Yew Rue bolted upstairs to an open balcony. Below a dark figure with a square white case in hand was racing in the night toward the cover of rock. Yew judged the distance from the main military unit to the escaping character.
Following Yew’s course, Zin and a modestly attired Anchor dashed onto the balcony.
“Stop him. Hit him! Zingara, you’re better at arm signal coordinates. Get rid of this rat, Morgan. He’s up to sabotage. Something’s wrong!”
Zin stepped on the balcony, a signal flare in each gloved hand. In seconds, a flaming SCARAB projectile whizzed by and exploded on impact with the sprinter and container. A crack-shot artillery nailed Morgan bull’s eye. Yew saw the white box sailing through the smoke-filled sky and cracking against a stone wall.
“Whoever shot that SCARAB missile gets a medal, I swear!” said Yew enthusiastically.
Morgan’s white box’s contents dropped and scattered on the ground.
“Give me some occulars,” commanded Yew. But the occular vision instrument was pressed in front of Anchor’s eyes.
“One request, Yew Rue, when you find out who launched the SCARAB missile, please let me know who she is,” said Anchor.
“She?” he remarked, “sure.”
“Lamia’s head … plumbed for lapsing life support. Now, her fragile brain will be permanently spoiled in minutes. Tsk, tsk. Morgan obviously schemed an excellent matricidal hoax for Lamia. Secret medical restoration of her head if properly maintained was a real possibility,” said Ungula pointing, “but not any more. Just dog food.”
She handed the desert occulars to Yew and winked.
Yew stared at her again marveling at all her knowledge.
“You amaze me,” he said to Ungula, “Do you read a lot?”
Ungula rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“You amaze me, too. But for disgusting reasons,” sneered the jealous Zingara as she removed her flare gloves. “You’re very welcome for the weapon signals, Cowboy!”
“So, Morgan sold out after all. His parasitic relationship with that woman will always remain a mystery to me,” said Yew.
“It’s simple,” said Ungula, ” He could never face his deepest fear. So he could never kill Lamia. He always believed he couldn’t live without her and that she controlled him. Weird love-hate thing, you know.”
Yew Rue plopped down on a pinkish-tint marble bench. She was right. He remembered Krest’s lesson trancing him into facing his fear. What now? he wondered. He thought of the bloody packet from Krest still in the war pouch.
“Excuse me ladies. You probably have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll just find a washroom and clean up.”
Both women looked at him as if he was crazy but welcomed the chance to be alone together as sisters.
Yew found a basin not far and dumped the bloody packet in it. It obviously was treated because it cleaned up from the staining fast. Yew took it out and shook it dry.
“Chemplast paper,” he mumbled, “Krest wanted something durable.” He looked at the hole in it. “But not durable enough.”
He was intent on the message and ignored Zin’s approach.
“Thought I’d wash up, too,” she said.
“Sure. Help yourself,” said Yew unthinking.
Zingara stared at the bloody contaminated water.
“What’s going on here!” she demanded.
“Tidying your father’s last testament, so to speak,” said Yew.
“Ugh! I can’t believe I’m in love with you. Whatever it says, concerns Ungula, too. C’mon let’s go back to her.”
There were two envelopes. One for Ungula containing the locket and war ID. The other envelope contained Krest’s last wishes.
“Do you know the man owning the locket?” asked Zin.
“No. Trusted number of military draw upon my sustaining powers in the form of H-pix or photo. I’m sorry for this man who gave his life for us.”
When they were all reunited, they took turns reading.
“Dear children of mine: Because you are reading this, you know I am very, very dead. My death was necessary for the completion of your mission. You probably have dispatched Lamia to Hell and rescued Ungula at the same time. Well done. The City is free again. If any of you have died because of this venture, I can only smile because you will be with me soon.
To my Daughter, Zingara: You now are the legal Heir to the City of Shiloh. Rubble that it is. Rebuild it with the assistance of your King. You always were royal and loyal.
Give me healthy grandchildren, Queen Zin.
To my son-in-law, Yew Rue: Love my daughter as you constantly have. Your quest is not done. Follow my map. Take your new bride on a memorable honeymoon. Visit the Phoenix. When done, you will be the Wise Old Man. Every tribe needs its Shaman. I selected you. You admired me as medicine man from the start. You will be King, Military Leader, and Holy Man simultaneously.
To my Daughter, Ungula: Inspire us. Teach us. Remind us of what we lost and have regained. We have been war torn. Teach us to be gentle creatures again. I imagine you in my heart. I was robbed of you all my life. I pictured you cheerful, intelligent, creative, and alive. I sense I’m right on that account. Never forget your captivity so you can rejoice in your new found freedom. I’m sorry we never met but spiritually.
To the young anchoress living by the sea who’s correspondences and potions healed my broken mind and spirit, I leave my library of books and papers in entirety. And I restore her to her true position denied her at birth by an evil mother. I pronounce her once again Royal Princess of the Golden City, Shiloh, with all it blessings and honors.
To my troops, bodyguards, stewards, and cooks: Build a better world. War no more.
Signed- Somer Krest: Military Leader, Order of the Phoenix, and Wise Old Man.
Zingara stared at Ungula in quaking shock.
“What the blazes is an anchoress?” she said stunned.