Mike checked his passport once again. He was pretty damn proud of his own forgery. One of the things he knew from a long time ago was how to copy signatures and pictures in minute detail. He had a photographic memory, an excellent eye for detail, and a steady drawing hand. This was part of his livelihood. He’d seen people die from a misplaced mark in a circle.
He closed the passport, glanced at the driver. The driver knew Kael, as they had spoken quietly together. Mike had a feeling that there would be a lot of that over the next few weeks, and he would have to dampen down his need to have all information regarding everything. He trusted Kael. Kael would know best here.
Dammit, Grim, are you crazy?
He reached over and wordlessly took Kael’s strong hand, squeezing it. Kael squeezed back. Mike didn’t look at Kael to see his reaction.
They got to the terminal and went through the checkpoint for international flights. No TSA people here, like in Paragon; no over-crazy security measures. Just a simple, “May I have your passport, sir? Where are you travelling, sir? How long do you think you’ll be there?” Kael answered most of the questions for him, because Mike answered, honestly, “I’m with him.”
Mike expected to board a huge aircraft and be crammed in with other passengers. Not so for Kael. Mike let himself be guided away from the terminals, to a small area toward the end of the airport. Someone opened a door for them, and they went directly out onto the tarmac. A small plane stood waiting just for them. A male flight attendant waited at the foot of the stairs. Grinning, Mike said nothing as he climbed aboard the plane. Three other people were there, business people from what Mike could tell, and Kael led him to the front of the plane, right near the pilot.
Kael stowed everything in the bins above, and the two men settled into the huge, leather chairs. Mike asked, “How did you get all this?”
Kael only smiled. “I know people.”
“I’m speechless.”
Kael smiled. “Have you ever flown before?”
“Not on a plane.”
“You’re in for a new experience, then.”
“Scott let slip that you plan on having me join that frequent flier club?” Mike smiled and winked.
At first, Kael didn’t quite know what he meant, but then he laughed.
They took off into the dark. Mike didn’t realize he was gripping the armrest so tightly that his knuckles were white until Kael put his hand gently atop his. Okay, he’d admit he was scared – he was flying with no control over the process.
He smiled a little at Kael, and when the light went off for the seatbelts, he breathed easier. Kael undid his seatbelt and sat across from Mike.
“We are going to Ankara.” He looked steadily at him. “I need you to remember what I taught you.”
“About?”
“Bladework.”
Mike nodded slowly. “So I’m going to be a bladesman here, not a mage?”
Kael nodded. “Magic will be used as a last resort. These men here understand a bladesman. You will have an advantage.”
There was a discrete knock on the door, and Kael called, “Enter.” The attendant – nice suits, these airline people, nice and tight – poked his head in. “Are you ready for dinner, my baas?”
“Yes,” he said.
Mike thought he was going to get something exotic for dinner, but they actually had a small steak, some potatoes – very American. It was light, but enough for him.
After dinner was cleared away and the door closed again, Kael quietly continued the conversation – in Arabic. Mike wore three fabric bracelets on his left wrist – one for Turkish, one for Russian, one for Arabic. If necessary, he could make more when needed. “A bladesman has a different…body set,” translated the amulet as he heard the words.
Mike touched the bracelet twice with his ring finger, and now he could speak and understand Arabic. He thought of what he was going to say in English, heard it in his head in Arabic, and repeated the words, the exact language and tone that he heard in his head. “Body language. Like I’m a predator.”
“No, not quite that.”
“That I’m not someone that can be messed with.”
Kael nodded slowly. “That is closer. You cannot be a threat here. But you cannot be a victim, either.”
Mike thought about that. They were going into dangerous territory. He had to look dangerous, which was the opposite of how a mage looks. A mage is supposed to look unpresuming, quiet. But if he had to look like a cobra instead of a sleeping rattlesnake…He sighed. “I can do that.”
“You’re going to have to, love,” Kael said.
Eventually they talked a bit about what they would do when they got there. “We will visit some bars, some places. I know you don’t like that –”
“But you have to introduce me,” Mike interrupted. “You know people, and you have to make sure they know I’m with you.”
He smiled gently. “Yes, among other things.”
Mike yawned, and tried to stifle it, but couldn’t. Mike knew he could no longer keep the adrenaline running, and he was going to crash pretty soon. The excitement of the trip had given way to the boredom on the plane. Kael nodded, almost imperceptibly, and asked for the man to come in and turn down the beds. Mike headed over to the washroom, and soon heard a light knock.
