Path of the Tiger

scored hollows of her visage, which was tattooed all over with arcane patterns.
‘You want to pay us that much to lead you to your own death?’ she squawked, and the strangled chuckles that erupted from her throat echoed in mocking waves across the camp. ‘You are mad,’ she continued, shaking her head and sighing. ‘You are all mad, like the others who came before you, and the others before them when I was but a girl. And as surely as they perished out there, punished for their arrogance by the Old Gods and Goddesses, so too will you perish.’
Vasilevsky’s face hardened as the crone’s wheezing laughter rang in his ears. His gloved right hand, meaty and strong, slid instinctively – and subtly – across his hips, and his fingers curled around the ornate hilt of his sabre. Before he could unsheathe the weapon, however, the officer next to him gripped his forearm with quick, quiet urgency.
‘Please let her know,’ Captain Higgins instructed as he took over, his Russian smoothly fluent but coloured with the unmistakable tinge of an English accent, ‘that she can, with all due respect, keep her opinions about our mission to herself.’ The twinkle that glimmered in his small brown eyes, and the deepening of the crinkled crow’s feet next to them straddled, with a smidgen of discomfort, the smeared divide between gentle compassion and veiled condescension. ‘All we are asking for is a guide to take us to the place we discussed, a request not by any means unreasonable. We swear on our honour, as oath-bound members of an ancient organisation of a most prestigious and noble pedigree, that we will not desecrate the site; we understand well its religious significance to her people. We simply wish to conduct some scientific research in the region, you see. Now, we have presented a most generous offer to this woman, as chief elder and medicine woman of this band, and all that we ask is that she discuss it with the young men of her clan. And perhaps instead of money, which her people have little use for out here, we will promise them our rifles and ammunition on our return. They will make for far more efficient hunting than spears and bows.’
While he spoke, Higgins maintained his firm, cautionary grip on his counterpart’s forearm, preventing him from drawing his weapon and unnecessarily escalating this situation. At the age of forty-three he was Vasilevsky’s elder by a mere decade, but their personalities marked them as being men of different generations. Higgins, by far the more conservative of the two, had been assigned command by his superiors precisely because of his even temperament and his diplomatic ability to defuse conflict, notwithstanding his martial abilities and extensive military experience. With so much hanging in the balance in terms of this mission’s goals, there could be no room for failure. Vasilevsky was tough as nails, a fearless if impulsive leader, and a ferocious fighter who had participated in the 1905 Revolution; a man of his time, of this epoch of rapid change, of the overturning of old ways and the uprooting of antiquated traditions and outdated customs. However, in spite of, or perhaps because of the revolutionary ideals he clasped with such fervent devotion to his breast, he lacked finesse when it came to negotiating more delicate situations.
Vasilevsky grunted and jerked his arm from Higgins’ grasp. At six foot two, he was a good few inches taller than his compatriot, and in addition was broader of shoulder and stouter of limb, but what the older, thinner man lacked in brute strength he made up for in speed and dexterity; he could move his sabre with astonishing rapidity and deadly precision, and he was well-versed in the art of combat. Higgins glared briefly at Vasilevsky, but in an instant he wiped the sourness from his long face. His pinched, angular features softened into a more amicable expression, a cordial smile sparkling with equal sincerity in his deep-set eyes and on his wide mouth, of which only his lower lip was visible. The rest of it was concealed behind an impressive walrus moustache, which, like what little hair remained on his balding pate, was mousy brown, streaked liberally with grey.
The interpreter, a middle-aged Ewenki man from a band who lived far closer to civilisation than this one, evidently had a way with words, for he managed to persuade the old woman to at least allow the outsiders to make camp here for the night. However, despite the offer of the rifles and ammunition, which would be a great boon to this band of pastoralist hunter-gatherers, the elder seemed no more willing to assist them than she had been prior to the upgrading of reward.
‘You have travelled long and far,’ she announced after the interpreter had finished his spiel, with words of welcome on her lips if not in her eyes. ‘Stay with us and rest for the night,’ she continued, opening her arms and sweeping them across the breadth of the camp in a grandiose gesture of hospitality, ‘before you turn and go back to where you came from.’
This response elicited only an aggressive, wordless snarl from Vasilevsky, but Higgins clasped his hands together and gave the old woman a subtle bow and a gracious smile.
‘Thank you for your hospitality, madame,’ he said, his tone imbued with expertly feigned warmth.
He then turned to address the men, a group of heavily-armed soldiers of various ethnicities and nationalities, along with two scientists and a mysterious prisoner who wore a long black cloak, baggy with many folds, which made it impossible to tell whether they were a man or woman. The large hood of the cloak veiled his or her entire face, shrouding it wholly in shadow. Shackling the prisoner’s ankles and wrists were a pair of extraordinarily thick chains, almost as stout and weighty as those used for boat anchors. He or she, strangely, did not seem too encumbered by what had to be a