by Adam Carter
Water tore from the lake directly beneath her and Tarne veered to one side, not having expected the geyser to have risen from nowhere. She settled her glider, risking a swift glance behind to see the geyser settling, and cursed herself for a fool. It seemed not all the vents registered in her eyes as black or white masses before exploding at her. The geyser behind her had been blue, which meant blue-coloured water had been passed through the vent. It would also mean each geyser would be different, dependent upon the colour of the water being pumped through.
Tarne looked upwards and saw that the tunnel stretched on for another few hundred metres at least. She had been forced to cut her velocity somewhat, and knew she would not be able to regain any of that until she was out of the tunnel. Within the tunnel, the winds were terrific, although she knew she could not afford to gather speed too quickly, else she would not be able to notice the geysers as they attacked. She saw her neighbouring glider shoot off, heedless of her decision, and silently wished him luck.
White froth appeared before her and Tarne pulled her glider to the right, narrowly avoiding the plume of water. The spray washed over her, and she blinked the water from her eyes just in time to dodge back to the left as another geyser reached for her. Water was exploding all around now, and she began to wonder whether the geysers were motion-sensitive.
The end of the tunnel was coming into view and she watched as her rival sailed speedily towards it. Suddenly an entire row of geysers erupted at the far end of the tunnel, so many so that it would have been impossible to have evaded them all. The glider was caught by one, the water striking a wing and sending the machine into a spin from which the operator could not save it. Both glider and pilot fell into the lake, and not together.
Tarne decided that even if the previous geysers had not been timed, those of the final hurdle most assuredly were and, offering silent thanks to the hapless contestant, Tarne levelled off. She knew she would not be able to evade these last geysers, and so had to entrust to speed and luck.
Tarne caught as much of the updrafts as she possibly could and flew directly into the line marking the end of the tunnel. The geysers instantly erupted about her, and Tarne forced as much speed as she possibly could into the little glider. But it did not prove to be enough. A spray of water caught her wing and her glider went spinning. Tarne held onto her contraption, and instead of attempting to keep the glider steady, she forced it further into a spin. She broke through the row of geysers, spinning all the while, and pushed herself in what she prayed was an upward direction. Her luck withheld, and as she veered off her glider’s angle of ascent, she realised she had chosen correctly.
She had made it through the third hurdle.
Tarne pulled her glider about, heading back for the field. There would be but one further stage of the contest, and still there was no sign of Darkthorne. She could see Sparky and Kiel shouting support at her, and as she passed over the heads of the crowds, she heard roars of approval from everyone. Clearly no one had ever recovered from a hit by a geyser, and if nothing else, for this had Heather Tarne set a world record.
She allowed herself a small smile.
Only one other glider had made it through the contest with her, and Tarne didn’t have to look to know it was the Nagas. She noticed Darkthorne standing beside Sparky and Kiel and her heart caught in her throat. He was waving pleasantly to her, holding both hands open to show he carried with him no red flag. Sparky had fetched it, as Tarne had requested, although Darkthorne was not displaying it for her to see.
Tarne breathed a sigh of relief, for she did not know whether she would be able to win this competition, but at least now she knew she was entirely free to try.
The two gliders flew casually, in gentle, sweeping motions which kept them aloft but did nothing to make any sudden moves. Tarne eyed the Nagas pilot and noted the blank expression he returned. The Nagas was examining her glider for damage, and she quickly did the same with his. There was no damage. The Nagas had flown the perfect route, had not even scraped a wing or caused a single splinter to fall from the bodywork. It was a perfect glider, in perfect condition.
Tarne did not look forward to the final event.
The final stage was a head to head involving the remaining contestants. Sometimes there was only the Nagas glider remaining and thus it was declared the champion. Sometimes another glider, possibly even two, made it this far, although this year it was only the Nagas and Tarne. They would not fight one another, their gliders were not allowed to make any physical contact, although their purpose now was to force one another from the sky. Tarne had practised this over and over, and she had not been looking forward to this round at all.
The Nagas pilot seemed to hold no such thoughts.
The referee’s gun bellowed and the two contraptions split apart and away from one another. Tarne angled her glider upwards as soon as she was able, attempting to gain a height advantage over her opponent, and the Nagas compensated effortlessly. Tarne twisted down in a steep dive, trying to scare the Nagas into turning suddenly to the side and thus lose control of his glider, although the Nagas cared nothing for such and dipped the nose of his machine so it sank with her, angling off to shoot forwards and away.