He opened it, to see Kael standing there. “How tired are you?” he asked, with a small grin.
Mike looked down, then slowly started to grin. “Not that tired.”
#
Sleep finally overcame him, which was good for a long, long flight. They arrived at an airport, not quite the middle of nowhere but not quite the middle of a big city, either. Going through customs was a breeze, considering this was Turkey and he was an American. It’s all Kael, he thought. The man’s a merc, you forget that. He’s a kind, gentle lover, your protector – but his job is a merc.
Mike expected the women in the airport to be dressed head-to-toe in black. Some where. Some had colorful clothes, but all wore headgear. Most of the men went without hats, all wore billowy clothes, either cape-looking things, or, at the very least, loose shirts and pants.
There was not one pair of jeans that he could find. Something hit him, right in the gut when he realized that. No jeans, no McDonald’s, no malls. This was a whole different world and he was the alien in it.
He moved closer to Kael, who sensed it. “What is it, love?”
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
Kael put his hand on Mike’s arm. “I know,” he said gently. “Take a few minutes, if you need to.”
Mike wasn’t sure if a few minutes would be enough. Kael leaned closer. “The women have to follow hijab, a dress code. Women are to cover everything except the hands and face. They use a chandor, that black cloak you see them wearing. They always cover their heads with a hijab.”
“You used that word twice.”
He smiled, “Yes. It means both the code and the head cover.”
“The women aren’t even looking at us.”
“They’re not supposed to.”
Mike thought a fleeting moment of Jade coming here, and how she would definitely not fit in. Why was he thinking about PI? The hell with them.
Mike watched one go by. “I guess I’m not supposed to talk to them, either.”
“Oh, you can. They will not look at you.”
“Why do they have to wear that?”
“It says it in the Qua’ran.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I believe that a man has a right to choose whatever religion he feels is right for him. Come on over here.”
Kael guided Mike through the terminal, to the offices of “Lucht Blauwe Handvest” – the charter plane that they had used. They picked up their bags there from a bag handler, and then Kael started walking toward the back area. Mike glanced at the maintenance people, but they didn’t seem to pay any mind, so he just followed.
They ended up in a back room, surrounded by shelves and boxes. Kael took down a box and opened it, then pulled out a shirt. “Here, wear this.”
Mike took a hold of it. It was a heavier than a cotton shirt, but not quite so heavy as a winter coat. It looked like regular material, but Mike knew it for what it was. “Kevlar?”
“No,” Kael said. “More advanced than that.”
“Impervium?”
Kael only smiled. “Don’t take that off for anything. It could save your life.”
Mike thought that he could always generate a shield, but, if someone else got first strike, he wouldn’t be able to pop something off that quickly. He shut up and slipped it on.
Kael pulled out two daggers and handed them to Mike. “Can you fight with these?”
“Left handed.”
Kael raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“It’s the second blade, in my off hand. It’s mostly for defense, though, parrying.”
“Can you be offensive with it?”
“If I have to.”
Kael attached one to a slit in the armor on the right hand side, so Mike would have to cross his body to get at it, and the other at his left hip. He then dressed Mike with a long, flowing shirt, so that both blades were easily concealed.
Kael then fished in the back of the shelf and pulled out a sword. Mike gasped; it looked, for a minute, like the sword he had given up to PI. Kael presented it to Mike, and he pulled it of its leather sheath, expecting to see the runes glow as he did. There were no runes on this blade, but its weight and length were the same that he was used to. He attached this to his right-hand side. He pulled on billowing pants over it, and wore a sash to cover it, but if one looked closely, one could see the tip of the pommel poking out of the side of the sash. Mike went to cover it, but Kael readjusted it so that it could be seen. “Not a threat. Someone not to be messed with.”
Mike nodded. Now that he looked more like a normal Turk – at least in dress, though still with the blond hair – he felt he could blend in more. Kael finished getting himself dressed, looking more like an exotic Persian. He had his dagger exposed. Mike realized his place in this – he was the wild card. He hugged Kael as Kael straightened out Mike’s shirt, and Kael grinned, kissing him. “We’ll go to the hotel and check in. Then we have places to go and people to see.”
#
Another limo waited for them outside of the offices, and Kael preferred to carry the suitcases himself. Mike whispered along the ride, “I’m famished.”
