Rings of the Inconquo Trilogy

by A. L. Knorr

  We drifted clear of the billowing dust cloud and sailed out over the plain of the valley. I smiled to see the people gathered below, so many Inconquo-blooded spared, though not all had made it. There was a pang in my heart, but I felt a little hand squeeze my shoulder.

  I looked up into the eyes of the brave one and a smile spread across her smooth features.

  “You’re right.” I squeezed her fingers gently. “It could have been much worse.”

  Neither of the girls had spoken and I supposed there was a good chance neither spoke English, but somehow it didn’t matter. Not now, anyway. They seemed to understand me just fine.

  The congregation of Inconquo-blooded was being watched over by the TNC security team, well-armed shepherds looking over a human flock, but I couldn’t see any of the Group of Winterthür agents.

  I brought the copper disc down near a knot of the watchful soldiers … and immediately blacked out.

  Water, cold and insistently wet, brought me back around. Squinting into the dusky sky, I saw Stewart kneeling over me. His face bore the biggest smile I’d ever seen on any person, and it was such a rare sight on his dour face it took a second to convince myself I wasn’t dreaming.

  “The girls, the twins?”

  “Safe, they’re safe,” Stewart said, his smile not budging an inch. “Turns out their pa was taken too and was all too happy to have ’em back. Just had to put a cherry on top, didn’t you?”

  “Something’s wrong with your face, Sarge.”

  “You did it, lass!” He chuckled, and, in another unprecedented move, scooped me up into a fierce hug. “Can’t believe it myself, and I dinna ken how, but you did it!”

  Crushed against his barrel chest, I couldn’t respond, but when he finally released me enough to let me breathe, I gave him a wry smile.

  “You had no confidence in your guardian angel, eh?” I chuckled, fighting back a cough. Despite the shower of water, my mouth felt dry as bone, and my chest ached.

  Stewart laughed and, with a casual display of strength, dragged me up to my unsteady feet. He kept one arm around me and with the other he handed me a canteen.

  “Well...” The old Scot looked sheepish. “I always thought being a cynic was part of the job, I suppose.”

  “Until today?”

  “Aye.” He gave my shoulder a shake. “Until today. It’s not every day some wee lass calls off armageddon, ya ken?”

  “I ken.” I took another large swig from the canteen.

  “Ibukun!”

  A voice, hoarse and desperate, called behind me, the name sticking in my heart. Only one living person in all the world said my name like that.

  “Ya binti!” Uncle Iry cried as I whirled, searching for him. “Ya habibti!”

  Jogging up the line of soldiers was Bordeaux, Uncle Iry cradled in his strong arms. Uncle Iry, thinner and more worn than ever, had his eyes fixed on me, one emaciated arm stretching towards me.

  The canteen fell from my grip, and I tore away from Stewart so fast I nearly pulled him over. My legs were still unsteady, each step trembling up my body to make my teeth rattle. Twice I stumbled, fingers brushing the earth as I fought to stay upright.

  “A’am!”

  I reached Bordeaux as he slowed and lowered Uncle Iry to the ground.

  “Oh, a’am,” I sobbed as I wrapped my arms around him.

  His arms slid around me, so frail and light, the grip of an old man.

  “Ibby,” he said, cheeks shining with tears. “I knew you would come. I knew you would save us.”

  My heart, despite the pain, loss, and the aftershocks of terror, felt only an aching relief. Victory had cost more than I’d ever imagined. In time it would all come crashing back and I’d have to process and heal. But for now: I was alive, the world was still spinning, and for the first time since their founding the Inconquo could live free of Ninurta’s shadow.

  That was something to smile about, no matter what lay ahead.

  “It is over now?” Uncle Iry asked softly, his face tired and worry-lined. “We are safe?”

  I looked down at him and smiled, wiping tears from his grizzled cheeks.

  “Better than that, a’am,” I whispered, drawing him so close, I wasn’t sure I would ever let him go. “We’re free.”