Tarne quit her spiral and veered off before she herself would have struck the ground, and again put some distance between herself and her foe. The Nagas, she noted, had yet to attack, and so she took the initiative again, for a great gust of wind had come upon her and she intended to make full use of it. The wind, seemingly on her side after she had entrusted her future to it earlier at the pit, shot her forwards, and the Nagas glider seemed for certain to be in trouble, for it would be fighting against the wind, and would not be able to evade her easily. The Nagas, however, reached up very calmly and pulled on two cords, and the leather coating his glider’s wings flapped loose so his wooden-frame glider would drop suddenly. Tarne, surprised by this strange turn of events, shot past him just as he pulled back down upon the ropes, drawing the leather back across the wings.
Tarne turned her glider back into the wind, although found she had fallen for the trap, and that now the wind was against her. The Nagas, meanwhile, had taken her own position and was coming straight for her on his first attack run. The glider spun maddeningly, so furiously that Tarne believed the pilot was already out of control, and she veered off, forced to angle downward by the sharp decline of her opponent’s glider. The wing of the Nagas came straight for her and Tarne twisted as much as she could. She heard a sickening sound as her own wing scraped a terrible indentation into the field beneath her, and she forced her glider up to escape a total crash. The Nagas had turned around by this point, although was flying casually some distance away, clearly noting her movements and assessing her reflexes. While it may have been human nature to attack and attack again, ever to seize upon advantages as they appeared, the Nagas were cool and collected, and always evaluated everything before committing themselves to action.
Perhaps, she reasoned, this went some way to explain the success rate of the Nagas. Humans were impulsive, Nagas were not. Tarne realised that every pilot that had been set against the Nagas in the years before had likely been some form of popular jock, eager to win the contest and claim the title never before claimed over a Nagas. Pride was the downfall of humanity just as it had proven the downfall of Lucifer millennia earlier, and Tarne decided there and then that the humans had failed before because they had been overconfident. They had cared too much for the victory, had all expected they would be the one to at last defeat the Nagas. Tarne closed her eyes as she tried to reach out with her psychic powers, although could not penetrate the mind of the Nagas. She could not therefore anticipate his moves, as had been suggested to her only yesterday (was it really only yesterday?), which meant her powers were totally useless. Her mind would win her through this, however, and it was to her mind she now trusted.
“All right, Nagas,” she muttered, “now it’s time to lose that title.” She opened her eyes, and charg
ed.
The Nagas had expected such an attack of course, and did not react. At the final instant, just as Tarne had built herself up to maximum speed, the Nagas rose, heading up and over Tarne’s line of attack. Tarne had anticipated this, however, and rose at the exact instant as had the Nagas. She had been watching his hands, his eyes, and had reasoned he would turn either up or down. She had chosen up, turned herself in that direction, and had thankfully proved lucky. The Nagas showed the first emotion she had seen from him, and quite pleasantly that emotion was fear, as Tarne’s glider shot straight for him. Acting quickly, but not in a panic, the Nagas twisted and shot downwards instead, although again Tarne anticipated this movement and responded accordingly, acting and not reacting so that her movements entirely matched those of her foe.
The Nagas at last began to panic.
Tarne forced his glider downwards, both their vehicles spiralling now as the one fought to escape the other even as both plummeted. The Nagas pilot attempted to pull back, and Tarne moved with him, following now and praying the ground was closer than it actually was. The Nagas managed to pull up mere instants before he would have struck the ground, and Tarne too pulled up so she would not plummet directly into the trap of her own making.
The relief of the Nagas was, however, short-lived, and Tarne grinned to herself as she realised he had not recognised her trump until now, by which time it was all too late. The panel of judges was seated behind a single desk, and the two gliders had come far too close to it. The desk rose only half a metre off the ground, although with precision flying, having a wooden barrier half a metre high was far too much to be able to avoid. The judges bodily flung themselves away from the oncoming glider, and the Nagas pilot attempted to put himself into a roll, although it was too late. His wing clipped the table, splintering it and throwing it end over end, and the impact, even though only slight, was enough to disorientate the glider’s trajectory. The pilot attempted to compensate, screwing about, his rudder slamming against the ground and tearing free, and somehow he managed to steady the glider and remain in the air.