“We’ll eat something when we get there,” Kael whispered back, and held Mike’s hand the all the way. Mike watched the nightlife go by, noticing first, that there was one, and second, that the streets here looked pretty much like normal city streets. He took comfort in that.
They arrived at the hotel at around 8:30. Mike was taking the jet lag pretty well, he thought, after glancing at his phone – it was three a.m. local time back home. He decided not to do that anymore.
The hotel, on the outside, was high and well-lit, with a black marquee that advertised itself as the Hotel Ickale. Again, Kael took the bags, and carried them himself into the lobby.
Mike gaped like a tourist. None of this was what he was expecting or used to. The tables and chairs looked like museum pieces. The floor were marble. A red carpet welcomed them and led them to the reception area. Mike stood at the edge of a couch and touched the velour of the pillows, surprised and amazed that he was here.
Kael grinned crookedly at Mike. “You’re going to hate this next part. I’m pretty sure you’ll find it in part baffling and part frustrating, and I promise I’ll try and make sense of it to you afterwards.
“We’re about to visit ten or so places, in quick succession, and I have to talk with a lot of people.” Kael scratched his arm, thoughtfully. ““Can I ask a favour? When we go into each place, stay one step to the left and half a step behind me, to my left. If I am talking to one person for any length of time, it’s politic and polite to not stare at them, but kind of look a little away. Indirect, you see?”
Mike got used to the deferential stance. He didn’t mind it, actually; he had no idea how to act around here, and Kael’s constant coaching was more of an assistance than a hindrance. He kept his eyes downcast, or off to the side, looking no one in the eye, even as he felt he was being examined a few times. That took a lot of concentration and will.
The first place they had gone into, Mike was on high alert. By the fifth place, he was wired from the Coke (did they use real cocaine here?) but knew that to refuse would be to insult hospitality. He sure did not want to get on anyone’s bad side.
As they approached bar number five, Mike watched as Kael nodded to someone at the entrance. The person nodded back slowly, seeming to exchange an entire conversation with just those motions. Mike remembered sometimes that the Circle Mages could do this – it wasn’t telepathy, but just simple motions of the hand, a nod, a movement of the eyes – some code as old as time itself. They went down a set of dim stone steps, well worn and probably slippery to those who didn’t watch themselves.
The bar at the bottom was similar to the others, dim, full of people, but not crammed-full. Mike kept to Kael’s left and behind, examining the area. He would catch a few eyes as they milled about. I’m not a threat to you, but I can be, he thought at them, knowing that would reflect through his eyes. There were micro-nods or a micro-blink, and then the men would continue their conversation or look right through him.
Kael flipped a coin to a cripple sitting in a corner. That’s a nice gesture, Mike thought, and went back to being wary. He happened to glance around and his eye was caught by another man. Mike knew his own brow furrowed; something was familiar about him. He couldn’t let that distract him, though.
Kael went to the bar and ordered something that sounded like “Rakki and Coke” though it was hard to hear through the din. The amulets on his wrists – disguised as mere friendship bracelets with the spell woven in by his own hand – translated most of the languages for him. If he wanted to speak, he would need to touch the specific amulet. However he didn’t have to touch them in order to hear the words translated, but some things didn’t make sense to his ears. The words were odd, as if transliterated – snatches of words, bits of conversation, nothing completed.
Mike followed Kael’s movement against the bar, and he felt he was on display for a moment. Perhaps they were. There was that strange man again, as Mike caught him. The man’s eyes were green, unusual among these dark-haired, dark-eyed men in the bar. Mike broke the gaze, rubbing his eyes, murmuring the spell, “Show me magic.” He opened his eyes again, to look upon the man, and this time Mike knew what the familiarity was.
“Ah,” Mike said, and Kael glanced at him. Mike shook his head and rubbed his eyes again, dismissing the spell. The other man was a mage of sorts, a magician, sorcerer, augur, something; Mike didn’t want to look in detail. The man must have noticed that about Mike, too. Again, he thought, I’m not a threat… and made sure that his hand was far away from the left-side dagger.
Kael touched Mike’s arm and they headed toward a corner table. An older man sat, surrounded by men that looked like they could chew iron and spit out nails. Let’s not fuck with each other, Mike hoped to convey through his eyes, as Kael fished a seat for Mike to take. The man looked about sixty, pretty fit, his face pockmarked on one side. He had gray hair, a long grey beard, dark, almost black eyes; and reminded Mike of some venerable old judge of some ancient tribe somewhere. Mike saw the curved blade at the man’s side. This older man could take care of things just as quickly as the men with the guns next to him could. The man nodded once as both men sunk into a chair at the same time. Mike hid a smile. I couldn’t have planned that if I tried.
