of what other would-bes could provide for them. It wouldn't be too hard to find someone who could make N'dovu clothes, either.
It would, hyowever, be much trickier to find someone who was willing.
To that end, N'dovu is carrying both his own prescription, and a handful of the 'dirt weed' as the management calls it to use as barter. And money, of course, but a little something extra to grease the wheels, so to speak, never hurt.
Pretending to use his iron-wood fighting stick as a cane was never something N'dovu enjoyed, and he doubted anyone who saw him really believed that it was a cane. But doctor Jones insisted, and N'dovu couldn't think of any reason to deny doctor Jones his spell of 'justification', even if it did mean that N'dovu needed to pretend ... or more realistically pretend to pretend ... that he relied on the stick as a cane.
The outer-inner-city district is more populated by cars than anything, but there's still quite a few people wandering about. A short distance away are a bunch of morning-rappers and a boom-box, who seem to be part of the background than a group in their own right.
Office-workers and kids scabbing off school nonwithstanding, there's a couple guys leaning under a palm tree, smoking something that isn't tabacco, and both wearing daggy, long jackets and big, flaring jeans. One of them's wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and the other's got a pair of coke-bottle glasses that seem a little fogged over.
With dreamy looks on their faces, they're certainly paying N'Dovu no more attention than they are to the rest of the world, which is to say, less than none.
N'dovu eyes the would-bes distastefully. Most can restrain themselves better than that ... and their clothing looks more outdated than hand made. Shaking his head, N'dovu begins lumbering towards a cafe a few blocks distant. N'dovu never did grasp the purpose of a car in the city. They had at least looked useful in his village, but in the city, everything you could need was within easy reach.
Lazy Americans.
Perhaps it's to make suitable amounts of noise, and keep people off the nature strips; one of the few bits of the city that are pleasant to look at.
When he gets there (with his long stride, it doesn't take very long), N'Dovu discovers that the not-that-small cafe is filled up with the brunch crowd; that is to say, quite a few single women (none of whom are giving N'Dovu 'considering' looks, unless you count looking everywhere but him and eating very fast 'considering'), and what looked to be a bunch of trendy guys in one corner, wearing spick-and-span outfits with perfectly combed (often blonde) hair, with matching sunglasses and that irritating nasal voice that so often features, these days.
In another corner are a small group of more relaxed-looking people, who despite looking at N'Dovu with a degree of apprehension (as you do) don't seem overly concerned, more intent on their completely vegetarian meals and large vanilla milkshakes.
N'dovu slows his pace slightly, casually looking around the interior of the place without conspiciously looking at anyone in particular as he approaches the line to reach the counter.
Once there, he pulls out the top two bills from the wad of cash he carries in his pocket, checking to make sure he won't overpay. Once he reaches the line, he looks comfortable and at ease, acting as though this was all very ordinary for him.
Because it was.
Once the line is cleared, N'dovu orders his usual drink (a small glass of whole milk), and looks for a clear place near the more relaxed crowd.
The chairs around the place were a little small, but there was one of those semi-couches against the wall (with cushions!) that looked as though it might take N'Davu's bulk. That aside, there was no great shortage of open spaces; the cafe was only about half-full.
N'dovu takes a seat and looks around at those sitting near him briefly, trying to spot anything that might indicate a knowledge of skilled tailors, but not expecting to find anything right away. This search would be much easier than many others had been, since there was little reason for the law to attempt to stop him.
Well, none of the guys are wearing a 'Tailor' badge, but they're in varying states of dress. A couple are dressed pretty much like the guys N'Dovu saw earlier, with similar daggy coats, though both of them are wearing floppy hats and spectacles (with a chain).
The other three hippie-types are notably better dressed, wearing shirts that fit (albeit hang rather loosly. Looks intentional.), and neatly combed hair. The whole group is chatting amiably amongst itself.
On the other hand, the metrosexual group in the other corner look like they've just walked out a designer warehouse. A couple are wearing really suave jackets, and they're all neatly polished, combed, and washed. They even *smell* fresh.
The other people in the cafe are wearing fairly typical suit-ish type outfits. Dr. James once tried to force N'Dovu into a suit, with hilarious (for James) results.
N'dovu supresses a grimace at the memory of buttons and buckles bouncing across the floor, as though fleeing from him, and nods to the most likely of the hippies. "That is a very nice shirt," he says conversationally, cutting directly to the point. This could take a while, and dallying won't make it go faster.
The hippie blinks, a little surprsied at being addressed, but rapidly regains his composure. "Y'think so, man? Cost a good deal more than I should've had to pay-"
A slightly disgruntled look crosses on of the other hippies faces, but the man goes on nontheless, "-but it's probably my most comfy. Y'know. Like a second skin. Even though it, uh, flares out.
Your shirt is pretty nice, too, uh, sir."
N'dovu looks at what is rapidly becoming a very threadbare shirt with long sleeves. The elbows had long ago worn out, and since then, N'dovu has rolled them up past that. The cloth is thin enough that the effect isn't even very noticable.
"Perhaps," N'dovu says dubiously. "I was hoping," he adds, turning to the man and offering the barest glimmerings of a smile -- more, and they saw the teeth, and tended to get unreasonable -- "you could tell me where you had gotten yours. Perhaps, I might be able to get one like it."
After an uncomfortable pause, N'dovu adds, "In my own size."
The man blinks. "Well, uh, I got it from this street-seller. Down at the Sunday market. Only a couple months ago, in fact."
He gives a small shrug. "I don't remember the guy offhand, but he was just one of many. I'm sure there's at least one shirt down there that'll, uh, fit you. Or maybe you could just ask them to tailor one? I think they're all hand-made."
N'dovu rubs his chin thoughtfully. An outdoor market? This would be even better than he had hoped.
"Where is this market?" he asks, raising an eyebrow curiously.
The guy shrugs. "Near central park," he replies. "It's on the east end. Can't miss it. Catch the 42 bus to the park, and you shouldn't have much trouble."
N'dovu nods thoughtfully at this, and says, "Thank you. I will go look for this market now." Raising his glass in salute, he quickly drains it, and then sets it on the counter and heads to the 42 bus stop. If the bus doesn't show up within two or three minutes, N'dovu takes a look at the map posted on the bus's rain shelter (ironic, since N'dovu has seen rain twice in this state), and walks to the park directly.
Amazingly enough, the bus soon arrives!
It's a double-decker, 'Special' bus; a new sort that the bus company has started to integrate, in order to be more like their elegant friends in London. There are seats on the roof of the bus, so one can get free exposure to the air, and the public. Great stuff.
The door slides open. It's really small. The driver takes a look at N'Dovu, blanches, and waits for him to come in.
N'dovu spends a second staring back at the driver and unconsciously reflecting his horror back at him. A double-decker bus? In San Francisco, the hilliest city in the world?
N'dovu makes a warding sign, but doesn't reject the rife; it would be rude to the spirits. After climbing into the bus awkwardly, N'dovu pays, and decides to sit near the rear exit for easier escape once the bus crashes.
If the bus doesn't crash, the spirits have neatly played N'dovu into their debt.
Again.
Strangely enough, there aren't many people on the bus. Of course, with their lack of spiritual understanding, they would much prefer to wait out fate and not take any serious risks.
The bus gets off to a bumpy ride, and N'Dovu can feel his head repeatedly bashing against the low roof of the bus.
No, this isn't a fun trip. Made worse by a bunch of kids who soon come aboard, and promptly start pointing at N'Dovu and asking their accompanying parental-figure (a woman) what sort of monster he is- in oh-so-loud voices.
N'dovu grumbles, and rubs at the spirit mark that covers the bridge of his nose -- a looping swirl that is symetrical, beneath each eye. Bowing his head slightly, he hunches over, now only a foot or so taller than everyone else, and able to let his upper back smash into the roof instead of his head.
The incredible pain of the bus subsiding, N'Dovu is somewhat relieved when the bus pulls up outside a park, and the driver announces "South Central Park. Last stop."
N'dovu gets off as quickly as possible, glad to be free of the spirit-forsaken machinery. Once outside, and exposed to San Fransisco's comfortably toxic atmosphere, N'dovu surveys the park, looking for the market in particular.
Noise and sound come from the north-east.
And every other direction, but the sounds from the north-east encompass people talking, laughing, haggling, and cursing. There's quite a few cars around the central park area, but in a minor miracle, it doesn't suffer the heavy traffic of other parts of the city. Perhaps people are allergic to greenery.
Stretching with some relief, N'dovu makes sure to extract his stick from the bus as he exits. Taking a deep breath, he heads to the noise, expecting it to be the market.
The Sunday Market is bustling, with a large array of cars parked near the road (as you would), boots open and owners nearby, making sure no sly-witted sneak-thief tries to make off with any of them goods. Colours abound, and frequently clash, making the market, in the bright sun, as a whole, quite jarring to look at.
N'Dovu, however, despite the bustle, has no trouble carving a path through the crowd to get where he wants. He's left wondering exactly *where* this vendor is, however. Currently, he's surrounded by the purchasing of such thrilling objects as:
1) Home-Made Cures for Chicken-Pox (in home-made plastic bottles)
2) Broken monitors for them computers.
3) Old-looking cars.
4) Small birds, some of which are in cages (others merely advertised).
5) Vast amounts of childrens toys, ranging from ancient-looking trains to newfangled dollhouses that, apparently, control air-conditioning, temperture within your fridge, buys food for the pets and feeds them, too, among other wonderous actions.
N'dovu brings to mind the image of the shirt he saw worn earlier that day, and scans the crowd for a similar one. While the market is tumultous, N'dovu doesn't understand or need most of the things they sell. Clothing, however, is imperative. While walking, N'dovu especially keeps an eye out for anyone who comes nearer to him than the obligitory circle of space he seems to command.
After a few minutes of searching, N'Dovu comes across a vendor who is selling a variety of patterned shirts, in varying sized (ranging from the 'extremely small' to the 'not quite N'Dovu's size.) They look to be handmade, and of decent quality. Not too dissimilar from the shirts seen earlier.
The vendor doesn't look especially pleased when N'Dovu shows up, because that means nobody else is around his store to look. He's a middle-aged man, with ragged brown hair tied in a ponytail, and a fairly creased face. He's tapping a pair of knitting needles against the desk in a short rhythm.
N'dovu nods at the man respectfully, and hesitates briefly. The man might agree to give N'dovu business just to get rid of him. Then again, N'dovu could easily be setting himself up to recieve poorly made clothing.
With a thoughtful expression, N'dovu asks, "Excuse me, sir," in his crisply British accented English. "Might you happen to know where I might be able to aquire some clothing of at least this high quality in my own size?"
The guy blinks at N'Dovu for a moment, surprised at the jarring accent coming from such an unlikely source. Twirling the knitting needles on his fingers (and showing quite the manual dexterity by doing so), he replies,
"Huh. I could make something about your size. Don't have anything in stock, though. Maybe. Feel free to hunt."
N'dovu smiles at this, thinking, perhaps, business could be conducted here. Of course, before he makes his opening parley, some small talk could be in order. "I would be most grateful if I could place an order with you for some new articles," N'dovu suggests. "My job tends to keep me busy." Unsure if the man on the other side of the counter is one of the would-bes who enjoys taking drugs needlessly, N'dovu produces the generic business cards that the management has given him -- which don't even have his name on them. They're practically just business-card-sized flyers.
"How much would four shirts and three sets of trousers cost?" N'dovu asks, before the man even has a chance to accept the card.
The man, shrugs. "For your size? Uh, each shirt is about 5 bucks, but you'll need more stuff, so that's about 8 bucks, and..."
A short calculation later, he establishes the price for the shirts and trousers at a good 60 dollars. Well, it could be worse.
N'dovu thinks about this briefly, and then nods. "That's a fair price," he finally says. "I'd be glad for it." After scribbling his size information on the back of his business card, he asks, "I imagine you will need a few days to prepare the garments?"
"Uh, yeah, something like that," replies the guy, looking around. "Do you want me to drop'em off personally, or mail them? Costs five bucks extra for postage."
"Delivery?" N'dovu considers this. Does he trust the post office? Not that much. "That would be fine. You can meet me at my work. I'll see that something extra is given to you for your time." N'dovu then bows deeply to the man. "Thank you again," he says, counting out exactly half of the money. "Do you happen to have a business card?"
"Uh, no. I'm just a street vendor," replies the man, twirling his drumsticks. "The, uh, Vapor Club, eh? Never been there."
N'dovu nods, and then hands over half of the money requested. "Very well," he says. "I look forward to trying your goods, and will give you the last on delivery." Then with a smile, N'dovu leaves, taking some of his free time to peruse the array of useless junk on sale.
Maybe something will get his attention.
Well, nothing does.
Not immediately. Super-powered toasters and the aforementioned ultra-dollhouse are selling fast, but they're not really up to his standard. There's stands here and there of jewllery and the like; bracelets made of beads, necklaces with little symbols on the end...
There's even someone selling spirit-wards and good-luck charms. They even look authentic, but knowing the typical common mentality towards such things, they're probably sloppily made, anyway.
All in all, a typical market. Mostly odds-and-ends, bric-a-brac, trash-or-treasure things are sold.
Grunting in dissatisfaction at the lack of spirit in most of the wares, N'dovu heads for a quieter portion of the park, expecting to spend an hour or two just wandering through the trees before he goes back to his apartment, and writes a reply to Dr. Jame's latest letter.
Central park is a nice place. There's plenty of trees and natural wonders, but they don't block out the sun, so the whole park is brightly lit. N'Dovu sees plenty of people walking dogs (and some people walking cats) about the park, only some of which shy away, and even less bark at his presence.
It's about noon when he feels a tap on his back. "Uh, Mr. Dovu?" he hears behind him; a light, airy womans voice. Sounds american, though.
N'dovu flinches slightly, and turns, leaning on his staff as he does so. He's not used to people wanting to come near enough to him to touch, so he eyes the speaker warily, but with a carefully neutral expression.
