W - Wulff

Dariess pointed the telescope where Wulff had directed and focused the lens. All she saw were the same rocks, but bigger. They were still ochre, cast in sharp shadows by the bright afternoon sun, and . . . boring. Rocks.

“What do you see?” Wulff’s voice was a whisper. A snake wouldn’t have heard him from three paces away. The man was maddening to follow in the wilderness. A ghost. A specter in sand-colored robes that hid his outline and camouflaged him completely. And he moved without noise.

“I see the cliff,” Dariess said, cringing inwardly at how loud her voice was compared to her old mentor. Compared to Wulff, she was a bag of glass and tin carried by a mule.

“More,” he said. “Find the details. Seek what shouldn’t be.”

She breathed in deliberately through her nose and out through her mouth as he had taught her, concentrating on slowing her breathing. As she did, the glass steadied in her fingers, and the image became clearer. For a long while she scanned the cliff face, long since used to Wulff’s maddening patience. He would sit, immobile, for hours before he would give her more. This exercise was for her. Then she saw it. She flinched, losing the spot, and lifted her head.

“A sniper has removed your skull,” Wulff said in that quiet voice. Though after weeks alone with him in the wilds, Dariess could hear the humor in his tone.

“And covered your nice robes with brains,” she said. She lowered her eye again to the glass, rewarded by the almost silent huff that, for Wulff in his hunter’s fashion, passed for a laugh. She looked again.

“What did you find?” He asked, a hint of expectation.

“There was a rockfall,” she said. “Recently. Though not so fresh.”

“How can you tell?”

“The stones are dark, but only on one side. They have only recently been exposed to the sun on one side. And the edges are sharp, not weathered by the wind.”

“And?”

“And . . .” she thought. “And . . . the spaces between the rocks are not filled with dust.”

“Well done,” Wulff said. That was the highest praise she had yet to earn from the master. The words felt good to hear. Even in her home, her people spoke well of the man from Mericage. To be the apprentice to Wulff was a considerable honor. “But you have missed the most important detail. Look again.”

She glanced at him, wondering what it was she could have missed, but set her eye once more to the glass. Then she turned her head sideways, as he had taught her. When you can not see what it is you seek . . . change your point of view. “I’ll be cursed with songs,” she said.

“You see it now?”

“I see a door,” she said.

“You see a door,” Wulff said, with obvious pride in his voice. “I camped at the base of that hill, just two years ago as I waited out a storm. And this door, I did not find.”

“Huh,” Dariess said. “I wonder what can be behind it?”

“I wonder what can be behind it.” Wulff smiled. He took the telescope from her and secured it in his pack, then got to his feet. “I shall think it will be fun to find out.”

* * *

In the end, Wulff had to use explosives to get the door open.

“Why is it here?” Dariess asked as he prepped the charges.

Wulff answered without lifting his head from his work. “Before the fall, rich men would create shelters for themselves. They were convinced that the world would destroy us all and, rather than make the effort to change that fate, sought only their own protection.”

“So they built doors in hillsides?”

This time she was rewarded with a real laugh. “So they built shelters for themselves. Bunkers to hide in. They kept themselves safe and allowed everyone else to perish.”

“That is a mistake,” she said, earning a glance from Wulff. His raised eyebrow was a silent prod to continue. “I think it is…poor wisdom. Because if you seal yourself inside a shelter, you may survive the end of the world, but you fail to prepare for the world that remains. Those that survive on the outside, and learn to thrive in the new environment, will devour them when they come out from their isolation.”

“Yes,” Wulff said. He stood, holding a long wire.

“Are there many of these?” Dariess asked.

Wulff shrugged. “I have heard of them being found in the past, but don’t know of one in my lifetime. I know of four others. We use them as way stations, safe places. Storage houses.”

“Where?”

Wulff paused. “Elsewhere,” he said with finality. Dariess knew the tone. Wulff would speak no more of those places. 

“What do we do now?”