Kael slid out a slim blade and set it gently on the table. This blade looked old and well used in a battered leather sheath. Mike wondered fleetingly about it but kept his mouth shut. Kael would tell, in due time.
The older man began, with a slight glance to the legless man in the corner, “A considerate gesture.”
Kael stated honestly, “I could be him, and if I am I’d only get by on the consideration of others.”
The older man nodded. Mike listened carefully to those words. Well, that’s something a merc would say, right?
The bartender set down the drinks, and Kael pushed the Coke toward Mike. Mike nodded his thanks and held it in his hand. Kael had set his hand on the blade and kept it there, protecting it, Mike thought.
Kael raised and drank half of his drink, whispering “Asha” and exhaled in apparent satisfaction of the drink. All the men raised their drinks, and Mike noted this, raising his, repeating the same word.
The older man nodded imperceptibly and said, “Enjoy what is good and forbid what is wrong, ‘Aql-Kael?”
Kael gave a small nod and set down his empty glass, turning it upside down as he did, the last drops spilling onto the table. The older man looked at that. He paused, looked directly at Kael and Mike, as if taking the both in at the same time. Kael said one word, “?av?at.”
Kael bowed his head and rose, Mike scrambling up after him. Kael put the blade back among the folds of his clothes and flicked a farewell to the table. He gave Mike a small grin and brushed his arm to guide him toward the door.
The man Mike had seen watched them and Kael was moving toward him. Mike kept thinking, No fighting, no fighting, and then Kael sighed, almost in relief. Mike looked at Kael curiously. The green-eyed man stopped, touching Kael’s cheek. Mike had advanced, a spell on his lips and his hand at his dagger, but Kael had already seen both men’s movements and put a hand out to stop Mike. It was the briefest of touches, and Kael watched the man’s green eyes go wide.
Kael made a motion when the man removed his hand; the man made another motion, and this time it was Kael’s turn to be wide-eyed. He put his sunglasses on and stepped out into the street. Mike finally could hold it in no longer.
“Okay, what was all that about?”
“I’ll tell you, I promise,” he said quietly. “Another place first.”
After another bar, which didn’t seem as tension filled as the last, Kael brought him to an open-air food court, where they ate Beryani and Aash. After sopping up the rest of the juices with the pita bread (probably not very Persian, but very, very American), Mike asked the question again. “What happened in that bar?”
“That place back there with the rassir? He was the amputee sitting near the corner, the one I tossed the coin to.”
“The Rassir? What’s that?”
“Rassir? It’s a title, of sorts, and a role. A rassir anchor’s a specific place, it’s theirs. While they are present, certain rules apply. Kind of… an agreement or treaty between a lot of people. Quite often rassir are people who’ve become disabled through their life, and the payment they get is their income.
“But before that, I saw the spotter, the guy standing around twenty metres away, outside. Had a conversation, let him know I was going in, knew the rules, wasn’t going to be a problem, wasn’t just going in for a drink. He wished me luck, more or less, and let me know he would stand guard and let us all know if someone unexpected came in after.”
“We were checked out as soon as we came in. Baha had word from the spotter. Nice crowd, none of them any reason to object to us. I let the rassir know I was here ‘on business’ of a sort, the one I was to speak with – Imam – picked that up and let me know, saying basically ‘Over here, all clear.’ I ordered us the drinks, letting Baha, and about four other people, know you and I were a team, love.”
“Baha? Imam?”
“Baha is the bartender. Imam, the older man you saw.
“Imam’s an elder. Lawmaker. Judge. Has a lot of sway in this area. A lot comes to him he has to rule on, too. Lot of customs and etiquette. He’d invoked a level of protection as we went over, and I sat in the seat given up for a respected friend, counsellor, or envoy. I let him know I was indeed ahh, ‘on the warpath’, so to speak. I’m in his territory, I told him a lot was at stake, and he knew what that meant. I asked him for an Insight, and elucidation. He saw it in the drops of raki I spilt. Like reading tea-leaves…. Anyway, took all I had, and all I guessed, and surmised, and other things, and wove me ?av?at.”
“And the man who touched you?”
“Ahh. A mystic chappie, fair high up as these things go. Thankfully.” He said no more about him.