Or an epression that is as carefully neutral as a scarred face like his can provide.
N'Dovu finds himself looking into the face of a woman, whose eyes do not hold colour, but are instead empty white orbs, devoid of sight. She doesn't actually respond, but looks as though she's waiting for a reply.
A short distance behind her is a tall man with a sharply cut goatee. He's wearing a long brown coat (unusual for this weather) and his his hands stuck in the inside pockets. He's eyeing N'Dovu warily, but not taking any action.
"You may be looking for me," N'dovu replies after a moment, eyeing the man for a moment before regarding the woman closely. "But my name is N'dovu." N'dovu does not make mention of a passport with the name Nathaniel Dovu, or any other state-recognized ID.
Stupid America and their requirements for both a first and last name for even those who had not proven themselves.
"Ah, sorry, N'Dovu," she replies, taking a step back. "My name's Angela Grayham, and I'm a scientist working for a technology firm in Japan. But, heh, before I was a scientist, I wandered about a bit. I heard about you through Rick. Is it true you can see things when you're high?"
She speaks with a measured tone, but the words, somehow, don't sound fully-formed as they come out her mouth.
N'dovu's left eyebrow twitches just the slightest bit. "No," he says gravely. "The spirits are demanding of a greater acceptance of my journey into their realm before they reveal themselves to me."
N'dovu doesn't expect to see much, but carefully studies the man out of the corner of his eyes, trying to gauge if he's a fighter ... or just a gunman.
"Oh," replies the woman, pausing for a moment. "I don't suppose you could explain it to me?"
The guy might be dressed badly, and slightly unshaven. However, he seems poised, and his eyes are narrowed, constantly checking everywhere. However, he still tends to keep at least one eye on N'Dovu at all times.
N'dovu nods thoughtfully. "Perhaps," he says after a moment. "When I was younger, I was marked to be more acceptible to the spirits. They speak to me, but I can only hear them when I allow my own spirit to become somewhat ... unattached from myself. I practice, twice a week, to try and learn to speak with the spirits without using medicine, but so far, I have not attained mastery of the trick." N'dovu shrugs, realizing that the woman might not be able to see it. "Do you need to speak with a spirit?"
"So you use the drugs as part of a form of meditation?" replies the woman, nodding thoughtfully.
Now that you've had a chance to look over her, you note that she's quite pretty. Well, by American standards, anyway. She has neatly combed, straight brown hair, a cute face, and she's dressed in a long-ish brown skirt and jumper.
"I have heard that from others, yes," N'dovu says, nodding. "Many Rastafari believe that, though we do not share a faith."
"Interesting," she replies, nodding. "And this.. distancing of mind requires training, yes? What sort of drugs do you use?"
N'dovu frowns. "Powerful medicine," he says. "I have drunk the honey of cactus, and eaten of the most vile machinations of men. But do not confuse medicine with drugs. Medicine has power and purpose. Drugs are merely a distraction from the path. A crutch." N'dovu shakes his head. It's unlikely the woman wants to be preached to. "But call them that if you prefer," he allows.
"I would very much like to see it in action," replies the woman. "Oh, I'll pay you, of course. It's part of a research project I'm undertaking."
N'dovu blinks, and opens his mouth to reply, but thinks better of it, and instead studies the woman for a long moment. Finally, he says, "For science, then." He hasn't actually agreed to it yet, and that's because he's mulling it over.
This setup is way too obvious to be a police sting. His managers had warned him about those, but Dr. James was reasonably confident that N'dovu could claim it was for religious purposes, and the law wouldn't bother him too much. But at the same time....
Then again, N'dovu realized, maybe they were sent by spirits. Even if they didn't know.
"Yes," he says, just before the woman looks about to speak again. "I will help you with this endeavor. I must ask a friend for advice, and cannot do so without your experiment."
The man gives a start, apparently not expecting N'Dovu to have agreed.
"Really? That's wonderful!" replies the woman, nodding. "Cash or cheque?"
N'dovu leans back slightly, looking up at the nearly cloudless sky. "Cash," he says after a moment. "But I will need to know what time this is to happen at, and where. I do have other duties to attend."
"Well, when are you free?" replies Angela, nodding. "We have a small centre in San Fran, but it'd be much better if you could come to Osaka."
"Osaka?" N'dovu muses. "Is that north of Oakland?" He shakes his head, as he doesn't drive. "It would be easier for me to do it in this city. I don't have as much walking time between working days as some might."
"Well, maybe you could drop by the lab tomorrow," replies Angela. "Anytime in the morning would be great."
Those empty, rarely-blinking white orbs are starting to get a little unnerving. They really don't seem to suit such an animate face.
"Here, take this card," she continues, producing one. "It's got the address and everything on it."
N'dovu nods silently, and accepts the card, not unused to seeing people of strange appearances, given his own reflection in the mirror in the morning. "Then tomorrow morning," he says, wondering what he should ask King Shaka. Perhaps this is what Shaka was waiting for?
If only he could surpass his reliance on medicine....
"Great!" she replies, nodding. "I'm willing to pay you two thousand dollars per visit. I might ask for you to come back, do you think you'd be able to?"
N'dovu blinks very slowly at this, and looks warily at the man who's probably a bodyguard.
"It may be possible," N'dovu says after a moment. "Spirits willing."
The woman nods slowly. "I see," she replies, quite ironically. "Well, we'll be expecting you, N'Dovu."
With that, she turns on her heel and starts walking away- but is quickly followed by the brown-coated man, who takes her by the hand and starts leading her.
N'dovu thinks about this very carefully for a while, and then heads home, thinking of places he'd be comfortable hiding if it came down to it. This was definately a very odd situation, and while N'dovu had been given no reason not to trust the woman .. he hadn't been given one to trust her, either.
That's a hard call to make; maybe with the Cahuilla peoples, or under his bed. Potentially, the Vapor Room management might be able to help him.
Maybe.
It's still only early afternoon, however, giving N'Dovu the rest of the day to fill. Nor does he have a shift at the Room today, which means he has the evening, too.
N'dovu continues walking home, making a detour to pick up some fruit and a pre-made sandwich from the supermarket, and planning the letters he will write once he gets home.
The supermarket is, as always, an easy job for N'Dovu. Used to getting all sorts of weridoes, the cashiers never bat an eyelid..
A while later, he arrives at his beloved home.
N'dovu surveys the single room apartment with aproval. None of those pointless and silly frills another man might wish for.
Walking over to the futon that serves as bed, couch, and meditation mat (when one is required), N'dovu throws open the blinds, shedding light acorss the studio. The vegetables get thrown into the refrigerator, which is almost entirely full of bottled water.
After that, N'dovu turns around, away from the kitchenette, and takes the two steps it takes him to reach his desk, which is made out of two short book-cases with a large wooden panel sitting across them. At some point, N'dovu got a hammer, and some nails, and firmly affixed the desktop to the bookcases. The desk will need to be taken apart to be removed from the apartment.
The bookshelves themselves are full of bric-a-brac, useless things that N'dovu found and decided to keep for whatever reason. Bits of string, shiny rocks, seashells.... And very occasionally, books he's found worth keeping.
A large metal foot-locker, appropriate for military use sits in one corner. It has been bolted onto a large wooden dolly, such that it now rolls around the room with ease.
This is a good thing, for in addition to holding N'dovu's clothing, it is the chair he uses when he need to write a letter. A small souvineer mug of San Francisco showing a trolley is jammed nearly to overflowing with complimentary pens (including that one with a chain from the bank -- they sure made it hard to get, for a free pen). Near that, a sheaf of what N'dovu has been assured is spirit-approved and hand-made paper (for use with Cannon and HP printers, size A4), a small booklet of stamps (it's nearly time to get more), and a box of envelopes marked for international post.
After setting the sandwich on the table (a snack before the night's vegetable stew), N'dovu pauses. Was it Saturday, or Sunday? Not remembering, he ducks out of his apartment and checks the mail.
There's no mail today (apart from a pizza advertisment). However, N'Dovu remembers that it *is* Sunday, anyway.
Frowning, N'dovu returns to his desk and begins writing his letter to Dr. James: Dear Dr. James,
How are you doing? I hope you are well.
I am sure you receive more than enough letters for me, and I am very grateful to you for your assistance.
The spirits have been quiet lately, but perhaps I will be able to hear them again, soon. I do not wish to alarm you; all seems well, and I see no cause for concern.
As we had agreed last we met in person, I have attached a letter to be sent to my family. It is written in Afrikaans.
Thank you again for your regard,
Sincerely,
Nathan Dovu
P.S. Thank you again for smuggling my letter to my family.
N'dovu nods, thinking himself clever. Dr. James can read isiZulu, and furthermore, had never agreed to send letters to N'dovu's family. The next letter is written in isiZulu, and enclosed with the note to the doctor.James,
I am sorry for the need for secrecy. Enemies approach, and I trust very little. Perhaps my concern is unwarranted.
I am in the city of the golden gates, and will soon be able to speak with the spirits. But the eagerness of my ... benefactors ... is alarming. I cannot name them, for there are no isaZulu words for them. I ask you only not to fear, and to know that I hope to speak with King Shaka once more.
Spirits willing, I will not need to ask for your aid once more, noble healer. Again, you have helped me more than any other in this land. I hope to retain your friendship long after my death.
Walk in peace, my brother.
-N'Dovu.
Once that's taken care of, N'dovu begins writing a letter to Rick Thompson, his primary contact among the Cahuilla. Dear Professor Rick Thompson,
I have finished my analysis of your reports, as agreed. Enclosed is the translation of the first verse of the Aztec tale of creation into Cahuilla.
Especially interesting is the fact that the translation has necessitated a reversal in the names of holy days, suggesting a calendar that approaches creation, instead of destruction.
Thank you for allowing me to assist you in this endeavor.
Sincerely,
N'dovu
P.S. I look forward to meeting with you and your wife again next December in Los Angeles.
N'dovu can't actually read Aztec directly, but that's fine, as Rick has never asked for such help in any translation. The fact that Rick is single should also be a red flag. Unshadowed Stone. I approach once more into the realm of the spirits. I am anxious; it has been some time since I have spoken with them. And yet, I do not entirely trust those who have aided me thus far. I may need to beg of your generosity once more, should things not work out well. I hope that it will not come to this; I hope for only fortune in my endeavors. But we know that this cannot always be. Be well, and await the return of spirit to this world. I believe it will be done. –N'dovu
Eyeing the solid block of 'translated' text, N'dovu sighs, and seals that in an envelope. Once both letters are sealed, and stamped, N'dovu walks them down the street to the post office, and drops them off.
Becoming an increasing common sight in the Post Office, N'dovu doesn't attract much alarm there, anymore.
It's now about 2:00, and the sky is beginning to get a little overcast.
After returning home, N'dovu climbs up onto the roof of his four-story apartment building. A large planter has been set up by the manager, and in one corner, some of the tennants actually hang their laundry out to dry.
N'dovu himself doesn't grow anything in the planter (the small flower in the kitchen suffices for the moment), and does his laundry at the laundromat down the street.
But there's no shortage of open space on the roof, and with the sky being overcast, perhaps it will rain. Once he's got the room for it, N'dovu stretches a bit, and settles himself in for a somewhat abbreviated practice session -- only three hours, instead of the normal six -- before heading downstairs to enjoy one last meal of vegetable stew before he begins to fast for his upcoming communion with the spirits.
The vegetable stew is absolutely delicious- a great testament to the cooking ability of N'Dovu. Or maybe the ingrediants of San Fransisco.
Either way, it's all good.
<->
The next day, N'Dovu wakes up, and must go about his Morningstuff, before heading off to the Laboratory.
Morningstuff consists of another two hours of practice, one of meditation, and one of fighting against the laws of physics to fit into the shower. Well, more like 30 minutes.
Once that's all tended to, and it's around 8:00 AM (N'dovu usually sleeps early, and wakes earlier, when he can), N'dovu begins the trek to the labratory.
Trekking through the jungles of San Fran doesn't take an overly long time; a couple of hours, perhaps. Eventually, after a while of seeing the Great City Outdoors (always amusing), N'dovu arrives at the specified address.
It's a multi-levelled buildings; looks to be three stories high. It's not terribly large, though sizable, and has its own carpark. A large, wooden sign out the front states that it's a sub-section of 'Kinomoto Industries', and the front door is a sliding door.
Grunting, N'dovu shrugs his shoulders. Hopefully the spirits will not be affronted to be spoken to in such a place. Heading inside, N'dovu imediately heads towards the first desk he sees, holding the card of the woman he had spoken to before in one hand.
The receptionist behind the desk must be expecting you, because he only recoils a little bit, and regains himself quickly. Wiping a hand through his black hair, he says, "Ah, we knew you were coming," thus clarifying the obvious. "Take the elevea- actually, take the stairs. Third floor, fourth door to your right. Angela is waiting for you."
N'dovu raises an eyebrow, and then nods wordlessly, before heading up the stairs as he is told. Once he gets to the top, however, he doesn't head for the office. Instead, he looks around and examines his surroundings.
The first thing that hits N'Dovu is the doors. They're like out of star trek or something; fully made of metal, that slick, shiny futuristic feel, and little keypads next to them all.
The lights are another thing; sure, they're just lights, but they're designed with aesthetic sensibilities, and they enchance the overall hi-tech feel of the place. The walls are shiny, the floor is clean, and there are racks of complicated looking scientific equipment here and there. There's some strange abstract art hanging on the walls, and nobody seems to be around.
N'dovu frowns. So alien ... and yet, for all of the oddness, no guards. Shaking his head, and clutching his staff tightly, he scans for an emergency exit ... or somewhere he could escape, if he had to. He doesn't relish the idea of falling to the street from this height, but one does what one must.
Once he's got some idea of what he'll do, N'dovu heads to the office in question.
