I’m beginning to show now. I … I did it. Whoo. Survive at all costs, whatever. We are the Hundred and One. It doesn’t feel like it, though. Not really. The One Hundred just … wasn’t done. Mom wasn’t done. I wasn’t done with her. I was just beginning to see her, the real her. This trip we were taking, this … quest or whatever you want to call it, that was our time, the two of us.

  It doesn’t matter how much I try; I can’t think of anything else. I need to see it through. I have to go back and take the journey, let the One Hundred finish what it started before I can let Mom go. Then, maybe. Not before.

  49

  Ship of Fools

  I can’t see my own feet, or the river, or the shore, but the old man doesn’t seem to mind. I don’t think he ever told me his name. Maybe he doesn’t have one. First name: Captain. Last name: Captain. He stares at the horizon like there is one to stare at and he fiddles with his big wheel from time to time. A bit to the left, a bit to the right, starboard, whatever. I think he does it just to look captainy while we cut through this pea soup. It’s working. It doesn’t help with the cold—this wet air seeps into your bones—but I don’t think we’ll die. Not right now anyway.

  I touch her elbow, then her mouth.

  She speaks after a cold silence.

  She got that last part right. My teeth are chattering so much I’m speaking Morse code. Spring in Russia’s not exactly balmy, but this is a special kind of biting. What are the odds it gets warmer when we hit the sea? It won’t be long before we find out. Captain Captain said we’re coming up on the river mouth.

  I can’t complain. I chose to freeze my butt off. Mom would have done this from our living room, drawn a line on a map and gone from there. She’d certainly have figured out the whole thing before she left. I wanted to. I also want to exercise more and eat healthier. Let’s face it, patience has never been my strong suit and I think I’m pretty good at winging it. I needed to make the voyage now. I wanted to see what our ancestor saw, feel the wind on my face like she did, smell the same … weird fishy stink, though that might just be our boat. I wanted to figure it out as I go. Maybe I was just looking for an excuse to make this last. I get to spend a bit more time with Mom, even if she’s not here. I think she’d like this. She’d make fun of me, but I think she’d like it.

  This reminds me of the ferry to Algiers. Fuck, I was scared. I’d never been anywhere. I’d just watched my home burn and there was a madman trying to kill us. It was too much to take in. Mom held my hand the whole time. Almost. She let go for a minute and my little heart stopped. I didn’t know she’d gone to the vending machine. She came back and handed me a Coca-Cola; I … I was okay. It was like magic. Right there and then I knew we’d be fine. There’s nothing she could have said that would have reassured me. She knew what I needed. A little bit of normal, some sense I hadn’t lost everything. It worked. It was like the world around us disappeared. It was just me, my mother, and a fizzy drink.

  —I love you, Mom.

  I’d give anything, literally anything, for another ten minutes with her. It’s too cold for pop, but a hot chocolate … She liked to put marshmallows in them. I wanted mine on the side, of course. “The marshmallows aren’t gone, Lola. They just melted into the hot chocolate.” God, I miss her. I’m three months pregnant and I haven’t thought about a name. I don’t want to because then it’ll be real and I can’t do real right now. Real is: Mom’s dead. Real is: we’re the fucking Hundred and One and all of this is on me. The fate of the world and a child to boot. This world is in a whole lot of trouble if I’m the one who has to save it. So is this child. I thought … Mom said everything would change—and that scared the crap out of me—but then I got pregnant and nothing happened. That’s not true; I lost my appetite. I don’t know what I was expecting. I thought I’d feel … up to it? A tiny bit confident I wouldn’t screw this up? There’s still time, I guess. Don’t worry, tiny person, we’ll get you a name. Just as soon as Mommy’s done playing pretend, okay?

  The fog is dissipating. I can see … a whole lot of nothing. I’m pretty sure that’s the Caspian Sea.

  —HEY, LADY! WE’RE FRESH OUT OF VOLGA!

  —I can see that.

  —SO? WHERE TO?

  Desire awakens and I reach for her breast. Aim for Inanna’s star, the heart of the Scorpion, when it appears in the night sky. We’re right on time. Scorpius is just above the water now.

