Chapter XXX : Silk and Blood ( Part II )
Aylin walked ahead of them, her bare feet finding their way on the sand with the instinct of one who had lived in that desert her entire life. Cassandra followed, her breath labored, her leg already beginning to ache from exhaustion. Cross was behind her, silent, vigilant, his eyes scanning the darkness like sharp blades.
In Cross's ear, a continuous whisper. Leo and Nyx, from the Foid operations base in New York, followed their every movement through satellites and Foid sensors. The coordinates updated in real time, their bodies were luminous dots on a screen that traced the desert like a map of blood and sand.
— Cross, can you hear me? — Nyx's voice was a thread of metal in his earpiece. — You are three kilometers from the temple. But there is movement around you. Multiple thermal signals. They are not animals.
Cross did not respond. He could not. But his hand tightened around his gun.
— David, listen to me — Leo's voice was lower, tenser. — There are at least twelve. Maybe fifteen. They are moving in a semicircle. They are surrounding you. Do not wait for them to reach you.
Too late.
The sound was distant at first, like a distant drumbeat. But it was approaching. Approaching fast.
— Quiet — Cross whispered. His hand rested on Cassandra's shoulder, stopping her. His eyes carved through the darkness like sharp blades. — Nyx, how many?
— Twelve. No, thirteen. One larger, probably the leader. David, they have blades and spears. I don't see firearms. But they are fast. Move.
Aylin stopped. Her eyes scanned the darkness. For a moment, the desert fell silent. Then the wind carried the smell of sweat and old blood.
— No — she murmured. — No, not now...
The raiders emerged from the darkness like ghosts of sand.
There were a dozen, perhaps more. Men with faces marked by the desert, eyes of obsidian gleaming with avarice, hands gripping curved blades and spears of dark wood. Their clothes were rags the color of sand, and their movements were those of jackals who had caught the scent of blood.
— The Zarrin tribe — Aylin whispered. — Predators of the desert. They follow the scent of gold like vultures.
— Fuck — Nyx's voice was a growl in Cross's ear. — They are too close. David, you cannot run. You have to fight.
Cassandra felt her heart accelerate.
— What do they want?
— What they have always wanted — Aylin replied. Her voice was bitter. — Gold. Jewels. Valuable objects. Women. And if they find none...
She did not finish the sentence.
The leader of the Zarrin stepped forward. He was a tall, thin man, with a scar that crossed his face like a dry river. His eyes were two burning coals, and his smile was a promise of violence.
— Strangers — he said. His voice was a growl, a sound that came from far away. — What do you seek in the desert night?
— We are pilgrims — Aylin replied, her voice calm and measured. — We go to the temple to pray.
The leader laughed. A dry, cruel laugh that was lost in the wind.
— Pilgrims? — he repeated. — Pilgrims with an armed man and a blonde woman who looks like an offering to the desert?
He approached Cassandra. His smell was of sweat and sand, of blood and night. His dirty fingers brushed her chin, lifting her face toward the moonlight.
— What are you hiding, stranger? — he murmured. — Gold? Jewels? Or perhaps you are the offering the desert has sent us?
— I have nothing — Cassandra replied. Her voice was steady, but her eyes burned with rage.
The leader smiled. Then, without warning, he struck her.
The fist hit her stomach, and Cassandra fell to her knees, the air leaving her lungs like a groan. The pain spread through her body like a fire. The sand entered her mouth, bitter and warm.
— Liar — the leader whispered. — Everyone lies. But the desert... the desert never lies.
Cross moved. His hand found his gun, but before he could draw it, two raiders grabbed him, immobilizing him. His struggle was brief, fierce, but useless. A cold dagger kissed his throat. Cross's blood began to flow from his split eyebrow, streaming into his eye like a red tear.
— David! — Nyx's voice was a scream in his earpiece. — Answer me! David!
Cross could not answer. The blade was too close to his throat.
The leader leaned over Cassandra. His hand grabbed her blonde hair, pulling it violently, forcing her to look at him.
— Search for gold — the leader ordered. — And if you find nothing... the woman will be ours.
He did not finish the sentence. But the smile on his face said everything.
Cassandra felt the raiders' hands on her. Her jacket was torn, her blouse ripped. Her pockets were emptied, her personal belongings thrown into the sand like garbage. Rhea's CD player fell to the ground, its plastic case shattering into a thousand fragments. Cassandra heard the sound, and for a moment the pain of losing that object was stronger than the blows. It was Rhea's last gift. Now it was dust.
Then they struck her again.
The blade on her leg. A fist to the face. The pain was everywhere, a sea of fire engulfing her. She felt the blood flow from her split lip, felt the taste of iron on her tongue. The world around her began to sway, the stars multiplying in the sky like eyes watching her die.
— I have nothing — she whispered, but her voice was a thread, a thread about to break.
The leader leaned over her. His face was inches from hers. His breath stank of rotten meat and desert.
— Then the desert will take you — he said. — As it has taken all the others. You will die like carcasses in the sun. But first... first we will use you. All of us. Until you are just an empty shell. And then we will let the sun finish the job.
His hand tore her blouse, revealing her pale skin and the bruises already beginning to form. His dirty fingers touched her chest, and Cassandra felt the nausea rise.
— No — she murmured. — Take your hands off me...
The leader laughed. His hand squeezed Cassandra's breast violently, and she felt his nails digging into her flesh.
— Is this how you like it, stranger? — he whispered. — Do you like being touched by a real man?
Then Aylin moved.