The door slides open at N'Dovu's approach. It's not an office, as such, but a laboratory. It's a very white room; white walls, white equipment, white tables. The two people in there are also dressed in white, and they're none other than Angela, the blind scientist, and Kyle, her bodyguard. (He's still got his hands in his pockets. Maybe he never takes them out.) In one corner of the room is an uncomfortable-looking chair, with all sorts of wires hanging about from it.
Kyle whispers something to Angela, and she nods. "N'Dovu! Glad you could make it."
"As am I," N'dovu says, nodding at both Angela and Kyle.
Already somewhat uncomfortable with the situation, but trying not to show it, N'dovu asks, "Do I need to sign anything?"
"Uh, no," replies Angela, nodding. "This is strictly under-the-table business, you understand."
N'dovu nods slowly. "Very well. Let us proceed, then."
"Ok. You'll get your cash when the testing is done," says Angela, nodding. "Take a seat," she continues, and Kyle gestures towards the fancy-looking chair in the corner.
N'dovu eyes the seat dubiously, and nods, setting the staff within easy reach as he attempts to fold himself into the thing.
The chair, surprisingly, adjusts itself as N'Dovu sits down in it. A slight whirring sound, and it extends- somewhat dramatically- to fit his large frame perfectly.
"Kyle, if you would," says Angela, absently. The man starts producing wires from behind the chair, and beings attaching them to N'Dovu's head.
"These are just to keep an eye on your brainwave patters while the, er, second-sight is in effect," says Angela (wincing a bit on the word 'Sight').
N'dovu, already uncomfortable with the situation, merely nods.
"Ok," says Angela, nodding. "So how exactly do you do this? Do you need to chant out some ritual, focus the inner eye, or just smoke until you see things? We've got all the drugs anyone could want, here, so you really just need to name one.."
N'dovu blinks, and raises an eyebrow. "There is no need for ceremony, it merely shows the spirits that you respect them," he clarifies. "And the staff, to focus, of course," he says, indicating his weapon. While it's blatantly untrue, what N'dovu knows and they don't can help him a lot. "I have seen medicine men use nothing other than their own eyes in the past ... but lack that skill myself."
After a moment of pondering, N'dovu says, "For this, I think, peyote will suffice."
N'dovu isn't certain that peyote will be powerful enough to overcome the very non-spiritual nature of the location he's in, but he does know that if something goes wrong, he'd rather be high on peyote than have to try and function in combat on LSD.
"Right," says Angela. "Kyle.."
The man heads out the room for a moment, leaving Angela alone with N'Dovu.
"How did they teach you how to see like that, anyway?" she asks, puttering around a little until she finds a chair of her own to sit on.
"Mmm," N'dovu muses, frowning. "My first vision came from a blow to the head," he finally says. "After that, the medicine man that gave me my spirit marks," he nearly pauses to indicate where the marks are on his face before he remembers that Angela is blind, "also taught me to commune with the spirits. There is much ritual for our spirits ... the souls of the Zulu. But there is much less ritual here. It is the mind that must accept the visions; the ritual is merely ceremony."
N'dovu tries to let his wry smile enter his voice. "Of course, even knowing this, I require some small token of ceremony before I am able to see the spirits."
"Mmm. And forgive me for asking, but what exactly is this token?" asks Angela, curiously. "I'm sorry, it's just not clear to me."
"The drug, of course," N'dovu says, glancing towards the door that Kyle had vanished through.
"Isn't the drug to clear your mind or something, though?" asks Angela, shrugging. "What does a spirit want with a drug?"
"It's to respect that there are barriers between those who live in the world, and those who live beyond it, with an awareness of the spirits," N'dovu says, shrugging back at Angela. "Why else would so many holy books say what is good and bad in medicine? But it is there, none-the-less...."
"Well, I-"
At this point, Kyle comes back in, wheeling a trolley up to N'Dovu. "How much do you want?" he asks, flatly, in a gravelly voice.
"A pint," N'dovu says, wondering if Kyle will conceed to the large amount.
Kyle doesn't show much reaction to the amount, carefully measuring it out and serving it up in a beaker. "Here," he states, flatly.
"Thank you," N'dovu says, gravely taking the beaker in his free hand. Taking a deep breath, N'dovu closes his eyes, tries to ignore the smell, and chugs the vile liquid as quickly as possible.
The second it's over, the now-familiar disconnection between N'dovu and his senses kicks in. While his perceptions themselves are unchanged, he's uncannily more aware of them ... and the swiftly growing tumultous flow of information rapidly crowds his mind, leaving him struggling to maintain awareness of his surroundings.
Trying his best to keep a cool demeanor, and still hanging onto his staff, N'dovu tries his best to hand the beaker back to Kyle before the visions begin. Already N'dovu feels oddly cold, and at the same time, too warm.
Kyle manages to take back the beaker, and N'Dovu manages to see him walk over to a computer screen and start analyzing it. His physical surroundings short become twisted and warped in his field of vision, as if in a dream; the common things seem too morphic to be real, and his perception of the other people in the room becomes somewhat distorted.
There's a slight hint of an unusual spirit about the place, but it doesn't seem real. Of course, oft-times spirits don't seem real anyway, but in this case, there's synthetic, constructed feel to the air, rather than the more natural feelings that spirits tend to evoke.
"And now, we wait for the spirits," N'dovu mumbles, blinking at the way he can see the walls flex in response to the sound.
A high-pitched piercing noise rings out through the room, and through his hazy vision, N'Dovu can make out something fiery happening to the computer that Kyle is working on- followed by a swirling, ghostly spirit that is wreathed in flames!
Angela doesn't notice it, of course, but neither does Kyle- he's busy throwing his coat of the fire. At least, that's what it *looks* like he's doing. If it wasn't all so swirly...
The spirit can only be described as 'Surreal'. It's staring at N'Dovu (or, at least, as close as it can), and he thinks he can smell smoke coming from it- not only that, but he thinks it's been translated to the real world, as well.
Murmuring to himself, N'dovu stands up, and bows to the spirit, staff held behind him, but still in a ready position, as is appropriate for the occasion. Speaking first in Cahuilla (the spirit may be local, after lal), N'dovu then says, "Greetings, Spirit. What brings you to this place unbidden?"
The warpings of reality only swirl when N'dovu looks at them directly. In the corners of his vision, they actually tear and blur into colorless gray. N'dovu tries to ignore this and focus on the spirit.
The spirit stares at N'Dovu, and speaks, it's voice like sandpaper rasping across stone;
I felt a strong will, Spirit-Hunter!
Is your mind prepared?
Are your weapons of thought at hand?
Tolerance for breaking the mold, I do not have!
N'dovu nods slowly, and then in Zulu, says, "I am prepared, Spirit. Let us see beyond and further."
A distracted corner of N'dovu's mind wonders where King Shaka is, but it's quickly dismissed; this is a time for action, not hesitation.
Then know the smallest power of the Fire-Realm, mortal!
A wave of fire lashes out from the Fire-Spirit, ripping over N'Dovu and causing intense pain! The fire shifts in colour and consistency, but Kyle and Angela show no reaction to it- that you can tell, through the multi-shifting form of the Spirit-World.
N'dovu grunts, but does not stagger, and still holds onto his staff. "The trial is endured, spirit," he says in Zulu. "Now I beseech thee; I must speak with King Shaka, for I seek the guidance and wisdom that only spirits can offer."
The spirit stops short, its apparent rage subsiding slightly. It doesn't seem to be paying much attention to what N'Dovu is saying, however.
You strike with no weapon, mortal.
You draw no sword of the umbra.
You wield no lightning of the nether-realm.
Yet you have brought me to this place. Are you not like the other mortals I encounter?
N'dovu hesitates, choosing his words with care. "One who approaches with respect will learn more than one who approaches in anger. The weapon is carried as a token of respect for your strength, spirit, not to be used against you. What would fighting a spirit accomplish? Should we as well douse our own memories, extinguish the sparks of the past that call to us to learn what once was, to try and make it anew?
"No, Spirit. I approach you in respect, and beseech your assistance." N'dovu finishes this somewhat long-winded speech and wobbles unsteadily, his peripheral vision now nearly entiely devoured by a slowly whirling mass of jagged gray.
The spirit continues to rasp, but you'd swear its tone is shifting more and more to one surprised.
I see, that you are no Spirit-Hunter.
Spirit-Seeker, you shall be called by.
I know not of this King Shaka.
Only the fellow Gaian spirits are known to me.
And Spirit-Hunters seek to bind them.
Contact me again soon, Spirit-Seeker.
I will have words with you in a place of greater attunement.
This place is dulling to the senses.
N'dovu grimaces, but nods. "As the spirits will it," he says, commiting the details of the spirit's speech to memory before it vanishes.
The spirit flares up, looking for all the world like it's going to consume the room in its entirety, before dissapating into motes of red.
N'Dovu's vision begins to clear- which is odd, because with a dose of peyote that large, he should've been out of it for a far longer period of time.
N'dovu grimaces, and wonders where he's going to get the materials for the next question ... but then realized he already knows the answer. It's time to return to the Cahuilla people.
Turning around, N'dovu looks for Angela and Kyle, his peripheral vision slowly returning.
Angela is nowhere to be seen. Kyle is, however, and he's shaking his head at a computer screen, with a baffled look on his face.
Most of the room looks trashed, like a bunch of kids got loose in it. There's also a couple of scorch marks on the floor, and there's paper and smashed glass everywhere. Kyle, miraculously, looks unharmed by it all.
N'dovu shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably, and coughs. "And now ... your machine has learned from all of this?" he asks Kyle.
Kyle pauses for a moment, then shakes his head.
"It's completely ruined," he replies. "We didn't gain any hard data from this. Don't worry, you'll still get your money."
N'dovu grunts, and shakes his head. "The spirits are not always easy to communicate with," he broods. Shrugging, he offers Kyle a restrained smile (showing no teeth). "Perhaps ... next time, then."
"You can collect the money from the receptionist," says Kyle, starting to head to the door. "We'll call you when we want you again."
N'dovu nods, and says nothing further, heading towards the elevator, the receptionist, and (one hopes) the money.
The receptionist produces a couple of stuffed-full envelopes as N'Dovu approaches, quickly handing them over and avoiding meeting his eyes.
OOC: Free reign to go wherever you want, N'Dovu.
N'dovu takes the envelopes and stuffs them into his shirt, and then goes straight home to think about things.
Once there, he contemplates the possibilities. On the one hand, it'd be simple (it seems) to convince Angela and Kyle to make another appointment. On the other hand, he hadn't seen King Shaka, and was told to make contact somewhere else.
N'dovu imagined this meant somewhere closer to nature, or at least the spirit of fire. The first thing to come to mind when thinking about fire, of course, was the desert.
After thinking about this for a while, N'dovu puts a letter together in his head; another message to Rick. But before he puts it to paper, he dozes off.
He's awakened by the sharpish ringing of the phone; his apartment phone, naturally.
N'dovu wakes up easily, and sits up on his bed, needing only to reach out and grab the phone before answering: "Yes?"
"This is Angela," says a cheery voice. "I'm just phoning you to ask if you can come in again tomorrow. After what you did to our lab, we're more interested than ever, and we're willing to pay you twice as much, with the opportunity for more permenant work."
N'dovu hesitates, considering this. While he has not yet been given a reason not to trust Angela or Kyle, he doesn't. "More money is always good," he says, pulling the crumpled envelopes of cash from his shirt and stacking them on his desk. "But I do have an obligation for my other job." N'dovu hesitates again, and then says, "I would need to give a two-week notice to my existing employer."
"Oh, that's a pity," replies Angela. "But we'd appreciate it if you came in tomorrow, at whatever time suits you best."
N'dovu frowns, and considers his options very carefully. "I work from 11:00 to 20:00, but I have an hour lunch at 16:00. I could come by then, unless you'd need more than an hour...? If you do, then I could come in after work."
"It might be best if you came in afterwards," says Angela, and you can almost see her nodding to herself. "Could you get here at nine o'clock or so?"
"That shouldn't be problematic," N'dovu says, before pausing. "Actually. It could be problematic. The busses run late at that hour ... I know it seems like an odd request, but do you have someone you could send to meet me after work?"
Angela pauses for a moment, but continues speaking soon after; "That can be arranged. Where do you work, exactly?"
N'dovu forgets, but has his manager's business card on hand (he collects them). After a moment of pausing, he reads the address to her: "3200 Hait Street."
"Right. We'll have a car waiting for you outside, then. Be sure to come!" replies Angela, cheerily. "Bye for now!" With that, she hangs up.
N'dovu frowns at the phone, and considers his options. Most likely attempting to contact the spirits again wouldn't yeild any positive results. At least, testing for Angela and Kyle, anyway. The spirit had said to find somewhere else.
"It is time to step into my shadow," N'dovu murmurs aloud, nodding to himself." He is early, but goes through his morning routine anyway. Once that's finished, he dresses up in some dark clothes, and heads to work early to speak with his boss.
The Vapor Club is, as usual, the sort of place children stay away from (but teenagers love to hit). The door is set slightly below ground level, and it's got a giant leaf emblazoned over it (it was, apparently, opened by a Canadian.)
While technically the place is closed at 10:45, the door is open, and N'Dovu can see a couple regulars already hanging out the bar; it's a shiny, chrome-and-stainless-steel affair. Tables and chairs are laids out fairly haphazardly, and there's a strobing light in the roof that is- blessedly- turned off at this point of time of day.
N'Dovu's boss is undoubtably in his office, if he is, in fact, here yet. The bartender, a friendly-faced rastafarian with the longest dreadlocks N'Dovu has ever seen, gives him a nod as he enters.
N'dovu nods back. "Toby," he says quietly, looking to see that no one is immediately around. "Something came up. I know the boss isn't here yet, but I have to talk to him about my schedule."
Toby gives you another nod, smiling with a set of perfect teeth. "No problem, mon," he replies. "Da boss was here earlier, but 'e went out for brunch. E'll be back soon, no doubt. Didja need him now?"