“Now we walk away so we do not die.”

Wulff set off the charges from behind the safety of a boulder, the effect far less impressive than Dariess was expecting. A few loud pops and a large puff of black smoke, and that was all. When they returned to the door, a gap existed that hadn’t before. Wulff was able to push the door open enough to squeeze through. He glanced inside for a long moment, then stepped clear. “You will need your light. Fix it before you go inside. I will walk a perimeter a few kilometers out to see if we remain safe. I will be gone for some hours, so do not leave here unless you must. If you do leave, head south until the sun sets, then walk west until the moon rises. Wait for me there. Do you understand?”

“Aye,” she said.

“Feel the wind. A storm is coming, and soon. Seek shelter if you need.”

“Aye,” she said again, and he stalked off. She busied herself with her lantern, filling the hopper with animal fats and readied a new wick. She lit it, then readied herself and slipped into the opening, the sword at her hip clanging noisily against the door frame.

The shelter inside was smaller than she had envisioned, immediately reminding her of one of the smaller homes of the oasis where she lived. The main room was the largest, containing a type of lounge with a few padded benches and large, comfortable-looking chairs with ornate rugs on the floor. Shelves filled most of the space, lined with crates filled with goods. One whole wall comprised a small library, with shelf after shelf of books. There were three other rooms off the first one. One room was an armory, filled with racks of ancient weapons and crates of munitions and boxes marked as explosives. Another was filled with packaged food and water, certainly spoiled. The last contained a living module, with recreational equipment, six beds stacked in racks of three, and various boxes and cabinets. And the remains of two long-dead people, their shrunken and withered bodies wrapped in bright clothing.

“Songs,” she said to herself, after she had completed a quick survey. She could not begin to fathom the value of the things contained in the bunker. Doses in the . . . what? Hundreds of thousands? Millions, even?

Wulff returned after nearly a half hour, startling her when he slipped quietly through the opening they had made. “You are back so fast,” she said.

“Douse your lamp,” he said. His voice was calm, but he had a tone that did not allow for questions. She did as she was told and set the lamp on the floor. “There are soldiers coming,” he said. “Five of them, ten minutes out. They are Ersonians. We must leave.”

“We can’t leave this,” she said, looking around. “Master Wulff . . .”

“Come,” he said. He took her hand and drew her roughly toward the door. “We must go. Now.”

“But, master . . .”

He grinned at her. “We will not surrender this vault,” he said, and she could sense his nervous excitement. Not fear at all. “But I will defend it on my terms.”

Dariess nodded and stopped resisting him. She followed Wulff into the bright sunshine, a pre-battle excitement turning her stomach to bubbles.

* * *

They watched the Ersonian soldiers approach. It was good that Wulff had spotted them. Had they been surprised inside the shelter, their lives may have well been forfeit. The wind had picked up some, swirling dust in powdery eddies and hiding the tracks they had made in the sand.

“How did they know?”

“The smoke,” Wulff said. “It must have been. The noise would not have carried so far.”

“Sour peas,” Dariess said. “And bad luck.”

While they watched, the Ersonians split, leaving two to guard the door, one facing in, one facing out. The other three walked off, circling the hill. Wulff didn’t move, waiting patiently until, a short while later, the three soldiers returned from the other direction, having completed a wide circle. The soldiers circled together, deep in discussion, before the three turned and entered the bunker, pausing to widen the hole that Wulff had made to accomodate their armor. Once they were inside, Wulff drew a short, thin blade from his sleeve. The knife wasn’t more than fifteen centimeters long. Dariess had heard many stories of Wulff’s skill in battle, but she had never witnessed him in a fight. The thought excited her. She reached to draw her sword, but Wulff placed a hand over hers.

“There are only five,” he said. “Watch, and learn.”

“I can help,” she said. “I am not afraid.”

This time, Wulff’s smile was warm and fatherly. “If I thought you were easily frightened, I would not have selected you as my student.” He patted her shoulder. “Your time will come, small one. For now, watch, and learn.”