  —You see that bright star southwest of here?

  —Antares?

  Ha! The old man knows his stars. I knew there was a reason I picked him.

  —Yes. Antares. That’s our heading.

  —For how long?

  —Until we hit land.

  I taste the salt until it turns to dust.

  50

  If You Leave

  Salt turned to dust. A little salt turned to dust—the Caspian Sea is really more of a lake. We hit land two days ago. Lots and lots of empty barren land. That’s when I realized I didn’t have a truck, or a horse, or whatever for when I got on said land. I had a boat. Perhaps a bit more planning wouldn’t hurt next time, but it all worked out in the end.

  We followed the coast until we saw signs of human life and Captain Captain dropped me off. I was greeted by five overly happy Chinese men—I swear all five of them were high. I think they worked for an oil company. This is middle-of-nowhere, Kazakhstan, so I should have been surprised to meet Chinese people, but honestly, the thought didn’t cross my mind until right now. Two of them drove me to the nearest town. They laughed the whole way, but they were supernice. They dropped me off in Tushi … Tushi something.

  As it turns out, this Tushi doesn’t have much to offer in the way of entertainment, but it has a shit ton of trucks and plenty of people bored out of their wits. I bought myself a guide, a nice pair of sunglasses, and one badass dune buggy that would make Mad Max proud. I saw myself sitting in it in a shop window and it. Is. Cool. I didn’t know it’d be this uncomfortable, though. We’ve been driving for twenty minutes and my butt feels like it’s being kicked by a horse. Still, I rule. And I figured out the next clue.

  I ask for mercy when her arrow is gone.

  It took me long enough. I thought the arrow might have something to do with the bow, the real bow. I don’t have it, so that could have been a problem. But Mom said the Eight looked at the stars, so I focused on that. The arrow was a constellation. Basically Sirius—it’s the one bright star in there. I assumed I had to “ask for mercy” when it disappeared from the sky. The star finder said that should happen around ten thirty these days. Then what?

  Ask for mercy. I figured it meant something like fairness, which was good because there’s a Babylonian god for justice and all that: Marduk. He’s like the boss. There’s even a “star of Marduk” called Nibiru. Oddly, I knew about it. It’s on ancient tablets Mom read from when I was young because she has a weird idea of fun. Had a weird idea of fun. The problem is Nibiru is more of a spot in the sky than an actual star. Sometimes Mercury was there, sometimes Jupiter, but planets aren’t any help. Long story short, I can’t look for the “star of Marduk” because there’s really no such thing.

  So maybe “mercy” wasn’t the right word. I busted out the dictionary. The word in Akkadian is gimillu. It means a bunch of things; they all do. A favor, a boon—whatever that is—mercy, kindness, compassion. That’s when it hit me. It’s the corn goddess. Whatever her name was, she was, well, the goddess of corn, and good harvest was seen as kindness from the gods. I found her in Mom’s big book. Shala, that’s the corn lady, holding an ear of grain. Her constellation is part of Virgo now. Ask for mercy when her arrow is gone. Head for Virgo when Sirius disappears from the sky. Boom. Take that, Indiana Jones.

  Okay, Dr. Jones might still have an edge. We’re heading in the right direction, but I have no idea when to stop. I need to find a sleepy lion, or a dragon. Whatever, we’re driving. With any luck, we’ll hit an ancient zoo along the way, or a fire-spitting … something. I’m betting on whatever it is being big. The Eight wouldn’t have sent us after something we had no chance of find— We’re slowing down, for whatever reason.

  —Hey,

  Crap, I forgot his name.

  Why are we stopping?

  There’s nothing here. Like, nothing nothing. I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere with less of something. It’s just sand and a few plants wishing they were dead. Maybe my guide needs to p— HOLY SHIT! He busted out a gun!

  —Get out!

  —What? No! You can’t leave me here. There’s nothing here—

  —I SAID GET OUT!

  Whoa. He put the tip of his gun on my forehead. I peed myself.

  —All right. All right. I’m out. Just don’t sh—

  He’s gone ….

