The other one went deep, straight down, to the very bottom, intersected with the large area of muonic activity at the bottom of the Milwaukee Depth, then also receded.
A voice crackled in his ear. “We’re picking up something solid inside the line of propagation,” Conners reported. “The large sphere is going back to the Triangle.”
“Nagoya,” Foreman spoke into the phone. “What do you have?”
“Both lines of muonic activity are pulling back,” Nagoya reported. “But the Bermuda Triangle gate is now twice the size it had been. It extends further to the south, within twenty miles of the Glomar Explorer.”
“Is the target still in the Depth?” Foreman asked.
“Yes. We’re still reading it at the same size.”
“Oh, shit,” Conners cursed. “We’ve got a problem! There’s a wave moving southeast- a solid line being picked up by SOSUS.”
“So?” Foreman was concerned about the gate, not waves.
“Low height, long wavelength, a lot of power” Conners said. “The computer says when it hits the shallow water near Puerto Rico, the wavelength will shorten, and the wave will become fifty feet high. A major tsunami is going to hit northwest Puerto Rico in fifteen minutes.”
Chapter 14
Ragnarok groaned as he sat up. His chest rippled with pain. He opened his tunic and looked. A tattoo of black and blue in the shape of the Valkyrie’s arm was imprinted on his chest. Almost lost in it was the red mark where he had been burned the previous week by the same creatures. So far they had dealt all the injuries.
“Ah,” Ragnarok leaned over and spit. It hurt to breath so he took a dozen very deep breaths, feeling the fire in his chest until the burning was a steady blaze, then he ignored it.
He looked about and blinked. Tam Nok was in the river, water flowing up to her waist. She was naked, her upper body brown and slender. Ragnarok realized he was staring and looked away. Penarddun was a huddle under a red cloak a few feet away, still asleep.
“You should clean yourself,” Tam Nok said.
Ragnarok picked up Bone-Slicer and pointedly examined the edge, trying to see if it had been damaged when he hit the Valkyrie named Skogul. “Water is for drinking and sailing on,” he replied. There was a dullness to the edge along the part that had hit the demoness. Ragnarok pulled out his sharpening stone and got to work.
He heard Tam Nok coming out of the water and he kept his eyes on the ax. There was a rustle of cloth and Ragnarok gave it a few seconds before looking up. Tam Nok had her cloak on and she was seated on the bank of the river. Her short white hair was plastered against her skull and for the moment she looked very young and vulnerable. Ragnarok realized that she was barely past her twentieth year if that. Young for someone who knew so much and was on such a difficult mission.
This morning they had reached the river and turned to the west, running for a half hour before collapsing in this spot. The River Avon wasn’t very wide or deep but it was below the level of the Salisbury Plain and afforded them some protection from observation. Ragnarok knew that the King’s men who were killed by the Valkyries during the dark hours would be missed sooner or later. Ragnarok looked up at the sun. It was after mid-day.
Tam Nok saw him staring at her and reached up to her head, feeling her hair. “It used to be black,” she said.
“What happened to it?”
“One day I looked down in a stream I was crossing and I saw that it had changed color.”
Ragnarok had known a man whose hair had changed like that. Who had gone out on the sea to fish for the day and not returned for three weeks. And when he came back his hair was white, his eyes haunted and he was mute. He never spoke again, dying less than six months later.
“What occurred just before your hair changed?” he asked.
“It happened when I started my journey. I had to go into the dark area near my home.” Tam Nok shook her head. “There are some things it is best not to speak of.”
“If we are to travel together, I think-” Ragnarok began, but he noted that Tam Nok wasn’t looking at him, but beyond with a strange expression. Ragnarok sprang to his feet and turned, ax in hand.
An old man was standing on the edge of the plain where it began descending to the river bank. He wore tattered rags and his face was obscured by a large, bushy gray beard. The man was holding a staff of what appeared to be black wood, perfectly smooth and over six feet long. Something on the tip of the staff was reflecting light, almost blinding Ragnarok. He squinted. An intricately carved ornament- a seven headed snake. The other end of the staff ended in a spear head, which also shone in the sunlight.
Ragnarok had never seen such a weapon. But it must have meant something to Tam Nok, because she pushed past the Viking rattling off something in her native language.
“Now slow down woman,” the man said in Ragnarok’s tongue but with an accent the Viking had heard before- far to the north on this God-forsaken island in the land where there were hills and bogs and deep lochs and the people dressed in clothes with patterns that told what family they belonged to. A strange people who the Vikings respected in battle because they were capable of being as insane as the Norsemen when it came to the blood lust.
The man walked down to their small camp. Penarddun, woken by the voices, opened her bleary eyes. She blearily stared at the man for a few seconds, then her eyes widened. “Lailoken!”
The old man went to the river and knelt, dipping his face into the water and drinking deeply. His head came up, the beard dripping water. “Some have called me that,” he acknowledged. His gray eyes softened and grew distant. “It has been a long time, though, since any one did so.” The eyes sharpened and he looked at Penarddun. “You are one of those that worship the stones and trees and stars.”
Penarddun dipped her head. The man laughed, then twirled, holding the staff out from him, the spear end cutting the air. It was as if he had suddenly disconnected from reality for a few seconds, then just as quickly he stopped and became serious.
His gaze shifted to Ragnarok. “A ravager from the sea. I have seen your people fight along the shores to the north and east of here. I learned your language from one your fellows stranded in my country. You are a long way from the ocean sailor of the north.” He stepped closer. “Tell me do you enjoy the killing? Or is it the dying? If I remember correctly your people seem to relish both.”
He didn’t wait for an answer as he turned his attention to Tam Nok. “I have not seen you’re like before. Nor do I know the tongue you spoke to me in. I assume since you travel with this large barbarian you know his tongue.” He reached out with a hand encrusted with dirt. Tam Nok didn’t flinch as he ran a finger along the sides of her eyes. “Most strange. Most strange. Do you see differently?” He laughed, an insane edge to the sound. “Oh, I think you do. I think you do!”
“My name is Tam Nok. I am from the kingdom of the Khmer.” She pointed at his staff. “The Naga on your-”
“The what?” Lailoken interrupted. “The what?”
“The seven-headed snake. We call it the Naga in our land. It is sacred.”
Lailoken looked at his staff as if seeing it for the first time. “A sacred snake with seven heads? People are so strange aren’t they?” He laughed. “I thought it pretty so I took it.” He shook his head. “It is so hard to remember everything.” He held the staff at arm’s length and looked at it as if seeing it for the first time. “Yes, it is sacred. That I remember.”
“Who are you?” Tam Nok asked.
The old man shook, as if a sudden chill had raced through his body, then he turned serious. “She called me Lailoken. That is what I was called long, long ago. When I counseled the King. The first King I counseled that is. Yes, I told him much. But he didn’t listen. They never listen.”