  Epilogue

  Rapping my knuckles on Jody Marks’ office door, she responded a moment later with her usual, “Come.”

  Opening the door, I almost ran into Stewart’s back.

  “I’ll contact our asset in Tripoli and begin to make the arrangements,” Stewart said before snapping off a salute and turning around.

  Stepping aside before he marched over me, I smiled and nodded as he left. The crusty sergeant’s expression didn’t change as his eye fell on me, but he did tip me a wink.

  “Ms Bashir.”

  “Sargeant.” I touched my forehead as he passed and shut the door behind him.

  Crossing to the chair in front of Marks’ desk, I sat down and waited expectantly. She took off the glasses she was wearing, folded them and set them aside.

  “How is the move going?” she asked. “Holloway Road, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded. I’d signed the lease for a new flat in Islington since my old place with Jackie wasn’t going to be big enough for four. It was a little premature, since it was too soon after Jackie’s surgery for her to come home, but I wanted to be all set up and ready by the time the private facility TNC had paid for gave her the okay to come home.

  “Good.” I crossed one leg over the other. “Marcus has healed enough to be able to handle some of the heavy lifting and Uncle Iry has been keeping us fed while we get organized.”

  “I hear that reports from Ms Davies’ physical therapists are positive?”

  My heart buoyed and I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. “They won’t make promises, but I can tell they have high hopes for her.”

  “Splendid.” Marks tapped her fingers on the desk.

  “You didn’t call me in here in the middle of my holiday to discuss Jackie’s health or ask about our new flat, so…” I gestured for her to get on with it.

  She cleared her throat. “Quite right. You’ll recall from an earlier conversation that TNC has a project we’re setting up to execute in North Africa.”

  “I remember.”

  “Libya, to be precise. In the Acacus.”

  My brows arched with interest. “Land of the Tashwinat Mummy. Interesting.”

  Marks snapped her fingers, pointed at me and grinned. “That. That right there is why you’re right for this job.”

  I cocked my head. “Sorry?”

  “You’ve studied archaeology. You already know about sub-Saharan finds. How are your acting skills?”

  “Uh…”

  “You are perfect to convincingly play the part of an archaeologist, as a cover, while forwarding an agenda to facilitate the awakening of a supernatural we would then recruit.”

  I blinked at her, bemused.

  She went on, ignoring my look of confusion. “You’re a young woman, she’s a young woman. You’re an archaeologist, she’s an aspiring archaeologist.” Marks was speaking quickly, her eyes glittering with excitement. Whatever she was babbling about, she was all enthusiasm.

  “Slow down. I never graduated, and who are we talking about?”

  Marks tented her fingers on a file folder I hadn’t yet noticed. “You must sign the agreement and accept the job before I can reveal the her identity.” She then nodded at a front corner of her desk where a small tablet sat.

  Annoyed, I leaned over and grabbed the device. Waking up the screen revealed a single document, a contract entitled Project Tempest. I skimmed it and looked back up at Marks before reading off a few lines.

  “Project prep starts in two weeks, should be wrapped up before the end of summer, involves a trip to Canada, and the Tadrart Acacus via Tripoli and Alawenat.”

  My pulse quickened at the thought of visiting the Sahara. I’d laid the dreams of a career as an
archaeologist aside after Inconquo abilities took over my life, but I still thought about it and missed it at times.

  Marks shifted forward. “Imperative to the success of the plan is maintaining the appearance of a true archaeological dig…”

  I looked up at Marks. “The appearance of an archaeology dig? Not a real one?”

  “Everything will be as authentic as we can make it. We’ve even hired a genuine Field Director with excellent experience. There will only be one person on staff who is not aware that the dig is a front.”

  My jaw dropped. “All this effort to trick one person? Why?”

  “It’s for her own good, trust me. Well? Do you want in?” Her eyes gleamed with a kind of hunger. Her excitement was catching.

  “Will it involve combat?”