"It's not that urgent," N'dovu says, shaking his head. "I've nothing else to do. Is there anything you want me to do around the club while I wait?"
"Yeah, mon. A real mean looking guy showed up last night. Carried a 40-inch cane, eyes like a hawk, didn't limp at all, and was lookin' for someone. Ah could tell. Might wanna keep an eye out for him, seein' as he didn't buy anything and left after fifteen minutes."
Toby leans on the bar, speculatively. He got used to you faster than the rest of the service at the Vapor Room, most of whom still give N'Dovu wary eyes on sight.
N'dovu frowns at this revelation, then nods at Toby. "Thank you, Toby. We may not see eye-to-eye with I and I, but you are a good man." After that, N'dovu takes his post at the door until he sees his manager.
It's only a few minutes until N'Dovus manager walks in. He's a slender guy, with hair looped back in a braid and a vacant expression on his face. However, when pressed, he's well known to lash out with violent word-fu, reducing his opponent to a quivering mess after the impact of various, frequently Shakespearean insults hits their unguarded ego.
N'dovu nods at his manager. "Jason," he says quietly, and as respectfully as possible, "there is something I'd like to discuss with you, if you've got a moment."
Jason looks up at N'Dovu, curiously. "What's up, big guy?" he asks, quietly. "If it's about the staring, there's nothing I can do." He chuckles to himself, at that.
N'dovu's eyes get wide, and he sniffles slightly. "For real?" he asks, the old joke passing between the two again. At first, it had been, "You mean, that's not normal?" but as time went on, N'dovu adjusted.
Shaking his head, N'dovu says, "Actually, it's about my family."
"Hmm? Not still safe back in Africa?" asks Jason, grimacing. "Dangerous place to be, that. Do you want to talk somewhere private?"
N'dovu nods, following Jason back into his private office. Once they're alone, N'dovu quietly says, "I've got a chance to see them again. It's taken a bit of work, but we'd meet in Cairo. It ... should be safe. The only problem is the fact that there is only a limited window of opportunity."
N'dovu fidgets, and looks apologetic.
"Well, big guy, there's nothing for it, is there? I assume that this window is within the next two weeks, naturally, and there's no way of extending it."
Jason heaves out a sigh. "That sucks, man. We havn't had a shred of trouble since three days after I hired you."
"The window is today," N'dovu admits. "But. It should only be temporary, and then I will return."
"What, so you can't work today?" asks Jason, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, I expected short notice, but that's really pushing it, big guy."
"It may be longer than just today, but isn't immediate," N'dovu says, shaking his head. "The problem is that apparently someone is looking for me ... trying to find me here. If they find out I'm planning on going back to Africa ... there will be trouble. I am going to leave for lunch to buy a ticket at the bus station, but I will be back to finish my shift." N'dovu frowns. "If I am not back, then you should worry."
"Well, I won't be stopping you," replies Jason, shrugging. "So how long do you want off? I mean, I ain't gonna need to go into the wilds to find a replacement, am I?"
"I can't imagine I will have much time," N'dovu sighs. "A week, at the most, but most of that time will be travel."
"Mm. Just be ready to work your ass off when you get back," replies Jason. "Might need you more'n ever, if word gets out that the Vapor's big bad boy is gone for a week."
N'dovu groans inwardly. "I'll go get a ticket from the bus station during lunch," he says. "It should not be a problem."
"Right. Well, stay cool, big guy," replies Jason, heading towards his office. "Hey, man, lighten up. You've got good luck! To have a boss like me, and all. Put a smile on your face, and some cheer in your heart.
Hell, you'll look scarier, that way, so everyone wins."
N'dovu nods, then takes up his post at the door until it's time for his lunch ... unless he sees the man with a cane, first.
Lunchtime rolls around with no intensly remarkable events occuring.
"Yo, N'Dovu, take a break," yells the bartender across the floor. It's been a slow day, today, and barely anyone is in the room.
"Sure thing," N'dovu says. "I'm going for a walk. You want anything from the Viatnamese sandwich shop?" After taking down the bartender's order (if any), N'dovu heads to the Greyhound station, looking for one of the college students that use the terminal to get to their homes in distant cities.
It's amazing, but what college students there are at the Greyhound station disperse and vanish from the site at N'Dovu's approach, leaving only a few people about the area- even though the station is usually quite busy.
N'dovu frowns. That part of the plan didn't pan out.... Next step, find someone else who could help.
N'dovu starts looking for a vagrant.
That's one subspecies of human that isn't usually in short supply, especially around train stations. There's a couple of people who can be described as 'Poorly Dressed' moping about the train station, either looking extremely angry or very sorry for themselves.
N'dovu knows how this works. He approaches one of the individuals between the 'angry' and 'numb' stages, and says, "Greetings, Friend. Have hard times befallen you?"
The vagrant shies away at N'Dovu's approach, pulling his coat up higher and closer to him.
"Whaddya want?" he asks, furtively.
N'dovu looks around carefully and asks, "How would you like to make a few quick bucks?"
The vagrant looks around shiftily. "What should I do?" he asks.
"Would you be willing to take a bus out of town for a few days?" N'dovu asks.
"Only if you're paying," shoots back the vagrant, putting an unecessary sardonic component into his tone.
N'dovu grins, and pulls some cash from his shirt -- from the envelopes that Angela had given him. "Do we have a deal?" he asks quietly.
"Uh, sure," replies the vagrant, looking around a bit, then taking the cash. "Uh, what bus?"
"Okay," N'dovu says, giving the bum some of the money -- enough for a ticket, and probably another 40$ or so extra. "I need you to buy a ticket to Tuscon, Arizona. Meet me back here in 10 minutes, I'll give you some more cash, and we'll swap tickets."
"Right, then," mutters the vargant, turning away and heading for the ticket booth.
N'dovu then heads in, and arranges the purchase of another ticket directly, this one to Canada. Once it's purchased, N'dovu loiters around the crummy 'cafe' that's attached to the place for a bit before heading back to meet up with the bum.
The vagrant is there, looking around shiftily.
"Uh, you wanted the tickets, right?" he asked, shrugging. "Guess I can't ask why, huh?"
"No," N'dovu says. "Not yet." He swaps tickets with the bum, and gives him about 400$ more. "In time, though," he says, once the bum's pocketed the money. "Good luck." With that, N'dovu smiles, and heads to his bus.
N'Dovu was lucky; the bum managed to get a bus that was leaving in only an hour. It's a good bus, too- a rarity for it to have seats that he can comfortably sit in. Ain't many other people on the bus, though.
The bus claims it'll pull in at Phoenix around 11:00am tomorrow morning.
N'dovu is quickly bored of the bus once seated, and attempts to sleep through as much of the trip as possible.
N'Dovus dreams are filled with fire. Hardly a dream, more aptly a nightmare. Constant, smoke-filled haze... the press of branding metal against his back, the feel of the flame licking across his arms, and his legs as if they were immersed in boiling water. When he awakes, he is covered in sweat- and he realises that the bus has stopped.
"Last stop, Phoenix," announces a voiceover. "Collect your suitcases and bags outside the bus, please.."
N'dovu staggers off of the bus and looks at the sky, surprised he managed to sleep through the trip. "I feel as though I've been reborn from flames," he mumbles under his breath, before finding a payphone and calling up Rick.
"Rick Thompson speaking," announces a calm, careful voice through the phone.
"Greetings, Rick," N'dovu answers, thinking Rick probably hasn't yet recieved the letter. "This is N'dovu."
"N'Dovu? Speak of the devil. We were just talking about you," says Rick, sounding surprised. "I was about to try and get in touch with you myself. Why have you called?"
N'dovu doesn't say anything for a moment, and when he does, it's somewhat strained. "Things in my life seem to be changing ... things I would like to speak with you about in person, Rick. I am in Phoenix now. Am I still welcome at the reservation?"
"Absolutely," replies Rick. "We have a lot to catch up on, N'Dovu. A great deal to discuss. I'm afraid we may need your help with a few things down here."
"I'll be glad to offer what help I can," N'dovu replies. "But first, we must speak. Where shall I meet you?"
"I'll meet you in Phoenix," replies Rick. "Do you have a phone, yet?"
"No," N'dovu replies, shaking his head apologetically, before realizing that Rick can't see the gesture.
"Ok, never mind. You'd be at the bus terminus, correct? There's a cafe nearby- 'Cafe David', I think. I'll meet you there in about two hours," replies Rick. You can actually see the cafe he's talking about; it's just across the road.
N'dovu nods, and says, "Spirits willing. Take care, Rick." After hanging up the phone, N'dovu makes his way into the cafe, and takes a seat.
When N'Dovu sits down, quite a few people stand up to leave, and the cafe doesn't get much business for the next couple of hours.
As promised, you see Rick's beat up old van pull up just near the cafe. He gets out of it, and waves to you, clad in a battered grey shirt and black pants. He heads towards you, and takes a seat.
"Great to see you again, N'Dovu," he says, enthusiastically.
N'dovu smiles at Rick. "It is good to see a friendly face," he says warmly. "But I have set many things in motion behind me. I apologize, but you will recieve a letter from me soon that is very misleading." N'dovu frowns at this, and shakes his head. "We should depart as soon as possible," he adds, looking around nervously, though not expecting to find anyone as conspicous as ... well ... himself.
"If you say so," replies Rick, shrugging. "I think my car will be big enough for you. Maybe." With that, he heads towards his vehicle.
N'dovu allows himself a half smile before following Rick and preparing to crowd into the vehicle.
It's a tight fit, but at least your head isn't bashing against the roof.
Rick turns on the engine and starts to navigate his way through Phoenix traffic. "So, tell me, what've you been doing?" he asks, curiously.
"Attempting to commune with the spirits," N'dovu replies. "Also, fleeing what I suspect are very bad people." Sparing no detail, and not having a reason to speak anything other than the truth, N'dovu explains what's happened to him since being approached by Angela.
Rick continues driving, and he looks to grow increasingly concerned as your tale progresses.
"It seems, then, that your first order of business would be to attempt to commune with this.. unique.. spirit," he says, sighing.
"That would be mine, yes. But before I can take part in your hospitality, are there not things that I can do for the Cahuilla?" N'dovu asks.
"There are always things to do," replies Rick, ominously. "You've been working as a bodyguard for some time, havn't you? Would you like to continue this work?"
"It's work I'm proficient in," N'dovu replies after a moment. "I've no objection to it, if that's what's required."
"I'm glad to hear that. I think many of the younger Caihuilla will feel much safer, with you around," replies Rick.
"You see, not far from our reservation, a dig site has opened up. The details are strange. They claim that they've found ancient ruins of some kind or another, but they're more similar to.. ancient greco-roman architecture, supposedly.
I don't know everything, but because we were nearby, and because they knew, apparently, that many Caihuilla have difficulty getting jobs, a large number of our youths has gone to work with them.
But I'm worried that these aren't the sort of people I want us working for.."
N'dovu grimaces at this. "An unfortunate coincidence," he says dryly. "It may bear investigation."
"Quite," replies Rick. "They're being paid under-the-table, so to speak. Cash only. No documentation or records. Apparently, the pay is very good.. but the work is very dangerous. I've heard reports of several injuries, and it's very concerning."
"Perhaps I am overreacting," N'dovu says, watching the landscape speed by in the windows, "but I think being paid under the table bears an interesting resemblance to my ... encounters. Surely it is a small thing, but I do not think that such oddities would happen to me except perhaps as an extension of the Cahuilla tribe. Friend Rick, I feel I must help you in the endeavour of finding out what these people want. I will warn you that I do not trust them, however." N'dovu rests one hand on his walking stick, and stares out at the desert.
"We're almost there," says Rick, nodding. "How long has it been for you, anyway?"
N'dovu squints, trying to recall. "Some months," he finally admits. "Perhaps a year and a half?"
"Mmm. Things have changed. Most of the youths you knew are either working for this company, or left the reservation to see the world," says Rick. "I don't think many will be coming back. At the rate this is going, we may all scatter soon.
It is inevitable, I suppose, but I did not expect to see us begin to scatter so in my lifetime."
"This is not good," N'dovu says, frowning. "None seek to remember their roots?"
"Most don't see the point," replies Rick, flatly. "What good does it do for them? Remembering their roots won't make them richer. It won't get them into a prestigious university. It won't help them advance their lives.
They don't have the same values we do, N'Dovu. They seek to go blindly into a world they know little about."
"And when it is time for them to go beyond, they will take their toys and their money with them?" N'dovu asks, a slight edge of bitterness in his voice. "They are lured and seduced by a distraction. It is distressing that youth is so easily misled ... but all may not be lost. The spirits may know what to do."
"Most don't care about the life beyond," says Rick, softly. "They don't know if there's anything there for them. They call themselves realists, and I know they speak scorn of their elders at times."
"Ah," N'dovu says. "I know of the realists. They always claim to understand what I really mean and feel." N'dovu grins, and shakes his head. "But I never speak to them, so I wonder how they know these things. They and their ... 'Emo' friends amuse me. In time, I think they will learn. They only hide for the moment.
"But ... consulting with the spirits will do no harm. It's certain the wisdom of the ancestors will help guide us to what comes next."
"We can only hope," replies Rick.
A while later, Rick pulls up outside the Caihulla reservation. It's a dry and dusty place; a small town stands there, made mostly of apparently ramshackle buildings that nonetheless have standed through the test of time and been shown to be comfortable and sturdy buildings (though their architecture leaves much to be desired in apperance).
"Here we are," says Rick, pulling the car up outside his rather small house. You know that the reservation is very sparse over the land they have; there's a schoolhouse that serves as a hall for the tribal council, and a few ranches here and there. This little town is the biggest inhabitated area on the land.
Stretching to work out some tension as he exits the relatively spacious car, N'dovu looks around appreciatively. "Good memories," he says after a moment. Turning to look at Rick, he then bluntly asks, "What would the Cahuilla have me do?"