“You will fight them with just that knife?”

Wulff paused, then frowned. “Guns and arrows are for apprentices, and cowards. And long blades are for soldiers, those pressed into service who wish only to return to their homes, and safety. A short blade,” he hefted his knife. “A short blade is for true warriors, and those who are not afraid of death.”

“Which are you?”

Wulff huffed, his silent laugh. “Death and I have known each other since before you were born.” He slipped off, as silent as the footstep of a snake.

Dariess watched the guards. A short while later, Wulff appeared, coming around the right side of the hill, seeming no more than another ghost of the dust. He slid along the edge of the steep hillside until he was behind the two guards, in the middle of them and between them and the dark doorway of the bunker. He spun with a gust of wind, then placed his hand on the forehead of the guard on the right, at the same time driving his slender knife into the space below the man’s helmet, at the base of the neck. Without a sound, the guard slumped, but Wulff had already spun away. The second guard, alerted by the sound of the first man collapsing, turned to see. As quick as a fly, Wulff spun behind him. The guard brought his weapon up, searching for the threat, but he was already too late. Dariess saw Wulff’s arm appear, and the second guard dropped as quickly as the first.

The whole attack had taken a matter of seconds.

Wulff found her with his eyes, then signaled to her. Come here, he signed. Wait and be watchful. Dariess drew her sword and rushed to where the guards lay in the sand. Wulff did not wait for her, but slipped silently into the bunker as she approached.

Dariess had seen death before, but had never seen people killed in battle. So quick. So final. She remembered a lesson that Wulff had given her; if you must kill a person, the greatest gift you can give them is a decisive death. Do not hesitate. Do not make them suffer.

She jumped at the sound of a single gunshot, and brought her sword up, facing the open doorway of the bunker. Her hands shook with the anticipation of battle, but a moment later, it was Wulff that poked his head out. He waved her in and disappeared. She took a knee, letting the excitement wash over her, then stood. She did not want Wulff to see her shaking. She sheathed her sword and went in.

Two of the Ersonian soldiers were dead in the front room, the third, she could not see. Wulff stood in front of the shelves of books, running a finger along their spines.

“These are mostly fiction,” he said without preamble. “But there are other, more useful titles. Medicines and anatomy. Plant identification and farming. How to brew beer.”

“It’s a treasure trove,” Dariess said.

Wulff nodded. “Yes,” he said. “In doses. And in knowledge.” He smiled at her. “You will be a hero when you return home, young nugget, when you bring some of this with you.”

Dariess shook her head. “I did nothing.”

“Not yet,” he said. He walked to one of the bodies and removed the soldier’s pack. He went to one of the shelves and selected a pair of glass bottles filled with brown liquid. Then he returned to the books and selected one and added it to the sack. “Astronomy,” he said. “And how to navigate with the stars. Very useful, but only a taste of the knowledge here.” Then he showed her one of the bottles. “Oshent,” he said. “It is nothing short of a miracle that these have survived. Their value is . . . incomprehensible.” He wrapped them in cloth and added them to the pack. He carefully secured the straps and held the bag out to her.

“Take this, and return to Mericage with everything intact. Take one of those bottles and hide it safely until I come for it. Then take the book and the other bottle and bring it to Borea. Only show them to Borea, do you understand?”

“Aye,” she said.

Wulff smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “Tell her everything, except about the second bottle, of course. Then lead my people back here. That is all you need to do.”

“Aye,” she said, her heart filling with pride. “I will do it.”

“I know you will,” he said. “Meanwhile,” he selected a book from the shelf. “I am going to read books and nap.”

“Is that all?”

“No,” Wulff said. He sat heavily on one of the dusty chairs. “I noticed one of the guards outside was about your size. Her boots may fit you. They are good, new, Ersonian boots. Take them. Yours are shit.”

“Yes, master,” she said. He opened the book. Dariess let herself out.

* * *

#AtoZChallenge