“No trouble from him?”
“No trouble from him. Or you, love?” Kael gave Mike a slight grin.
“This isn’t my world, Kael,” Mike said quietly. “I wouldn’t even know where to start a fight.”
Kael laughed gently. “It wouldn’t take much in places. But you’re doing fine.”
#
“Now, for a treat,” Kael said, as they finally finished leaving the last bar. Mike was guidedguided through some alleyways to a doorway. He knocked, and the door opened.
People had left jackets in the foyer, and a young man took their coats. They went to another section room, offset a little from the foyer. This room had lockers.
Kael started to undress. Mike blinked, and also did, though he felt slightly self-conscious. As he was undressing, naked men came walking in, nodding to the two of them. Mike looked at Kael, now naked, and Mike searched for a towel or something to cover what he thought about seeing his boyfriend naked.
Kael smiled, “Don’t worry, love, it’s nothing that hasn’t been seen before.”
“Not by everyone else.”
Kael saw someone walking by with some towels and asked for one. He gave it to Mike. “Here you are.”
“Sorry, modesty…”
“Since when are you modest?”
“Since being in a different country with different rules–”
As soon as they walked into the first room, he was assaulted by heat. Not only was the room hot, but so were the men. Some had towels, some had none, and some were making out in the corner. Kael brought him over to the side, and sat down on the warm towel he had brought. Mike wrapped his around and sat down.
They lounged a bit, Mike’s hand trailing across Kael, both of them kissing each other, hands roaming along each other. They went to another room, with private alcoves, and there, Mike let his towel drop.
They eventually ended up getting into the pool, relaxing there, and Mike got the best massage of his life, feeling like a relaxed wet noodle. But Kael wasn’t done, as they went to yet a last room, with more men doing more than just making out. Well, thought Mike, when in Turkey…
Relaxed, satiated, and all the way satisfied, they retired to the hotel for a quick catnap. After that, they gathered up their gear and checked out. Kael asked Mike, “Do you know how to ride a motorbike?”
“I know how to ride a bike. It shouldn’t be so hard, right?”
Kael only smiled, “Another thing to teach you, love.”
Mike found himself walking one step behind and to the left of Kael even as they walked out the door. There was another man, about Mike’s age, who stood next to what looked like a military jeep. “Good day,” he said cheerfully, and helped Kael with the bags, lashing them down. Mike’s sword was in the suitcase. “I am Pavle.” He didn’t look Turkish, being of fairer hair but brown-eyed. Kael sat with Mike in the back, and they started out of Ankara.
They stopped at a place, not quite a village, but not quite a city, and Kael had Mike change into something a little more military. Desert camo pants and military boots, a tank shirt, the singlet, a shirt, a jacket. A cap completed the ensemble.
Kael said, as they dressed, “You’ll like ?av?at, I think, Mike. or maybe come to like it. We’ll be there two days, it may seem longer. Not sure yet. After that?” and Kael looked troubled “I’d guess further in, probably to the Black Caucasus.” He took out a map, laid it out, tracing the top border of Georgia. “It’s one of the most beautiful places in the world, not quite as good as my mountains,” he teased, “But we’ll be going into the darker parts, where shadows will be… just that little bit wrong. Dark, as in hard to see Mike… not physically, either. It’s a truly dangerous place for us.”
“Kael. I’m a dark mage. I can work with the dark.”
“What did you tell me before about the other man?”
Mike looked blankly at him.
“You said this isn’t your world.” Kael bought himself back to the here and now “That’s for later, have to finish here, enjoy the night, and head out tomorrow. And Mike? ?av?at, that’s the place for me to tell you about things like the Black Caucasus.”
Mike, by this time, was exhausted again. On the road, Mike fell asleep against Kael, and he thought Kael did too.
The sleep felt long but was not refreshing, as Mike could still hear the noise of the road around him. The jeep stopped and Mike felt – and smelled -someone different next to him. This time it was Pavel. Kael was taking the driver’s seat. Maybe they were going somewhere that Pavel didn’t know. Whatever. He dozed off again.
The jeep bounced him awake. Pavel was still asleep. “Sorry, love,” Kael said, seemingly driving on what did not look like a road but more like a trail, “Nothing for it.”
“You could have–” another jostling bounce, “–warned me.” As long as Mike didn’t talk, he didn’t have to worry about hitting another hole and biting his tongue off.
They came within view of what looked like a farm, and Mike prayed that this was their stop.