"If you would ask your spirits for guidance, then perhaps you may find a better plan that we could concoct," says Rick. "I have the necessary medicine ready."
N'dovu looks a bit surprised that there's not talking first, but nods. "I'm agreeable. Is all in readiness?" he asks.
"Well, it will be in just a moment," says Rick, glancing around. "I havn't told anyone you were coming.. there may be a few surprised faces about."
Rick gets out the car, and heads into his ramshackle little house.
N'dovu nods, and follows Rick.
Despite Ricks words of warning, there doesn't seem to be anyone about. This is fairly odd; while the little town was never very populated, there used to always be a few street vendors around, along with a few people talking.
The medicine mans house is filled with strange, occult paraphanelia which you can't even begin to recognize with any accuracy. Skulls, feathers, grimoires, they're all over th place. It's a familiar cluttered mess that you havn't seen in ages.
Rick heads into the rear of the house, which he refers to as his laboratory.
"Was there any sort of medicine you would prefer?" he asks, glancing around at the vials and test-tubes that litter the area. Ever keeping up with modern times, his lab looks more like a modern chemistry class than a rustic, Native-American medicine mans setup.
N'dovu considers, and then shrugs. "Peyote," he says, reasoning that Rick would have an easier time collecting it from cacti than searching for mushrooms, or LSD.
Rick nods. "I have a little," he comments, opening a cupboard and taking out a beaker. "Would you prefer to be inside or outside for this?"
"Outside," N'dovu says instantly. A moment later he adds, "Among the elements." Another pause, then: "Where there are not many things near by which may burn us if we need to flee. But I think the spirit of Fire would be more comfortable if we prepared it a temporary home for the vision quest."
Rick nods. "I see. Perhaps a bonfire? An open flame, with symbols of heat etched around?"
"I would think that would be good," N'dovu agrees. "I will carry wood, and lay stones. I should do these things -- it is through those symbols that I will attempt to prove my worth." N'dovu considers briefly, and then adds, "Your medicine will be crucial for this, ultimately.... But once the spirit of Fire is summoned, I will ask it for guidance in the matter of the Cahuilla youths."
Rick nods. "It seems you are making significant progress, though. I have heard that the elemental spirits can only be contacted be experienced mediums.
Perhaps the time will be soon for when you can throw away the crutch you lean on."
N'dovu frowns. "That would be good," he says quietly. "One should always wish to be closer to the spirits, and spread their wisdom with the world." Shaking his head, N'dovu sighs. "I will begin gathering the firewood," he decides. "Do you know of a good place for this quest?"
"There is an old camping site a short distance from the town," says Rick, glancing out the window.
"It hasn't been used in some time. It should be suitable. Many fires have been built there, so it seems the most appropriate place."
"Okay," N'dovu says, breaking into a grin. "Maybe something good will happen." With that, N'dovu sets about gathering firewood for the impending vision quest.
Chopping and gathering firewood is a simple, potentially relaxing task for N'Dovu. With many memories of the Caihulla reservation, it feels good to be back out in the open.
But there are few people about. Rick is gathering materials in his laboratory, so nobody is accompanying N'Dovu as he goes about his work.
Until some time later, after he has chopped enough wood, he feels a small tug on his pant leg.
"Uh, excuse me, are you D'Novu?"
N'dovu turns to the source of the tugging. "That I am," he replies without pause. "And you?"
"Oh, I'm Jessie," says the voice, which N'Dovu can see belongs to a young girl- probably about 9 or 10 in age. Beside his massive frame, she's pretty tiny.
She doesn't balk at all at his fearsome visage, and that's to be expected from the Caihuilla, who had time to grow used to N'Dovu. However, he can't remember seeing her in his time spent here earlier. More strangely, she doesn't have the same appearance as a Caihulla- she seems more of your typical American stock; fair skin, blonde hair, casual clothes.
"They told me you'd be here, you know," she says, quietly.
N'dovu eyes the girl for a moment, and then nods slowly. "They say much, if we know how to listen," he replies. "Did they tell you to seek me?"
"Not really," replies Jessie, looking away. "They told me you could talk to them if you wanted to, too."
"Not as well as some," N'dovu replies, almost apologetically. "With time, perhaps, better than I can now. What else did they speak to you of?"
"They tell me the future," replies Jessie, nodding. "They're never wrong, you know."
N'dovu raises an eyebrow at this. "You should be careful," he says after a moment. "The wisdom of the spirits is precious ... many would covet what you could know." N'dovu frowns. "I would worry for you if someone found out, and thought they could use your power for their own benefit."
"Well, you're the first person I've told," says the girl, a little apologetically. "I've never met anyone else who can talk to them before."
N'dovu shakes his head quickly. "Make no mistakes," he says as warmly as he can manage, "you have a great gift. But you must take care with it. You already seem wise beyond your years."
Jessie's face flushes with pride. "Well, I always thought so, too," she says, beaming.
N'dovu makes a thoughtful noise, a sudden foreboding coming over him. "I must prepare to commune with a spirit that may be dangerous," he says apologetically. "You should stay with Unshadowed Stone. I would like to speak with you about this more later, though."
"Well, ok," replies Jessie. "Yeah. It'd be nice to talk to someone else who can talk to them for a bit. Even if you are a bit scary."
That last bit is deadpan, and after saying so, Jessie runs off to a nearby house.
N'dovu watches the girl run away for a minute before shaking his head, and returning to wood collecting.
The campsite that Rick spoke of is a small clearing that is marked off by two circles, one within the other. There is a large, wide circle made from rocks, certainly big enough to fit in a few tents. The centre circle is much smaller, and was probably used for fires.
When N'Dovu arrives, Rick is standing nearby, armed with a box of matches and the necessary peyote. The area is much the same as the rest of arizona; sparse, weedy-looking trees and scrubs can be seen here and there, but the majority of the area is rather desert-like.
"Put the firewood there," says Rick, indicating the inner circle. "Are you prepared?"
"I will be," N'dovu says, stacking the firewood in the patterns taught to him before he left Africa. Once that's done, he sparks the firewood until it lights, and then quickly approaches Rick for the peyote. "And now we see what the spirits would have us do next," N'dovu says, fixing his questions in his mind before he takes the peyote.
Taking the peyote quickly results in the same strange experience N'Dovu has never grown quite used to- his vision grows hazy, and the world grows indistinct. Dominating his field of view is the quickly-building bonfire, which seems to draw him in and surround him. The entire world appears wreathed in great fires, and his feet seem to take him forward of their own accord.
The heat from the bonfire grows in magnitude, and N'Dovu can feel sweat running from almost every pore in his body. The light is so bright to his eyes- and he beings to see strange, flashing glimpses of other places.
A giant field of parched dirt and an open sky, with three suns hovering above...
A huge city, constructed entirely of brass...
A castle that looks straight from a tale of 'Arabian Nights', with the round, pointed towers so common to that genre, and a moat made entirely of lava...
These visions are over as quickly as they begin- fleeting, dreamlike, half-remembered. With a mighty surge of fire, N'Dovu can see again the strange spirit last seen in the laboratory- but now it is much bigger, more solid, and more.. simply there than before.
"IT IS GOOD THAT YOU HAVE COME," the spirit booms. With each word, gets of flame snort out it's nostrils- and they are distinct against the fiery shroud the world is in.
N'dovu bows to the great spirit, and says, "As bidden, I return, spirit."
"INDEED," replies the Spirit. "THIS PLACE IS FAR MORE SUITABLE FOR CONVERSATION THAN THE CLUSTERED LAND OF STORM, FILTH, AND METAL.
RISE UP, SPIRIT-SEEKER. IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS, ASK THEM NOW. IF YOU HAVE NONE, I WOULD HAVE YOU ACT WHERE I CANNOT."
N'dovu considers very briefly, then asks, "What can be done to remind the Cahuilla youths of the old ways?"
"SEDUCED BY THE WAYS OF METAL AND STORM, THEY ARE DRAWN AWAY FROM STATIC EXISTENCE," states the spirit. "FOR SOME, THIS MAY BE A BLESSING. FOR OTHERS, IT MAY BE A CURSE.
IF SHOWN THEIR NEW WAY BRINGS PAIN AND SUFFERING, THEY WILL REVERT TO THEIR OLD. BUT IT IS THE NATURAL WAY OF YOUTHS TO REBEL AGAINST TRADITION. I HAVE SEEN IT MANY TIMES. SOME ARE DISCONTENT, BUT MANY STILL SEARCH FOR A BETTER WAY. BE CAREFUL, SPIRIT-SEEKER."
N'dovu considers this as well as he can -- the haze of the drug is begining to make the outside world less real, and the spirit world more. "I thank you for your wisdom, spirit," he says, bowing to the great fire. "What would you have me do in exchange?"
"PERHAPS OUR GOALS CAN CO-INCIDE," states the spirit, the great flames surrounding N'Dovu's vision parting somewhat. "I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE. LONG AGO, I HAD PHYSICAL FORM AND PHYSICAL BODY. BUT THEY HAVE SINCE BEEN TRAPPED. IT IS ALL I CAN DO TO MANIFEST MYSELF TO THOSE WHO KNOW HOW TO LOOK.
THE OUTSIDERS SEEK TO FIND WHAT HOLDS ME. THEY DIG APART ANCIENT RUINS TO FIND THOSE LIKE ME AND HARNESS OUR MIGHT. I WOULD NOT WISH TO SERVE THOSE WHO ARE SLAVES TO THE WORLD OF STEEL.
I AM HELD IN THE TEMPLE OF IFRIT, WHERE EVEN NOW, DIGGERS STRIVE TO LOCATE AND BIND ME.
BUT YOU CAN REACH ME FIRST, SPIRIT-SEEKER. THERE IS A SECRET WAY INTO THE TEMPLE IN WHICH I LIE."
The fires encompassing N'Dovu's vision shift and part, revealing a hazy image of a long canyon, filled with excavators...
...a trio of huge boulders, arranged in a triangle, and the patch of dirt in the middle...
"SNATCH ME AWAY FROM THESE DIGGERS, SPIRIT-SEEKER. WITHOUT THEIR PRIZE, THEY WILL BE FORCED TO LEAVE- AND PERHAPS, CHEATED, SOME CAIHUILLA MAY RETURN TO THEIR HOME."
N'dovu nods, thinking already of what he'll need to do to free the spirit before it can be captured.
The first thing to come to mind is his weapon; this task will most likely not be easy. "I understand, spirit. I will do your bidding," he replies.
"MOVE WITH HASTE, SPIRIT-SEEKER," states the spirit, before fading away into the realm of fire, which slowly peels back from the face of the world, leaving the campsite surroundings to N'Dovu. Everything seems dulled and dark; nothing is as clear as it was before he had seen the world of flame.
"N'Dovu? Are you ok?" asks Rick, from somewhere behind you.
"I have to go," N'dovu mumbles. "To free the spirit before the young Cahuilla give it to those strangers." Climbing to his feet, he rubs his eyes and looks around to make sure that he and Rick are alone before continuing.
There's nobody else around, but Rick looks concerned. "What do you mean?" he asks.
"There is an ancient spirit sealed beneath the land nearby," N'dovu explains, taking his stick, and using it to make some quick drawings in the dirt. "There are three boulders ... like this. I need to go there and find my way to the spirit before the construction workers do -- their purpose was darker than perhaps we suspected."
Rick doesn't speak for a moment, eyeing the drawing in the dirt carefully, and eventually, shakes his head.
"I recognize those boulders you speak of. The site where they stand was used as a place for ceremony in times past. In the modern era, they go unused.
I can take you to them, but they are some ways from the site. I can't imagine what would be there."
"A way," N'dovu replies. "I must hurry, though."
"I see," replies Rick. "Well, I'll take you there now."
That said, he heads back to his car and quickly gets in...
<->
Shortly after, Rick pull the car up outside the same three dusty stones that N'Dovu saw within his spirit-vision.
"And here we are," he says, eyeing the stones with a hint of wariness.
"I see," replies Rick. "Well, I'll take you there now."
That said, he heads back to his car and quickly gets in...
<->
Shortly after, Rick pull the car up outside the same three dusty stones that N'Dovu saw within his spirit-vision.
"And here we are," he says, eyeing the stones with a hint of wariness.
N'dovu climbs out of the car, stick in hand, and approaches the boulders warily. "This is the site I was shown in the vision," he explains as he uses his stick to prod the earth, trying to feel for a hidden cavern, or a soft spot he could find a way down through.
The ground is fairly strong around these parts, but wait- there's a small, softer patch in the centre of the three stones. A little excavation work reveals a few dust-worn marble blocks underneath the loose dirt. They're all quite loose and seperate from each other, and look as though they can be pulled out.
"Should I wait here for you?" asks Rick, looking around. There's nothing else of note in sight in this area.
"I think it would be best," N'dovu replies, nodding. After a moment of hesitation, N'dovu pulls the remaining money still on him from his shirt, and passes Rick the envelope. "You should take this for now -- it won't help where I'm going, not for a while, at least. Also, I do not wish to endanger the medicine man of a tribe I would call a friend."
With that, N'dovu begins prying up the blocks, looking for the way down again.
It'd be a tight fit, but N'Dovu guesses that he could fit through the dark hole he's made. As far as he can tell, the marble bricks reveal a small passageway, barely big enough for his frame. He'd need to jump down a ways to get there- only a few metres. Nonetheless, getting out looks like it would take some work.
N'dovu stares into the depths of the earth, taken aback momentarily. No flashlight. No rope.
Smiling, he glances back at Rick. "Spirits willing, my friend, we will meet again soon."
Then, before he can think better of it, he drops his weapon in the hole, and jumps after it.
The first thing that hits N'Dovu is that it's dark.
Very dark. There is, in fact, no light at all, except from the hole that he just came through- and part of that is obscured by Rick's worried face. There's a vauge passageway in N'Dovu's vision, and it looks like the only way to go.