  Marks’ smile faded. “Uh, not a lot, no. Perhaps a little faked danger with the local tribes. If it’s more soldiering you’re looking for, I might have something in Russia, but…”

  I put up a hand. “No! No, you misunderstand. I don’t want combat. I’ve had enough of it for now, thanks. Digging in the desert sounds like just the ticket.”

  She straightened. “So… you’re in?”

  At a glance, the project looked perfect. No combat, a visit to North Africa, an archaeological dig. I’d still have two weeks to get settled in our new flat, and I wouldn’t be gone all that long, plus I didn’t get paid if I didn’t work, so…”

  I nodded at Marks. “Hand me your stylus.”

  Her grin sparkled. “Great.”

  She waited while I signed the contract, then took the tablet and slipped it into a desk drawer.

  Leaning forward, I took the folder as she slid it across the desk. Opening it revealed a dossier on a tanned young woman with dark hair and pale grey eyes. She looked barely out of her teens.

  “Petra Kara,” I read aloud. “Canadian. Nineteen. Orphan.”

  I scanned the bullet points on the young woman’s life and immediately felt a kinship with her. My heart oozed warmth as I read the facts. She’d been raised in foster care, a straight A student, as rabid about archaeology as I had been at her age, and…

  My head snapped up and I looked at Marks wide-eyed. “She’s psionic?”

  Marks put up a hand. “It’s very light at the moment. Her therapist reports that it gives her a headache to read minds, and she can only move light items.”

  “Still, I don’t understand how you expect to pull the wool over her eyes when she’s telepathic. She’ll see right through it.”

  Miss Marks opened the desk drawer in front of her and pulled out a dull grey pebble. She set it on the desk in front of me. “That’s what we have this material for.”

  I picked it up, its resonance singing through my fingers like a soprano. “Wolfram?”

  She nodded. “Anyone carrying this on their person will be impervious to Petra’s attempts to read their mind. But it’s really just a stop gap. She doesn’t like to read minds and only does it when she feels it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Ah.” I handed the metal back to her. “And why do we have to stage this dig just for her?”

  Marks relaxed in her chair. “You remember I mentioned a supernatural that even Ninurta would not have been able to withstand?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s her, if we do our job successfully.”

  I shot Marks a side eye. “I don’t understand. She’s a light psionic who gets headaches when she uses her telepathic abilities. Unless she’s got something more up her sleeve…”

  “Oh, but she does.” Marks nodded toward the folder in my lap. “That young woman is in a class all her own. The locals would refer to her as the Euroklydon, but she’ll only come fully into her abilities if we give her a little nudge in the right direction.”

  Euroklydon. I knew this name but it took me a moment to unearth it from the dusty back shelves of my memory. “The Euroklydon was a great wind or storm mentioned in ancient scripture, wasn’t it?”

  “Very good.” Marks gave me another look of approval. “But she’s not the Euroklydon yet, and she’ll never become the Euroklydon unless we intervene.”

  “Why do it all in secret? Why not just ask her if that’s what she wants and then help her turn on her powers?”

  “She would never trust us if we did that. Believe me, this plan we’ve come up with is brilliant. It will ensure she’ll trust us, and that she’ll want to work with us. We’ve been watching her since birth, we know her personality inside and out.”

  Something uncomfortable niggled in my gut at these words, but I pushed it aside. Marks had been nothing but kind and supportive of me, and reporting to her was my job. I had people to support, and like she said, it was for Petra’s benefit.

  “Execute your part in this plan well and you’ll witness something that only happens once in a generation, the birth of the most powerful supernatural the world has ever known.” Jody Marks practically levitated off her chair at these words.

  I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. “How intriguing. Libya, here we come.”

  ***

  The End

  Don’t miss the story of Petra Kara in Born of Air, An Elemental Origins Novel.