  What the fuck just happened? He hit the gas and left me standing in a big cloud of dust like a disgraced mobster in some bad Vegas flick. He marooned me! The son of a bitch marooned me! I didn’t know that was a thing, people getting marooned.

  Fuck!

  I’m totally marooned.

  51

  Don’t You (Forget About Me)

  The traitor led me to Pakistan. She was a wearing a white dress, her ghostly shape floating above my bed. She reached down with a gentle hand and touched my face. I felt myself weigh less and less until I stopped feeling the mattress on my back. I was … overwhelmed with joyful emotions and I started laughing. I laughed so hard, I flew across the room. My weightless body bounced on walls and ceiling. I could no longer tell which way was up until she caught me with both arms. Our embrace lasted for hours and mere moments at once. I tried to hold her gaze, but I felt … intimidated. She put a finger under my chin and raised my head proud; then she grabbed my hand and we flew out the third-floor window.

  It was so … real. Disturbingly intimate. I felt freer than I’ve ever felt. I miss that feeling, about as much as I hate the headache I now struggle with. A small lapse in judgment on my part. There were riots in the city when we landed in Islamabad. They said the leader of the Peoples Party was arrested. People took to the streets. Uriel and I took a cab for Rawalpindi but found ourselves stuck in traffic between protests. The heat was unbearable inside the car. After twenty minutes spent motionless on some busy street we decided to get out and explore. We explored for about twenty meters until we found a hotel bar with air conditioning. I was in a drinking mood. It was good news that brought us here, but this thirst was born of self-pity and not the celebration kind.

  The traitor died. Uriel found some sort of eulogy at the Central Library of Astan Quds Razavi in Iran. She … died. She lived twenty-five hundred years ago, so that should not have come as a surprise, but I was still profoundly saddened to read of her demise. King Xerxes, it would seem, held her in high esteem. His successor, Artaxerxes, preferred to surround himself with familiar faces and brought his entourage to the palace. The priestess—we never learn of her name—traveled to the eastern end of the empire to teach astrology at “a great school in the Hinduš” and died shortly thereafter. How news of her death traveled back to Persepolis I do not know. It was, presumably, of little importance to Artaxerxes or to the empire. Nonetheless, here we are. As always, this particular traitor had an uncanny tendency to leave an indelible mark on history, much as she did on my mind.

  I was still mourning when we found that hotel bar. Uriel was his usual giddy self and very pleased with me despite my irritable state, as I did not protest when the bellboy suggested we “go out back and try something different.” After a bottle of something called desi sharab, it became clear that Uriel would ride my sudden openness to vice as far as it would take us. I don’t remember where we went to eat opium, but I have a vivid recollection of the camel milk cheese they served us. Sweet and salty, obsessively springy. I vomited all of it, then ate some more. More cheese. More opium. Then, the dream, though I evidently made it to our hotel at some point in between.

  I feel surprisingly good despite the insistent hangover. No bruised knuckles. Minimal self-loathing. I found traces of semidigested cheese on my shirt but none of the telltale reddish brown that so often follows a night on the town. I was, it would seem, still in control during this depravity, and while morning comes with a migraine and severe dehydration, I feel a certain sense of pride at my restraint.

  Today we should find the traitor’s grave. There are several tombs near the ruins of the university at Taxila where she taught until her death. With any luck, one of them belongs to her. We are closer than ever. The drugs certainly helped, but I cannot stop thinking that the intensity of my dream had as much to do with proximity as poppy plants. She lies nearby in a bed of stone, waiting for me. Today the wait ends.

  Later today. We had agreed to leave at first light, but our departure will have to wait. I seem to have lost Uriel.

  52

  Running Up That Hill

  My blood is boiling. The fever is spiking, fast. My honed Kibsu instincts are in high gear, but they are saying bupkes. I usually see the outcome, know what to do, but this … I don’t fucking know how to fight a wolf.