N'dovu feels around for his stick until he finds it, and then uses it to help him feel his way forward through the passage, walking with one hand at the level of his eyes held in front of him.
Near me, Spirit-Seeker. Come nearer, and I shall gave you light.
It's startling to hear the voice in his head, but N'Dovu recognizes the voice of the fire-spirit in his mind.
As things stand, he's progressing down a dark tunnel, to which he can see no end. The ground beneath his feet is smooth and easy to walk on; the walls nearby he has discovered hold strange protusions- perhaps the remains of burnt-out torches, or some such. The cavern is slowly getting wider as he moves forward.
N'dovu listens with his hidden senses (well, tries to, anyway; his teachers always told him he was very bad at it, without using drugs), and follows the cavern deeper, relying less on his hand and stick to guide him, and more on the pull he feels from the spirit.
"Soon," he mutters to himself, hoping he will bring only good things back to Rick and the Cahuilla.
As N'Dovu continues to plunge through the depths, he notices something that's a welcome relief from the dark. The tip off his staff is beginning to glow, faintly; a slight light that illuminates the marble walls of the corridor. As N'Dovu progresses further, the light becomes stronger, and he can see that the walls are in amazingly good condition. They're laced with strange runes that he cannot identify.
N'dovu pauses, momentary curiosity getting the better of him, and looks at one of the runes more closely. As soon as he stops, he catches himself, and shakes his head in admonishment, turning his footsteps to the path again. Curiosity is one thing, but there are more urgent tasks to attend. A quiet prayer is uttered to the spirits of this place ... not just the great spirit, but the smaller spirits that surely surround and serve it.
And for that, N'dovu now carries his staff like a flaming brand to light the way before him.
N'Dovu can see the that the corridor rounds a corner soon, but from behind it, he can also hear sounds. People walking, people talking, and people working. It's very faint, however- and coming from above him.
After he rounds the corner, the marble corridor expands out into a large room. What appears to be a fountain stands in the middle, but it is completely dry. The light from the staff is getting notably brighter.
As N'Dovu enters the room, he sees a slight bit of rock crumbling down from the roof, and a repetitive 'chit-chit-chit' sound from above.
Grunting, N'dovu rushes forward, leaping up onto the rim of the fountain and stopping there to look around the area quickly, scanning for a clue to where the spirit of Fire was.
Another unprecedented whisper flitters through N'Dovu's mind, but it is not the voice of the spirit of Fire. Strangely familiar, yet garbled and unplacable, it speaks..
..wary, be wary!
From the fountain, N'Dovu can see that there are four openings from the room, one for each point of the compass. One of them is where he came through, which leaves three doors to choose from.. each one looking like the last; an opening in the marble walls.
N'dovu grunts, and thinks about this cautiously. "Right," he mumbles, turning to the opening to the right of his own entrance, and heading through it at a quick jog.
The room to the right is not very large, but it does contain a stairwell that leads to the ceiling. It doesn't actually go anywhere, however. It's a square room.
There are also some pots and amphoras to one side; inspection reveals that they're full of cool water, untouched for apparently some time. There are also two unlit torches to the side of the room.
N'dovu hesitates. Water might indicate that this is the wrong room.
Then again, it could be a riddle. Grumbling, N'dovu looks for a way to light the torches. Bringing fire down here would at least give him access to some aspect of the spirit he was looking for.
N'Dovu notes that his staff is actually getting a little hot, as opposed to just shedding light. There's no obvious source of fire around; the whole place is made of marble and stone.
Thoughtfully, N'dovu tries touching the staff to the torches, to see if the spirits will ignite them.
The spirits do not wish to comply with N'Dovu's actions; the torches remain unlit and unwilling.
N'dovu scowls, but takes that as a sign; this isn't the way. He turns about, and rushes towards the opposite chamber.
The opposite chamber is quite similar to the other room, with a notable exception; the stairwell to the roof is gone, replaced with flat, segemented stone. It looks similar enough that it's not a great leap of logic to deduce that there's another floor underneath this one, and that thing is a presently-nonfunctional staircase to it.
N'dovu tests the stone for looseness to see if it can be pried up, or moved aside.
There are slight slits between the stones, but they seems to be pretty solid and unpryable.
N'dovu frowns, and then takes the one entrance he hasn't tried, glancing up at the ceiling.
The digging has stopped, and there are some very muffled voices from above. It's too hard to make out what they're saying, however.
Inside this next room is a strange sight. The room has a great stone table in the centre, and stone chairs go all around. A great hearth lies at the centre of the wall in the opposite end, and as N'Dovu enters the room, it springs to life, a great fire illuminating the entire chamber.
Murals are all over the walls; to the left side, images of birth and growth; a great bird wreathed in fire, and the sun, hovering above fields of vibrant crops and animals.
To the right, however, the sun hangs over no farm or haven, but over billowing clouds of fire that consume sticklike figures of men and animals. Great towers are toppling and cities are burning; to one side, prone depictions of burnt-out people and creaturs lie.
The glow from N'Dovu's staff and the fire at the end of the room seems to waver over the images, giving them an illusion of movement and a surreal appearance.
And when N'Dovu looks around the room a second time, he sees at the end of each pattern an unlit torch, that he could've sworn was not there a moment ago..
N'dovu watches for a few seconds, watching the light play across the patterns, and seeing the colors seem to shift about. After a heartbeat, though, he shakes his head, and eyes the torches. The staff hadn't worked last time, but this room seemed more promising anyway.
Pulling a lighter from one pocket, N'dovu attempts to light the torches.
Upon lighting the torch on the left side, N'dovu can hear a creaking sound, and the churn of stone against stone coming from back in the other rooms.
When he looks for the other torch, it seems to have vanished. Odd, that. Slowly, the fiery hearth begins to die down.
N'dovu thinks about this for a minute, and then nods. In one of the rooms, a door must have opened. Now to find it, and quickly. N'dovu checks the room that had once had two torches in it first, and if no new entrance is visible, he runs to the room with the not-quite-loose-enough floor-stones.
When N'Dovu heads back out into the main chamber, he notices one thing straight off- the door he originally came into the room has closed itself, and is now a sealed stone wall.
When he reaches the room with the raised staircase, he can see that there has been an opening created at the roof, allowing passage up to some unseen location. However, he can hear the surprised voices of diggers- Caihuilla diggers- talking, asking each other if someone did something, why did this open, etc.
N'dovu thinks about this for a moment.
Then he thinks about it a second longer, because that's all the time he has.
"So," he mutters to himself, turning towards the entrance to the temple's depths. "If the floor-stones have moved...." Quickly he jogs across the room and peers into the final room.
As expected, the stone in this room has moved to create a stairwell into the further depths of the building.
It's also getting noticably warmer; N'Dovu is beginning to perspire a little.
Taking a deep breath, N'dovu concentrates on the idea of a fire's spirit. Maybe that'll help, after all.
N'dovu puts a hand over the noticably warmer air rising from the stairwell.
And ... maybe he should have stayed in bed. Oh well.
Not giving himself any more time to regret it, he jogs down the stairs.
The corridor N'Dovu finds himself in is unlit, excepting the staff he carries. It's humid and hot; unpleasant to walk through, and not even very tall, forcing him to hunch over a little.
Shortly, he reaches the end, and it widens out a little, though it's still just as hot as before. Before his eyes is a strange scene.
Immediately he notices the inert body of a woman, dressed in what appears to be the dresses in the style of the ancient Greeks; made of fine silk and thread. Her brown hair is a tangled mess; she has some visible bruises. A small pool of blood has formed; she's seriously hurt, probably cut where N'Dovu can't see. She's certainly alive; soft breathing makes certain of that.
There is an altar of some kind with a raised dish; it's empty. To one side, there is a statue of something akin to a Spartan soldier; with armour, helmet, spear and shield decked out in almost lifelike finery.
N'dovu frowns, and kneels next to the woman. He'd never studied first-aid closely, but the basic methodology of dealing with wounds was an important skill for anyone who intended to fight. He quickly looks to see if he can identify the source of the bleeding and bandage the wounds, at least until he can get her to a safer location.
The bleeding can be slowed somewhat, but the magnitude of the injury is pretty intense. How she got it is a complete mystery (maybe she gutted herself?), but once thing is certain- she really needs a doctor.
N'dovu grits his teeth. He can't leave without the spirit, and he can't abandon the woman to die. Unless....
The altar is empty. Perhaps the statue is the guardian and the woman took something she should not have?
After binding her wounds to the best of his ability (a temporary measure, at best), he checks to see if she's holding or has taken anything. If he can't find anything, he quickly apologizes to the statue (and altar, and room at large) for the intrusion, and asks, "O fire, I have arived; but where are you?"
There is no response forthcoming to N'Dovu's plea. Despite this, he still feels as if his spirit-sense is working, even without medicine or drugs.
Nonetheless, the world beyond is empty.
"Then I must take what is of value in this place, and leave before I get caught," N'dovu reasons to himself. Cracking his neck, he tears his shirt into strips (this is going to make life difficult), and uses them to help bolster the existing bandages on the woman's wounds with the extra padding, and does what he was told a warrior should not to do an injured person: move them.
Taking as much care as he can, he lifts the woman up. If there is something on her, then just as well to take it from this place, and deny any thieves. "I depart, O fire, claiming that the things of greatest value are those bridges between the world of the living, and the world of the spirits. For without those, we have nothing." And this woman is surely on one of those bridges right now, no matter how much she may like it. Turning about, N'dovu returns to the main room, checking the wall which once had an entrance to see if it can be reopened. If not, a fight with the woman in one arm will be quite difficult, and most likely ... very messy.
The door, as such, doesn't seem to be easily budgable- unless N'Dovu can develop the strength of the Titans, or possibly Hercules. It's hard to even tell exactly where the door should open.
Grimacing, N'dovu looks towards what he guesses to be the only exit. That being the source of noise.
Taking a deep breath, he heads for the opening that he expects to meet people coming down from shortly. And if they get in his way, we'll have to fight.
Such joy, he thinks in annoyance. And I still haven't seen King Shaka.
As N'Dovu heads towards the the exit, he practically walks over a young Cahuilla male, who was just peering around the ruins excitedly. He backs off a step, and after gaping for a second, croaks out, "N'Dovu? What're *you* doing here?"
N'Dovu vaugely recognizes him, but can't put a name to the face. Nonetheless, he certainly recognizes N'Dovu.
"A day's work," N'dovu says with a half-shrug, mindful of the woman, and hoping he wouldn't have to fight his friends' children. "She was injured while the digging was going on above," he adds, not directly blaming the digging for her injury, but implying it heavily. "I need to take her to a doctor, and quickly."
"You, uh, work here?" blinks the Caihuilla, scratching his head. "Well, uh, ok. I thought we were the first ones down here, though."
"Obviously, you were mistaken," N'dovu says, grinning. He quickly sobers up. "But this woman needs medical attention; go ahead of me and make sure the way is clear. If possible, an ambulance or car should be waiting. If not, I will make do."
N'dovu is attempting to make a presense attack against the youth to get him to help without thinking about why.
"Uh, right!" announces the boy, dashing off, yelling something about 'Get the first-aid guy!'
N'Dovu can now see that there are other people coming down the stairwell- mostly others of the Cahuilla, who are just as bemused to see N'Dovu as the last man.
There are a couple who aren't, however- caucasians all, and they peer at him suspiciously, before going to whispering between themselves.
N'dovu nods at all good naturedly, and works on carrying the woman up the stairs, staff held as tightly as he can manage without putting her at risk.
N'Dovu gets a combination of excited and odd looks from the Caihuilla; most of them still hadn't adjusted to him when he left the reservation in the first place, and the time away- as well as his mysterious apperance.
The upper floor of these ruins is relatively busy. N'Dovu can see that the stairwell has lead into a small chamber, outside of which he can see that the ruins extend into some kind of underground courtyard. There's another nonworking fountain in the middle, a couple of other buildings, and plenty of people running about, collecting samples and doing tests. N'Dovu can see that most of these people are giving him looks in passing, but aren't hanging around to see what's what.
An exception would be the doctorish-looking person running towards him, complete with medical box, white coat, and stethoscope.
N'dovu nods at the doctor, and goes to meet him. "Where should I put her?" he asks.
"Here, quickly!", he says, gesturing to a nearby aide to lay out a rug and such. "These are some very bad wounds.. but not so bad. She should be ok, yes."
He's got an asian complexion, and has a hurried air about him. "Quickly, quickly! Those bandages won't hold long!"
N'dovu does as instructed, but does not let the woman out of his sight. Or reach, if he can help it.
As N'Dovu watches, the doctor quickly goes to work, re-bandaging and fixing up the woman as best she can.
Whilst he does his healing, N'Dovu notices a tall man quickly approaching the scene. Unlike the majority of men about (who aren't all wearing shirts, and those that are are stained with sweat- typical digger fare), this guy is wearing a suit, and walks with a brisk clip. He balks slightly at N'Dovu, and his step grows slightly hesitant. Nonetheless, he asks, "Excuse me, but I don't recognize you. Are you cleared to be here?"
He completely ignores the wounded woman practically at his feet.
By "cleared" N'dovu assumes the man is asking if he has permission to be there. Well, the spirit of Fire had told him to be there, so.... "Of course," he says, paying little attention to the suit, and instead watching the woman.
"Weird. Have you got your ID card?" continues the man, suspiciously. "I believe I would recognize a man as.. distinctive as yourself."
"No, I do not," N'dovu says, turning to look at the woman. "I was not expecting to be here today."
"So how was it that you came to be here?" asks the businessman, shrugging. "And where in blazes did *she* come from?"
"I'm a friend of the Cahuilla. I often stay at the reservation," N'dovu answers, shooting the man an annoyed glance. Turning back to the woman, he says, "I'm not sure where she came from. She doesn't look like anyone from the reservation, and apparently she's not from your crew, either." N'dovu frowns. "There may be another entrance into the caverns below. We should get the youths out of there -- perhaps you and I should investigate."
