The Midnight Watch: A Sigma Force Short Story by James Rollins Read Free Book Online Page A

booted in reindeer leather. Their gazes met. Even without a word spoken, K’ruk knew this other was like Onka, one born of mixed spirits. But from his clothing and from the way he tied his shaggy hair with a leather cord, it was clear he was not of K’ruk’s clan but from those slender-limbed tribes who came later to these mountains.
    Another howl rose behind them, sounding even closer.
    The stranger cocked his ear, listening; then a hand rose and beckoned. Words were spoken, but K’ruk did not understand them. Finally, the stranger simply waved his arm, pointed toward the creek, and set off down the wooded slope.
    K’ruk considered whether to follow, but another baying of the enemy’s wolves set him off after the stranger. He fled, carrying Onka to keep up with the man’s agile passage. Reaching the creek, they discovered others waiting for them there, a group of ten or twelve, some younger than Onka, others hunchbacked elders. They bore markings from several clans.
    Still, the group shared one common feature.
    They were all of mixed spirits.
    The stranger came forward and dropped to a knee before Onka. A finger touched her brow and ran along her cheekbone, plainly recognizing Onka as one of a similar kind.
    His daughter in turn reached and touched a marking on the stranger’s forehead: a pebbling of scars in a strange pointed shape.

    Onka’s fingertip ran over those bumps as if finding hidden meaning there. The other grinned, seeming to sense the child’s understanding.
    The stranger straightened and laid a palm upon his own chest. “Teron,” he said.
    K’ruk knew this must be his name, but the stranger spoke rapidly after that, waving to one of the elders who leaned heavily upon a thick gnarled staff.
    The old man came forward and spoke in K’ruk’s people’s tongue. “Teron says the girl may join us. We are heading through a high pass that Teron knows, one that is yet free of ice, but only for another few days. If we can make it ahead of the enemy, we can break the hunters from our trail.”
    “Until those snows thaw again,” K’ruk added worriedly.
    “That won’t be for many moons. We will have vanished by then, our trail long cold.”
    A fresh howling of wolves in the distance reminded them that the trail was far from cold at the moment.
    The elder recognized this, too. “We must go now before they fall upon us.”
    “And you will take my daughter?” He pushed Onka toward Teron.
    Teron reached and gripped K’ruk by the shoulder, squeezing a promise with his strong fingers.
    “She is welcome,” the elder assured him. “We will protect her. But on this long trek, we could use your strong back and sharp spear.”
    K’ruk took a step away and gripped the shaft of his weapon more firmly. “The enemy comes too swiftly. I will use my last breaths to turn them from your trail or hold them off long enough for you and the others to reach the pass.”
    Onka’s gaze met his, already teary-eyed with understanding. “Papa . . .”
    His chest ached as he spoke. “This is your clan now, Onka. They will see you to better lands, where you will be safe and where you will grow into the strong woman I know you can be.”
    Onka broke free of Teron’s grip and leaped at K’ruk, wrapping her thin arms around his neck.
    With grief choking him as much as his daughter’s arms, he pulled Onka free and passed her to Teron, who hugged her from behind. K’ruk leaned and touched his forehead to Onka’s brow, saying good-bye, knowing he would never see his daughter again.
    He then stood, turned, and strode away from the creek, heading up the slope toward the howling of wolves—but all he heard were the plaintive cries of Onka behind him.
    Live well, my child.
    He climbed more swiftly, determined to keep her safe. Once he reached the ridgeline, he sped toward the baying of the hunters’ beasts. Their cries had grown more raucous, rising from the next valley over.
    He ran now, loping in great strides.
    He