The Barsoom Project

“Right, sure. The satellite. And they caught the Raven while he was in human form.” She sounded doubtful but afraid. “We’ve got to find Sedna.”

The five Thunderbirds preened, and ministered to each other, and inspected their wounds. From time to time one would glance up at the frail humans who had set them an impossible task. The birds seemed so beautiful, so terrible, but there was a fragility beneath the strength. Try as he might, he couldn’t get the image of those shattered eggshells out of his mind.

Human and Thunderbird owed each other much. Max felt fumble-tongued, but he knew he should speak.

They let him approach, watching him from the depths of those emotionless, void-black eyes. Max stood close enough to touch, but didn’t. Dammit, he didn’t know when Dream Park switched from hologram to mechanical, and he didn’t want to spoil the illusion now. For him, at this moment, these creatures were as real as his companions.

“Thank you, great ones.”

A low, buzzing voice reverberated through his body. “ We have repaid our debt. When next we meet, beware!”

Then the great eagles, one at a time, spread their wings and veered away. The Gamers stood silently in the snow, watching until the Thunderbirds vanished into the clouds.

Snow Goose spoke. “Legend says that the entrance is here in the mountains. I don’t know exactly where.” A gust of wind blew her straight black hair into her face, and she paused to wipe the strand aside. “We’re going to form a circle, and have a prayer smoke.” She motioned them down against the mountain wall, under a slight overhang where they had a little protection from the weather. When they were all seated in a circle, she produced a leather pouch from her backpack. She undid the thong tie with fingers and teeth, and shook a hand-rolled cigarette out.

“Tobacco?” Max was shocked. “I haven’t seen tobacco since Milan.”

“Nicotine can save your life,” Snow Goose said piously. She lit it, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled in a thin stream that was so white it seemed to glow. “To my brothers in the north,” she said. “Brothers of the mind, children of the wind. Guide us, help us. Help us find the doorway to the nether kingdom, to the land of the dead, to the realm of the All-Mother.”

She blew a second puff directly into the whistling wind. The smoke should have vanished instantly, but it didn’t. It merely drifted, as if on the faintest of breezes. “The south. Brothers of the heart. Help me feel my way. Let your water nurture us, and help us in our quest!” Another breath. “Brothers of the east, you who are of spirit, beings of fire and light. Open the path. Show us the way!”

With a final puff, she saluted the West. “Brothers of the west! Children of the Earth! Holders of physical form, guardians of the body, protect us in our quest.”

The smoke: it had not dissipated into the wind, although the wind continued to build. Four tendrils of smoke were drifting haphazardly, ignoring the wind.

Snow Goose was sliding into a trance. “Ohhh… they are near. The dead, the endless legions of dead, are near. Show us! Great… great evil! There is great evil…

Four tendrils of smoke turned and twisted in the wind, but would not go where the wind went. Instead they were beginning to move all in the same direction, turning like four blind snakes who have caught a scent. They drifted toward the mountain wall. One by one they brushed against the gray rock, and again, and, gradually, were gone, scattered by the wind or absorbed by the rock.

The mountain began to shudder.

“Jesus! What’s going on?” Orson yelled.

The snow above them began to tremble. Snow Goose, stirring from her trance, suddenly screamed, “Up against the wall!”

Kevin muttered, “-motherfuckers!” But he was moving, rolling, like the other Gamers.

Snow Goose’s warning barely came in time. The slight rumbling that had alarmed Orson abruptly became a thunderous, malevolent roar, and their entire world turned white as countless tons of snow and displaced rock crashed past them.

They huddled together, tight against the wall. Somebody down at the other end screamed, and Max didn’t blame him a bit. He felt sick to his stomach, genuine gut-fear hammering at his desperate attempt to remember that it was only a Game. He closed his eyes tightly, and waited.

After an endless time the ground stopped shaking, and Max opened his eyes again.

And could see nothing. His reaching hand met a solid layer of snow.

Francis Hebert triggered a flashlight. The luminescence lit them an eerie yellow in their tomb of ice. The overhang was all that had saved them.

For a long time, no one spoke. There was the sound of their constricted breathing, and the low, bass rumble of a distant tremor. Then even that died away.

Snow Goose broke the silence. “I guess the Gods were listening,” she said calmly, and lit another cigarette.