The man gives N'Dovu another suspicious look.
"As you say," he says. "Would that be the entrance you came in through?"
N'dovu looks confused, and then shrugs, reaching out and grabbing the man's shirt in one hand. Hefting the much shorter man into the air, so the two are on eye level, N'dovu says in a very quiet voice, "The spirits do as the spirits will, my friend. You would be wise not to upset them further. The path I take into this place cannot be seen with mortal eyes ... but when I arrived there was only one entrance. I do not know how this woman came to be there, and that is my concern, not your paranoia. Leave concern for actual warriors. Now since you're useless, stay out of my way until we know what's going on for certain."
N'dovu then drops the man, shoving him away in the process so he'll fall down, and roars at the top of his lungs: "Everybody out! This place is not safe."
It's hard to argue with that, as the man finds. Plenty of the workforce pack up and leave, and while a few of the more cynical/smarter shoot N'Dovu a questioning look, they don't really want to say no to an unplanned break.
N'dovu shoots the man one last scowl, and then turns back to the doctor. "Is it safe to move her?" he asks, glancing briefly at the entryway he emerged from.
The doctor, who has ignored all the preceding, looks up, and shrugs. "Not a long distance," he remarks. "It would be best if she was in hospital. These wounds will take time to heal..."
"Then we should get her to a hospital as soon as possible, which means we won't have time to investigate below," N'dovu says, frowning. "Good enough. We'll keep that area clear of workers until we know what happened. Prepare her to be moved above ground." N'dovu glances at the departing wokers, trying to spot one of the Cahuilla children he'd considered more trustworthy when he was there last ... not that he expects much from them if they came here for money. Still, all he really needs to have them do is bring Rick and his car around.
Then again.... "Do you have one of those phones without wires?" N'dovu asks the doctor curiously.
"Er, a mobile? Sure, but it doesn't work underground," says the doctor. "Or, at least, in these damn ruins. Disrupts the signal or something."
"That's fine," N'dovu says. "We should get her out of here anyway. Whoever -- or whatever -- did this to her is still down there, and I'd just as soon not let the job be finished. If you'll direct me, medicine man, I can try to move her gently."
The doctor's eye quirks at that. "Medicine man, eh?" he chuckles. "Well, best we go now. It's kind of creepy being in these ruins without anyone else about."
And it's right- everyone else, at N'Dovu's yell, vanished. Funny, that. The doctor starts slowly heading towards the exit of the ruins.
Tucking the doctor's cell-phone in his pocket, N'dovu carefully lifts the woman, and follows the doctor out, and above ground.
N'Dovu can't help but appreciate the scale of the project going on. These ruins that he's in are deep underground; he's forced to ascend a rickety-looking wooden staircase after plodding for almost half a mile through an entirely subterrainian dig site.
When he reaches the top, he finds himself viewing the *surface* ruins- erosion or whatnot must have disjointed the ruins from each other, because he can see the small remains of buildings being worked over by fervent Caihuilla.. and others.
He also notes that the dig site is against a cliff, which is also being worked over.
"Better make that call now," comments the doctor, glancing about. "She'll need an ambulance soon and whatnot. I suppose someone would have already notified the authorities, but it can't hurt to call again."
"Yes," N'dovu agrees absently. He's about to dial when he realizes that he doesn't have Rick's cell-phone number. Well.... Sighing, N'dovu looks for a Cahuilla youth who looks familiar, and asks him for the number.
However, once he's got access to the medicine man, he quickly calls.
"Who is this?" asks Rick, sounding rather agitated.
"This is N'dovu," N'dovu says. "I am at the site, and need to move someone quickly. She is injured, and there is not much time."
"The site? You want me to go to the site? Well, ok," replies Rick, sounding concerned.
The doctor nods approvingly. "Good, that. We don't have anything but the most basic equipment here," he says, shaking his head. "That's the most serious injury I've seen. Why, anything worse, and I wonder if we could deal with it..."
"The spirits are with us," N'dovu tells the doctor, before replying to Rick. "Yes. It is somewhat urgent, so the spirits should see us together soon." With that, N'dovu hangs up, and hands the doctor his phone back. Not leaving the woman's side, N'dovu surveys the crowd of assembled workers, looking in particular for any youths who seem like they might have been injured.
Most of the Caihuilla have small scratches and bruises here and there. On the whole, they just look tired, though, as opposed to injured.
N'dovu's mouth compresses into an upset line at this, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he waits for Rick.
While N'Dovu is waiting, he sees a figure out of the corner of his eye.
After a short moment, he recognizes the trenchcoat-clad man as Kyle, Angela's apparently assistant (bodyguard?). He hasn't noticed N'Dovu, because he's talking to someone N'Dovu doesn't recognize. However, he's coming this way, and it won't be long before he shows up.
N'dovu's right eye twitches slightly upon recognizing the man. He debates, briefly, wondering what the odds are he could fool him. Ultimately, N'dovu thinks this is unlikely. The answer is either remaining unnoticed, or being close enough to the guard to fight him before he can reach for the gun he undoubtedly has on it.
Only one of these is an option for N'dovu, so he makes sure that he's ready to act first ... unless Rick speeds into sight soon.
It's not a long distance to the dig site from where Rick was before, but he's still going to be a couple minutes or so.
Kyle, turning around for a moment, sees N'Dovu- and his hand dives into his jacket, his eyes widening for a moment.
Too late. N'dovu tightens his grip on his stick slightly, and pretends not to have seen Kyle, instead nodding at one of the Cahuilla youths. It's already too late, but whatever advantage N'dovu can salvage, he will.
Kyle has some kind of weird gun in his hand- N'Dovu doesn't know that much about guns, but this one isn't really normal. It's silvery and metallic, and looks more like a miniature hair-dryer than anything else.
"Stop right there," says Kyle. Even though he speaks in a low voice, it's perfectly audiable to N'Dovu. A few workers about notice what's happening, but instead of the usual shouts of alarm one might expect, simply keep their heads down and start backing away quickly.
If Kyle is within speaking distance, he's within striking distance, and N'dovu is not going to try and talk his way out of this one; he's in too deep.
N'dovu is allocating his floating points to DCV (+2, I think, but I didn't bring my character sheet to work), and using a Defensive Strike on Kyle, (I don't remember if I have Martial Disarm or not). This gives him +1 OCV, and +5 DCV for normal damage. Assuming that he's already being covered, N'dovu will not dodge/block, but if he is hit (and it's possible), he will Roll with the Punch.
The doctor backs away hurriedly as N'Dovu lashes out. At the same time, Kyle fires...
N'Dovu is sumarrily rewarded with a grunt of pain and a crunch. It almost compensates for the horrible burning sensation he's feeling on the side of his chest. Almost.
N'Dovu just got shot; it *hurts*, and he's taking a slight penalty to all actions for the next round. On the other hand, he broke some part of Kyle's body; felt like an arm.
Grunting in pain, N'dovu focuses on his enemy. Swinging his stick low to the ground, and then up, he tries to smash the weapon into Kyle's gun. If that happens, he can drop his stick and settle in for the fight that Kyle will want to avoid....
Disarm: -2 OCV, -0 DCV Roll a STR. vs. STR roll to knock a weapon out of an opponent's hands. (This requires a weapon.)
All points to OCV right now (+1 or +2, I can never remember).
Kyle fires again as N'Dovu strikes his arm, the shot blasting what feels like millimetres away from his head. His gun, however, flies out his hand, leaving him apparently open.
Kyle's arms dive inside his cloak..
The silvery gun is too far away now for Kyle to easily grab.
N'dovu can feel the seeping numbness that pervades him after being heavily damaged. Either it was nothing, and he's just in a battle trance ... or it could be something, and he's going into shock.
Either way, he needs to act fast, and he doubts Kyle is feeling well after being struck. Dropping his stick, N'dovu closes, and tries to effectivly deny Kyle another weapon. Undoubtedly, the next weapon will be more dangerous.
Grab: -1 OCV and -2 DCV to grab an opponent or object held by an opponent. If you are successful (and they fail their Escape roll) you may either Squeeze (apply STR damage without an attack roll) or Throw (see Martial Throw), or have simply taken whatever they were holding from them.
Floating points in OCV.
As N'Dovu drops his staff and goes in for the grab, Kyle pulls out his new weapons...
A flick of the wrist and a step back is what it takes to stay away from getting grabbed. N'Dovu can't help but think he's made a mistake when he feels blood running down his arms, and Kyle standing a short distance away with a pair of combat knives in his hands..
Grunting, N'dovu leans back, and launches a kick at Kyle to knock him down. "Don't make me kill you," he growls. "We don't want that. Got enough ghosts followin' me around already."
Kyle tries to block the kick.
There's another crunch, and his blocking hand drops one of the knives. He doesn't quite fall down- but he's certainly looking close.
He wordlessly tries to stagger a few metres away from N'Dovu, pocketing his knife..
"Good boy," N'dovu pants, getting his stick back to lean on, and then shambling over to the dropped gun and pocketing it. "Doctor, that man seems to have broken some bones. He might need medical attention."
While N'Dovu was acting contemptuous, Kyle had pulled out a potentially more dangerous weapon than the gun or the knives.
It was a radio.
"Echo Base, we have a hostile in Charlie Dig," he speaks, quickly. "Requesting reinforcements.."
N'dovu sighs, and shakes his head at Kyle. "Too bad," he says. "You know what regret is?"
Then he swings his staff around as hard as possible at Kyle's throat.
Kyle's head turns at an angle that it was never supposed to be at, and he crumples to the ground. The doctor gasps.
N'Dovu notices that the dig site is now completely vacant. Apart from the doctor and the wounded woman, not a soul is in sight.
He can hear the sound of Rick's car, not far away..
"Oh well," N'dovu says sadly. "Take care of the woman -- when Rick comes. This must be taken care of." N'dovu then picks up Kyle's body, and begins moving as quickly as he can while wounded down to the altar below.
As N'Dovu hauls Kyle away, he can hear the radio blurting back..
"Charlie Dig, please respond... Charlie Dig, please respond..."
The doctor doesn't really respond to N'Dovu, simply gawking at what's going on.
When N'Dovu arrives back at the altar, it's just as he left it.
N'dovu laughs darkly. "I leave you this, Fire, another spirit and a body to do with as you see fit. One hopes that it has use ... or fills the space the woman above left empty." With a shrug, he leaves, then, climbing back above ground -- hopefully in time to catch Rick. If not ... there may be a few more bodies joining Kyle once his reinforcements arrive.
N'Dovu reaches the exit into the surface dig site to discover an alarming problems.
There are a group of men outside, talking amongst themselves. While not dressed as soldiers, they carry handguns and wicked-looking knives. They are anxious and worried. Among them is the doctor, who is pointing towards the entrance N'Dovu now stands near...
N'dovu blinks.
And looks around.
No cars. No helicopters.
Then again, where did the kids all go?
Sighing, N'dovu limps his way over towards the doctor. The woman has to be protected, and if these men are Kyle's friends, Fire may have a lot more bodies to play with shortly.
"...killed Kyle? Amanda will be-"
The men, seeing N'Dovu, abruptly exchange glances of shock.
That's pretty normal, after all.
"What the-" the say, flabbergasted.
"Kyle's downstairs," N'dovu says tiredly. "In the ruins."
"Why'd you put him down there?" blurts out the doctor, who sounds quite scared, now.
The men about clutch their weapons all the more tightly, apparently not made of the same stuff that Kyle was. There's about six of them, and they're all fairly close together.
N'dovu shrugged. "I don't know why he wanted to go below the earth," he says.
"He didn't have much of a choice in the matter," replies the doctor, backing away.
The gunmen level their guns at N'Dovu, uncertainty still flickering in their eyes..
N'dovu looks at the gunmen in annoyance. "He had all the choice in the world, Doctor. He had choice to not attack me. But he did, and he wouldn't stop. Even when I gave him three chances, and tried to capture him without hurtiing him. You fault the warrior who defends himself from death?" He shrugs. "I don't like killing people. It's bad. I have too many ghosts chasing me." N'dovu glances at the gunmen again, somewhat disdainfully. "None of you are true warriors, so you wouldn't know. But duty is heavier than a mountain, and death is lighter than a feather. I remain, and bear my burden. Kyle sought for and reached his freedom."
The gunmen look at N'Dovu like he's crazy.
The doctor snorts.
"He's crazy," notes one of the gunmen, flatly. "Yeah, ok, buddy. Tell that to the judge."
He gestures with his wrist, indicating N'Dovu should move in front and to the west, where a van is waiting.
"No thank you," N'dovu replies. "And self-defense is no crime. I apologize for my misguided sensibilities, but where I come from, the man who shoots you when you are carrying only a stick is the aggressor. I'd also like to point out before you get any ideas that your friend already shot me. When I disarmed him, I dropped my own weapon, so that he had every opportunity to surrender without duress. He then cut me," N'dovu explains, showing his bleeding wrist. "Your judge, I think, will be most interested in learning that you are protesting the fact that a man with a stick was able to defend himself against a man with a gun, knives, and a need to call for friends. Now, I'm tired. It's been a long day. I've been shot once already, and had to kill myself in self defense. I see no badges on you, so unless you're going to require me to kill you too, I suggest you get out of my way."
The men stutter a little, and a couple of them actually drop their guns. The 'leader' (i.e. the one who just spoke) doesn't, however.
"He's obviously full of shit," he says, but he's ignored by his friends, who just shake their heads. "Man, if those native dorks saw what he says is true, we got nothing," one of them says, and he backs away.
The other guys follow suit, until all that's left is the lone gunman and the doctor, who, when confronted alone with what looks to be a three-metre tall hunk of pissed-off looking flesh... lose their resolve and start backing away, too.
N'dovu relaxes when most of the men go away. The day's been frustrating, and N'dovu needs to find a healer who can look at the wound he's been ignoring for a little too long now.