The movement was so fast that no one saw it. Her bare feet lifted from the sand as if the desert itself had thrown her forward. Her hand found the dagger at the leader's belt — a fluid movement, almost danced — and she plunged it into his shoulder with a precision that did not belong to this world.
The leader screamed. A scream of rage and surprise. Blood gushed from his shoulder, dark and thick, and his hand loosened from Cassandra's body.
— Touch me again — Aylin said, her voice suddenly deeper, more ancient, more dangerous — and next time I will cut your throat.
The leader stepped back, bringing a hand to his wounded shoulder. His eyes were full of madness and astonishment.
— Kill her! — he shouted. — Kill that desert witch!
The raiders lunged at Aylin.
But she was faster.
Her movements were those of one who had fought in the desert her entire life. She dodged a blade, ducked under a spear strike, and plunged the dagger into the first attacker's chest. The man fell without a sound, the sand swallowing his blood like a thirsty animal.
The second was struck in the throat — a clean, precise cut that left him on the ground with his eyes wide open.
The third lost his hand.
Aylin moved among the raiders like a shadow, like a storm, like death itself walking on the sand. The leader's dagger had become her extension, a piece of her body that moved with a grace that was not human.
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But there were too many.
Two raiders grabbed her arms, immobilizing her. A third approached with a blade, ready to cut her throat. Aylin struggled, but her strength was not enough.
— Director Hale! — Nyx's voice screamed in Cross's earpiece. — Director! The gun! Take the gun!
Cross broke free with a sudden lunge. His knee rose, striking the raider holding him, and the blade kissing his throat moved away for an instant. Blood was streaming from his eye, blurring his vision, but he did not stop. His hand found the gun.
One shot.
A raider fell, his chest torn open.
A second shot.
Another body hit the sand.
But the raiders were too many. And Cassandra was still on the ground, her blouse torn, blood flowing from her leg, her face marked by the blows.
— Director Hale! — Leo's voice was desperate. — GET UP!
Cassandra heard the words. She heard them like a distant echo. Her body was dead weight, her mind a vortex of pain and confusion. But in her heart, one word resonated louder than all others: Ksenia.
Ksenia was waiting for her.
Ksenia needed her.
Ksenia.
Cassandra stood up.
The movement was slow, laborious, every muscle screaming in pain. But she stood up. Her hand found a rock, large, sharp, and she gripped it with all the strength she had left.
The leader of the Zarrin was still there, his shoulder bleeding, his eyes full of rage and blood. His hand reached for Cassandra, ready to strike her again.
Cassandra did not wait.
The rock struck the leader's face with a dull sound, a sound of bones breaking, of flesh tearing. The man fell backward, bringing his hands to his face, screaming like a wounded animal.
— You will never touch me again — Cassandra whispered. Her voice was low, but it was a low that cut through the silence like a blade.
Aylin freed herself from the two raiders holding her. Her dagger found the first one's throat, then the second one's chest. In a fluid movement, she sent them to the ground.
Then she screamed.
Her voice rose in the desert like an ancient call, a language Cassandra did not know but felt in her bones. It was a command. It was a threat. It was a prayer.
The raiders stopped.
Their eyes widened. For a moment, time stopped. Then, as if the desert itself had swallowed them, the surviving raiders turned and fled. They vanished into the darkness like ghosts of sand, leaving behind only the silence and the bodies of their companions.
Silence returned.
Cross freed himself from the last men holding him. Blood was streaming from his eye, mixing with sweat. He did not stop to tend to himself. He ran to Cassandra, dropping to his knees beside her.
— Director Hale — he said. His voice was tense, worried.
Cassandra nodded. The pain was too great to speak. Her hand was still clenched around the rock, her knuckles white, her fingers stained with blood. It was not her blood. It was the leader's blood.
— David — Nyx's voice was a sigh of relief in his earpiece. — Are you all right? Answer me, damn it!
— We are alive — Cross replied. His voice was flat, but there was a tremor he had never had before. — We are alive.
— Fuck — Leo's voice was broken. — We saw you. We saw everything. David, her CD... Rhea's CD...
— I know — Cross said. — I know.
Cassandra looked at the fragments of the CD player. The plastic case was dust. The disc was broken, scratched, unusable. It was Rhea's last gift. Now it was dust.
— It doesn't matter — Cassandra murmured. — It doesn't matter anymore. Ksenia. We have to get to Ksenia.
— We must get her to the temple — Aylin said, approaching. Her dagger was still in her hand, blood dripping onto the sand. — There she will be safe.
She knelt beside Cassandra, examining the wound on her leg.
— It is deep — she murmured. — But it did not hit the artery. She will survive.
— American, your eye too must be treated.
— Later — Cross said. — First Ksenia.
Cassandra closed her eyes. The world around her was a vortex of pain and confusion. But in her heart, a single word echoed carved into living flesh: Ksenia.
— Help me up — she whispered.
Cross and Aylin took her by the arms, lifting her gently. Her legs trembled, but she did not fall.
— Let's go — Cassandra said. — Let's go to Ksenia.
And they set off again.
In the desert, the bodies of the raiders lay still. The blood was already drying on the sand, as if the desert itself were drinking it.
And from New York, through Foid technology, Leo and Nyx watched their friends move away. The luminous dots on the screen continued to move, slow, wounded, but alive.
— They are alive — Nyx murmured. — Fuck, they are alive.
On the screen, the luminous dots continued to move toward the temple.
And in the desert, somewhere, the fury of the Daughter of the Red Desert awaited them.