  A.D. Schneider’s Notes

  It's funny that writing Metal Angel was coming to the end of a fantastic journey, while within the realm of the Elemental Origins this is just the beginning for Ibby. She still has a thrilling time ahead of herself with Petra in Born of Air, but for the time being my part in the story is over. Ibby, powerful and yet fragile, made of steel but oh so human, is out of my hands and into yours as she was always meant to be. A little somber maybe, but as much as I'll miss Ibby (and Marcus and Jackie and Uncle Iry) I'm walking away from this story a happy man. I'm happy because it has been nothing but great working with Mrs. Abby, who I owe so much to. I'm happy because in my own imperfect way I got to step into the world of the Elementals and tell a new story. Finally, I'm happy because I've been embraced so heartily by you, the devoted, fabulous, and numerous fans of Mrs. Abby. I may not have been able to conjure the same magic as your beloved author, but you gave me a shot at my own rugged word-weaving and made me most welcome and more than anything I hoped you enjoyed the tale I had to tell. Thank you guys.

  God only knows what the future holds, but I am certain I'll keep spinning my yarns somewhere and I'm certain Mrs. Abby has nothing but more wonders by land, sea, or air for you all to enjoy. I've had the privilege of consulting on a few, and Lord willing I will again, but no matter what I am thankful to her and to you, dear readers, for investing the most precious resources any of us have; your time and your attention. Thank you again and thus I bid you farewell, ila-laqaa'.

  -A.D. Schneider

  Acknowledgments

  This book and the two that proceeded it would not have been possible without so many people. First, thank you to my children and my family who had to put up with me locking myself away to hammer out another few thousand words. Your patience and support was incredible, and I am very grateful.

  Next, to the editors, Mr. Cross and Nicola Aquino, whose willingness to slog through my drafts, endure my ham-fisted writing, and just general ability to find the jewels which could be polished, I give my thanks and warmest regards. I never made it easy on you, but you were always up to the task.

  Of course, I can never forget the woman who is to blame for all of this. Mrs. Abby, you were willing to invest in me when I had so very little to offer, and even when there seemed so very little to show for it you kept pressing forward, lifting me up and pushing me to be better. I couldn't have asked for a better ally or a better friend, thank you.

  Last and most important, to my wife, my darling and my lady. You are the one who raises my head when I'm weary, tells me fearlessly when I am wrong, and the only one who every day convinces me that the fight is worth it. You are my sparring partner, my lover, and the peg o' my heart. I can't do it without you, and I praise God every day that I have you. Thanks, babe.


  -Aaron D. Schneider

  A.L. Knorr’s Notes

  When Ibby first came on the scene in Born of Air, I fell in love with her character and knew she had a much bigger story of her own to tell. Around the same time as I was penning Petra’s story, which I hope you get a chance to read, I found an eager and talented writer who helped me choreograph some excellent aerial combat scenes for The Kacy Chronicles. I was so impressed with his work, and I was so overwhelmed by my publishing schedule at the time that I asked him if he’d be interested in co-authoring Ibby’s story with me, a series I wanted to call Rings of the Inconquo. True to form, Aaron willingly waded into the story neck deep and leant his considerable imagination and skill to breathing life in Ibby, Uncle Iry, Marcus, Adrian Shelton, Ninurta, and all the other characters that made this series what it is.

  Thank you to Aaron for being so wonderful to work with, to our editing team of Brian Cross and Nicola Aquino, to my family and my husband for your unending support, and most of all to my readers, who never seem to tire of this universe. How blessed we are.

  Thank you.

  Abby

  Born of Air

  An Elemental Origins Novel

  Don’t miss the story of Petra Kara in Born of Air, An Elemental Origins Novel.

  A terrifying family secret will awaken her power. Embracing it may cost Petra her life.

  All Petra Kara wants in life is to study Archaeology at the University of Cambridge. And she's so close. She's got the grades, she's got the ambition. All she needs now is an outrageous sum of money and experience on an Old World archaeological excavation. If only she could find a way to get rid of her annoying low-grade telepathy. There's nothing Petra hates more than a cheat and a liar and it's too easy to cheat when you can read people's minds.