After checking to make sure the woman is close, N'dovu glances around for Rick. He should be showing up any minute now....
The woman lies comatose nearby, untouched.
It's almost eerie; dust and dirt don't touch her at all. She's totally clean, unaffected by all that's happened since N'Dovu rescued her.
"N'Dovu?"
Rick creeps out from around a corner, looking anxious. "I didn't drive nearby because I saw some armed men. Are you allright?"
"Yeah," N'dovu grunts, kneeling to collect the woman. "Let's go. We'll want to find another doctor for her before it's too late."
Rick nods. His car's a short walk; far away enough to not be spotted, at least. The area is silent; perhaps the workers and such retreated to campsites in the opposite direction.
"You've brought your own wounds back before, N'Dovu, but rarely those of others," comments Rick, helping N'Dovu place the woman in the back seat. "I should be able to treat her well enough, once we reach home."
"Good," N'dovu says, finally taking some time to look at where he was shot, and sinking into the passenger seat. "I found a temple, Rick," he begins, one hand going to test his side gingerly before giving Rick as much information as he can remember about his experience.
The wound still hurts, but with a little treatment, it will be ok.
"Strange place to find out here," comments Rick. "I'll see if I can dig up anything on it.
A short trip later, you have arrived back at the Caihuilla reservation. It's still very quiet... but a familiar face is standing outside Rick's house.
"It's within you now," says Jessie, cryptically. "You'll need it later."
Rick looks sideways at N'Dovu as a result.
N'dovu looks relieved. "I was afraid I had done nothing at the temple," he tells Rick. "But now, I think we should see to the woman. And if I cannot use these great huge paws to heal, then I should rest." He pauses, then, and tells the girl, "Thank you. I fear my vision is weak enough I would not have known, had you not told me. But yours is strong enough for us both, if you know that." Back to Rick, N'dovu whispers, "She sees things. We should make sure none of the men at that camp find out about her."
Straightening up, he says more loudly, "I will help carry the woman inside. The desert sun is probably not going to be kind to her."
As N'Dovu carries the woman inside and away from the desert sun, his hands feel strangely warm. Quite apart from the sweat and heat created by his recent activity, this is more of a pleasant feeling. He takes her into Rick's house and sets her down on a bed.
"I still have a bed large enough for you, too" chuckles Rick, wryly. "I think the woman will be fine. It's strange, though, I could've sworn her injuries looked worse... ah, well, the sun can do odd things.
She should be concious within a few days, if that."
"Good," N'dovu says, nodding. "I feel I could use some rest myself, friend Rick. I am most grateful for your hospitality."
Later that night...
N'Dovu is asleep, dreaming incosequential dreams. Rick's bed was comfortably large, and with the exertion of the day, it took very little time for him to become that way.
However, it isn't to last.
A piercing scream screeches through his void, tearing him from the drifts of slumber. It came from the womans room...
N'dovu's hand is fumbling for his stick before he even finishes sitting up. Once he's up, regardless of if he's found his weapon, he rushes towards the source of the noise to investigate.
N'Dovu finds himself standing outside the doorway to the room where he placed the mysterious woman, who is thrashing about in the bed, terror over her face.
With a thump, she falls out, tangled up in sheets and blankets- and tries to pull herself up again. She looks frenzied and anxious to.. escape would be a good word.
N'dovu drops his stick and turns around. The woman's having a nightmare, and waking up to him wouldn't really improve it. In the dark, his spirit marks can make his face look more like a skull. "Rick?" he calls out.
"What's going on?" shouts Rick, having also been hurrying up to the screams.
The woman starts to yell, "It's coming, it's coming! The horror!"
She hasn't seen N'Dovu (yet), so she's probably not referring to him. Abruptly, she stops thrashing, and begins to weep.
"She's having a nightmare," N'dovu says as Rick approaches. "I think it would be perhaps best if she didn't wake up to my face."
"Ah, yes, I see," says Rick. "Well, I should-"
The woman abruptly begins to glow- a vibrant purple that strobes the room. It reminds N'Dovu a little of the Vapor Room's strobes.
N'dovu blinks at this, and squints, trying to see if the light illuminates anything out of place.
Maybe it's a trick of the light. Maybe it's some latent aura also produced by the woman. But N'Dovu nonetheless sees- with startling clarity- what appears to be another woman however over the one thrashing about. A woman made of purple fire, with incoherent rage across her face. A woman who flickers for a moment, and then is banished from his vision, leaving spots in his sight.
N'dovu frowns, and looks around, trying to see where the vivid spectre went. If he can't find it, he'll fetch whatever Rick needs to tend to the woman.
The apparition is gone, and N'Dovu can't see it anywhere. The glowing of the woman itself, as abruptly as it began, flickers out, leaving only a rapidly breathing body under the covers.
"N'Dovu? Get some water," says Rick, shaking his head. "I don't think we'll be getting any more sleep tonight."
N'dovu grunts, nods, and does as told.
When he returns, he finds that Rick has put the girl back into bed, where she's visibly trembling. She seems to have regained herself- a little.
"Did you notice that all of her previous wounds have vanished?" comments Rick, glancing at N'Dovu as he enters. "I can't imagine how... but then again, I've no idea what made her light up like an violet candle."
N'dovu rubs his chin thoughtfully, grimacing at the slight stubble he feels. "Well," he says after a moment. "I find it odd, but have never experienced such in my home. Jessie, perhaps, might understand better. Come morning, I will ask her. Until then ... I do not know. I suppose I will watch." N'dovu shrugs. "I cannot fight what I cannot understand."
"If we need to fight," notes Rick, cautiously. "This is all very portentious.
I am not sure staying here will be such a good idea, either," he continues. "But I do not know what actions to take.. I suppose-"
"Where am I?" blurts out the woman- she has an Italian accent, very lilting, very light. She sits bolt-upright, staring around wildly.
"Among the Cahuilla," N'dovu responds, glancing at Rick. "Ma'am ... what is the last thing you remember?"
The woman looks at N'Dovu for a moment. "I.. oh gods, burning, I remember burning, and my husband... James, James, is he dead? Did you find him, too?" she asks, panic in her voice.
N'dovu shakes his head. "I do not know ... but I do not know where you were. You are now in Arizona. Not terribly far from Phoenix. I found you at the bottom of an archeological dig site. Where did you last see your husband?"
"A dig site? There was no dig site when we were exploring the ruins," mumbles the woman. "James, James.. he was with me, in front of this.. altar.."
N'dovu grunts, and looks thoughtful. "What's the last date you remember," he asks as gently as possible.
"Date?" the woman blinks. "Uh.. April. April 5th, 1932," she says. "I think. Around there.."
N'dovu grunts. "I'm afraid, ma'am, I've some bad news for you, then. I forget the exact date, but the year is 2005," he says apologetically.
"I'm sorry, what?" asks the woman, cupping a hand to her ear. "That can't be right."
"Nearly a century has passed," N'dovu repeats. "It is 2005."
"..but that's just stupid," announces the woman. "Gods, stupid, stupid, stupid! I'd be dead.. dead.. everyone must be dead..."
She's not crying just yet, but she looks like she's about to. Rick gives N'Dovu a sideways look, frowning somewhat.
"Are you hungry? Do you want some water?" he asks her, but she shakes her head, numbly.
"If the spirits can bring you forward, others could be brought forward as well," N'dovu points out. "And even if they haven't, the spirits tend to set things to right in the end. We simply need to discover what purpose they brought you forward for."
Drained from her earlier hysterics, the woman doesn't even start sobbing. Just a few tears run down her eyes for a moment.
"I would.. like to be left alone.. for a moment," she mumbles, burying herself in the covers.
N'dovu shrugs, and goes back to the room he was sleeping in. He's no healer, anyway.
Rick trails after N'Dovu, shaking his head.
"Did the people at the site have any clue about her?" he says, looking askance at N'Dovu. "I can't help but think she might have been-"
He's interrupted by a knock on the door. He quickly goes to answer it, where he speaks with another Caihulla for a short moment. Returning to N'Dovu, his face is grim.
"One of their cars is asking around about me, apparently," he warns. "They must have asked about you through their diggers... and they must have told them that you knew me best of all here.."
"They said nothing," N'dovu says, going to the kitchen and getting a glass of water. Best be prepared if it comes to a fight. After gulping half of the glass down, he adds, "If they are after me, then I can leave. My concern is that they might be after the woman. I could not hide her in such a wounded state. I'd rather not leave to try and distract them if it turns out they weren't after me, but instead her."
He grimaces, and throws back the rest of the glass of water, before setting the cup in the sink. "For that matter, I shouldn't stay, if they chase after me and expose yourself and her to attacks which shouldn't involve you. I am uncertain of how to proceed."
"As am I," replies Rick, quietly. "I've half a mind to load you and the girl up in the car and head to the airport.
The other Caihulla- gods, there are so few living here now- will delay these.. company men for a while, but I fear we must decide who stays and who flees tonight."
N'dovu grunts, furrowing his brow in thought. "I should go. I've committed an act of violence against them, and cannot be easily hidden. Or perhaps, only I should remain. I could delay them for some time, after all," he muses. "But it may not be that desparate yet. I am leery of leaving the woman vulnerable, but uncertain I could adequately protect her. And the child -- Jessie, I think -- should undoubtedly be watched, as well. To that end ... perhaps I should flee with the woman, and you can watch over the child. I can take your car," he continues, handing over all but a few hundred dollars to Rick. "Claim I stole it from you, and you assisted me only under duress. But I am uncertain of where to run from here ... yet perhaps it is best you don't know. Then no lie will be given when you say where we have gone."
N'dovu sighs, not liking this path, but thinking it the most reasonable and straightforward.
"Phoenix would be a bad idea," notes Rick. "As would most major cities. It would be best if you could leave the country, somehow.
That may be a good idea, actually. Here, take back this money-" he tries to pass it back to N'Dovu- "You might be able to slip through the border, but as I recall, there is a small airport a couple of days drive from here. What it's used for, I don't know exactly, but you might be able to find a plane out from there."
N'dovu raises an eyebrow at this. "It is a thought," he finally admits. "But we will need help, for I cannot drive. Or ... perhaps the lady could drive. We should prepare soon, though." N'dovu accepts some of the money, but thinks it's only fair to leave Rick with something for his trouble.
"Perhaps. But there is no telling when we may be discovered here," replies Rick. "I suppose I'd better ask her now..."
He quickly pops into the room she's staying, and soon comes out again.
"She claims she can, but I don't know if she'll be used to a modern car. I suppose it's not that different.
How much time do you need to prepare?"
N'dovu looks a bit glum, and says, "All I brought with me is on hand. I can leave within the minute, if the spirits demand it."
"Then you'd best get going. Look, there's a map in the car. You shouldn't have much trouble finding the airport if that's what you decide to do."
Ricks nods. "This isn't going to help the womans nerves at all. I really think she needs a day or so to calm... but time isn't so lenient."
With that, he goes to the woman, and begins explaining to her...
<->
...and a short while later, the woman is eyeing Rick's car, and wordlessly climbs into the drivers seat.
"Good luck," says Rick, nodding to N'Dovu. "Contact me when you think you're safe. I'll still be here."
N'dovu nods to Rick. "I will send letters in the Cahuilla language when I can," he promises, climbing into the car with the woman. This should be fun.
"Time is of the essence, I think," says the woman, sounding profoundly unsure of herself. She starts the car, and hits the accelerator way too hard, zooming down the street and managing to just avoid crashing into a building. Biting her tounge, she reverses the car back so that it's properly aligned with the main road, and starts guiding it out a little more cautiously.
"Um, where exactly should I be trying to go?" asks the woman, blinking at the power of the car in front of her. "And what *are* you?"
"The scion of the spirit of King Shaka," N'dovu says, distracting himself from his immediate demise by locating the airport (and his eventual demise) on the map. "Turn ... left up at the sign," he adds, daring a peek over the map at the oncoming road.
"For now," he adds, releasing the parking brake for the woman, once she seems to have gotten a good idea of how to handle the car, "I will also be your protector."
At the woman's blank glare, he points frantically at the offramp. Once her eyes are where they belong, N'dovu briefly explains that he was raised to speak with spirits, and is otherwise a warrior from Africa. He leaves out the sordid political details.
"I always wanted to go to Africa," mumbles the woman. "I suppose a negro protector will be the closest I'll get.
Mother always warned me not to go out without a chaperone, and if James is really... dead... then there's nothing for it."
"I did not see his spirit," N'dovu says, shrugging. "He may yet be alive."
After a short, uncomfortable silence, N'dovu verbally files for an extension:
"And we may yet see Africa."
"Maybe," replies the woman, sounding distant (and swerving into the wrong lane). "There's so much to see that I havn't seen... but if this is the future, then I can see things I could never have seen before."
She's silent for a short moment.
"Can we go to London?" she asks, abruptly. "If we're going to go anywhere, I want it to be London."
N'dovu looks up from his map, and blinks at the woman. "I've never been there," he finally says, pondering. "Do you have a passport? If you do, then that's fine."
The lady fumbles within a pocket and produces... a passport.
A ridiculously out-of-date one.
"Do you think it will still work?" she asks, fidgeting in her seat and swerving away from a man on a bike.
N'dovu wilts at the sight of it. Then brightens a bit. "It may help," he says. "You are not an American citizen?"
"No, no," replies the woman. "Technically, I'm from Italy... for all the time I spent there, though, you'd think I'm a tourist."
"Hmm," N'dovu muses.
After a long silence, N'dovu finally says, "I have a friend who may be able to help us. Dr. James may know someone who is able to get us to ... London."
"That so," replies the woman, brightening up a little. "That's good."
<->
The airport is small, but not too small. A small plane takes off as the lady drives the car into a parking lot, and a larger one is landing at roughly the same time. The airport only has one main admin building, by the looks of things; it's big enough to be a small office building. The whole airport is surrounded by a chain-link fence, and a couple of other, smaller buildings are dotted around here and there.