The Exiled Gem

An Uninvited Pursuit

Attitude is the difference between an Ordeal and an Adventure.
- Anonymous

They did reach Drum Hills. Alive.

But nothing improved. Hills, Alexandra surmised - were NOT her favorite landform. For every two steps she took, there was some small rock, pebble or slippery moss growth sitting deceptively, with the only goal to slip her off.

She was glad for her mountain climbing lessons. They were not as challenging as this, but rather relatable. And the main point was that there were encampments here.

And the men, were not grunting. They were shouting, roaring and indiscriminately yelling. And the amplitude was high enough to make her ears ache.

They stopped behind one camp. Alexandra peeped in -

A man stood in the center, in front of him was a huge plate of white thing - salt. Even as Alexandra watched, he picked the salt up, in fistfuls and began rubbing them across his whole face. The white crystals turned pink as his skin scraped off and then - red.

He thrust his hand into the plate once again - picked up the salt and rubbed them over. Blood kept dripping and turning the white substance pink - to crimson to dark red. And he didn't so much as wince. 

Alexandra was rooted to the spot, kneeling down by the encampment and watching the progress, horrified. Her legs seemed to have turned to lead. She'd seen a lot of things, but this - she had no idea what he was doing. Or - why.

'Mabel, come on!' Watson whispered, pulling at her shoulder.

'What's he doing?!' Alexandra demanded, not moving. She pulled him down, beside her and pointed inside the tent. Watson frowned at the thing, his face darkened and he shook his head.

'He is rubbing himself with salt - so that when he's hit - it doesn't hurt him. He's increasing his - tolerance. And, it means they are deadly serious about what they are doing... now come!' He hissed, and pulled her off.

But that was the end of violence. The others were all behaving and appearing pretty normal. Laughing and joking. Playfully pounding each other on the back or the chest. But it all made Alexandra's spine shiver. Everything felt hostile. Each movement of theirs felt deadly. She had been among hundreds of men before as well. But that had felt challenging and friendly. Healthy. This, was downright a death trap. Spying here was impossible. They could only stay for sometime and then run away. It was the only sane thing possible.

Some - with their faces covered, were practicing to run down the hills at terrifying pace. Others were flipping over, archery practice, sword fighting, unarmed combat and some were even having breakfast. Why not, terrorists felt hungry too!

'Why are we even continuing?!' Alexandra asked the two men, 'We know they are terrorists- let's go back!'

'Where's the proof? They could be something else- they haven't got any arms. This could be a- summer camp!' Daniel said.

'Exactly, Captain. It isn't written on their foreheads WE ARE TERRORISTS. We need better proof.'

'Fine!' Alexandra grumbled, 'Bu-'

'Shh,' Said Daniel, 'There!' He pointed to somewhere in the distance. Alexandra followed his finger...

One camp stood out from the rest. Not only in sheer size... but also, it was the material... not any cheap quality tent. This was a military camp.

And even in that- not any military camp. It was a makeshift weaponry. Used by soldiers in wars.

The three spies looked at each other. If they were thinking the same thing as Alexandra- this was a Storage Centre. And it was conclusive evidence. Ammunition in non-military regions was conclusive proof of terrorism. Of indirect warfare.