  He’s big. A wisdom-gray giant flecked in black and cinnamon. Long legs, wide paws. His lines are so perfect he doesn’t look real. Not a real wolf, but someone’s idea of a wolf, or maybe a god taking animal form. The fur of his mane stands on end to make him look bigger. Not that he needs to; he’s fucking magnificent.

  His snarling is the only sound around. Lips curled, incisors on full display. The white rings around his eyes make them stand out even more. What do his eyes say? They say kill; that’s what they say. Just death, spelled out in pale yellow. There’s no curiosity here, no apprehension. He’s all business. He must be sick or starving to have ventured this far into the open. Let’s see if I can put some fear into him.

  —AAAAAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!

  So much for that. He didn’t even flinch. His ears are straight. He’s not the least bit afraid of me. I don’t know what I can do. Forget running. There’s nowhere to run to, nothing to put my back against. My asshole guide left me to die in the middle of the … semidesert.

  The wolf is crouching, ready to pounce. My fear is turning into rage now. The animal in me wants to go down fighting. Come at me, motherfucker. I’ll take your head right off! Except I won’t. That wolf is faster and stronger than I am. I need brains right now, not guts. Mom kept saying everything is science. Right ….

  My head feels like it’s about to explode. Think. I have to think. He’s my size. I won’t overpower him. I guess it comes down to weapons. He has teeth and claws. What do I have? I have more useful limbs, opposable thumbs. His jaw is stronger than anything I’ve got, but if I remove it from the equation I might have a shot. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! I know what to do. I just … I have to sacrifice a limb.

  I’d better do this now while I’m burning up or I won’t have the nerve. Grab a rock. One foot forward. Oh shit, he’s coming. Deep breath. He should go for my forearm if I put it in front of h— AAAAAAGHHH! His canines sank two inches into my flesh, but his mouth just keeps on closing. My hand went limp. I felt one bone snap. Ugh. The other. I need to stay conscious.

  If I let myself fall, I can wrap my legs around his body, wrestle him to his back. Agh! I can’t get a grip on his face to gouge his eyes out. Fuck me! I hit him on the head, twice, but he didn’t care. I have to find more pain receptors ….

  —THAT’S RIGHT, ASSHOLE! I’LL RIP YOUR FUCKING BALLS OUT!

  I squeezed and yanked as hard as I could. I don’t know what’s still there, but he let go of my arm. He squealed like a puppy and jumped out from under me. It won’t last, though. He backed off, but he didn’t run away. I need a bigger rock, any weapon, but there’s nothing in this wasteland.

  He’s coming again. I have to give him my limp arm, again. I’m not sure I can do it without passing out. AARRRGGGHHHH! FUCK! There’s nothing left to break. He’s grinding bits of bone now, turning my hand into pulp. I think I’m done. I can’t reach his balls. I have nothing to hit him with and I’m not strong enough to strangle him. I’m …

  I don’t need to strangle him to make him choke. My dead arm is propping his mouth open. I can just … shove my good hand in there HARD, deep into his throat. Oh no, asshole, you’re not leaving my grip this time. He’s gasping for air. It’s working. He’s scared now, panicking, but he’s exhausted. He’s not nearly as strong as he was a minute ago.

  He stopped struggling. He’s just staring at me. I don’t know what I’m looking at. It’s not anger, nor fear. I think he just wants to know. He doesn’t understand what I am or what’s happening to him. I wish he didn’t have to die. He’d rip me to shreds the moment I let him go, but I’d kill him even if he didn’t. We’re both animals right now. Rage is the only thing keeping me alive.

  One last struggle, a final attempt at living. This is nature talking; I know the wolf has given up. He’s not moving. His chest is slowing down. He’s not dead yet, but he’s waiting for it.

  …

  …

  You can rest now.

  It feels wrong to leave his body like that, but I can’t feel my arm anymore. I’ll wrap what’s left of it in my shirt if I manage—

  —AAAGH! COME OFF ALREADY!

  … but the crimson beast next to me says I’ve lost too much blood already. I need to find help before the shock wears off. I was walking south before the world spun a thousand times. I don’t know where that is anymore. Footsteps. I see my footsteps. Over there. I remember now. I was heading for that small mountain.