Tarne headed straight down his throat.
The Nagas panicked again and threw himself to the left without even looking, not realising he had not levelled off entirely and that a turn to the left would actually bring him just a few inches from the ground. His wing scraped through the grass, and the main body slammed down harshly. The Nagas pilot attempted to pull himself free, although at this stage it was no longer even possible.
The glider ground to a halt and Tarne shot past him overhead, still moving.
The contest was over. After so many years, the Nagas had been defeated.
Tarne turned her glider about, circling the crowds several times as they cheered. Something exploded close to her and she realised that some of the students had arranged a fireworks display for a time when a human team would win, and she laughed aloud. She had never really much cared as to whether she won the contest, although now she had done so she understood at last what it was like to play to the crowds, to win tournaments in sport and just what it meant to be a celebrity. Her future was now open to her, which was true for her entire team, for they could now do whatever they pleased and be paid huge sums of money in order to do it.
Tarne eventually brought her glider down for a landing, unstrapping herself quickly and throwing herself into the gleeful arms of her awaiting team-mates. Students past and present had flooded the field and were congratulating the team both verbally and physically. Tarne could see floating news cameras and heard reporters shouting into their microphones; she had never witnessed an event as large as this, let alone starred in one.
“I knew you could do it, Heather,” Sparky laughed, slapping her on the back. “I knew you had it in you.”
“I’m glad you proved me wrong up there,” Kiel said.
“Piece a cake,” Tarne laughed herself, although her limbs felt incredibly wobbly.
“That Nagas pilot didn’t look too happy, did he?” Sparky said, trying not to grin too broadly at the fact.
“Not used to losing, are they?” Kiel said.
“Maybe they’ll have to rethink their strategies from now on,” Tarne said, feeling suddenly overcome by the tremendous amount of sheer elation around her. “Nothing to say, Jagrad? I’d have thought by now you’d’ve been signing confectionary deals and everything.”
“Time enough for that later,” Darkthorne said, hugging her tightly. “Well done, my girl. I never doubted you for a moment.”
“What were those two Nagas talking about before, then?” Tarne asked him as he released her.
“Oh, pish-posh. Nothing you need worry about right now.”
“Still wouldn’t mind knowing,” Tarne said, suddenly very aware he had evaded the question entirely.
“Does it matter?” Sparky asked. “Who cares what the Nagas think now? We won, didn’t we?”
But Tarne did not feel like laughing any more, and she managed to block out all the sounds about her save for anything which might be spoken by Jagrad Darkthorne. “What,” she asked seriously then, “did they mean before, Jagrad?”
“Fine,” Darkthorne said, “if you want to ruin the moment. If the Nagas team failed, they would consider themselves inferior and revert to their former mentalities as slaves.” He shrugged. “Never could understand them myself, but as a species they’ll no longer have identities. They’ll serve once more, just like they were created to do.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” she raged. “Damn it, Jagrad, you were supposed to wave a red flag if you found out anything like that.”
Darkthorne frowned. “No, I was supposed to wave a red flag if I found out anything which I felt was worth you losing the contest for. They’re not going to die, just know their place again. What’s wrong with that?”
Tarne was seething now. “And after all my attempts to bring the human and Nagas species together as equals, it never once occurred to you that maybe I’d’ve preferred to have lost the contest?”
“Sure it occurred to me,” Darkthorne said with a friendly smile, “but you’re psychic. Since you didn’t realise the truth, it only leads me to suspect that perhaps there was a part of you that didn’t want to lose after all.”
“You think I did this for money?”
Darkthorne laughed. “Curb your anger, Heather. We all did it for the money. Because, my friend, that is the human way.”
THE END
PRESENT CHAPTER
Jagrad Darkthorne, Heather Tarne, Sara Kiel and Damian Parkes ... Four incredible young people who as Dark Thorne, Far-Seer, Seraphim and Sparky have banded together to mete out justice to the dark corners of society and liberate the downtrodden no matter how far down they may have been trodden.
Madac presents ... The Darkthorne Legion!
*
Meanwhile ...
The theatre had been closed for some time, although Sara Kiel remembered when it had been the life of the town. When she was younger, she would go there with her parents to watch Shakespeare being performed, even though she had never understood any of it. It had been a sad event when the theatre had been closed for repairs. Everyone had expected it would open again after the renovation, although funds had dried up, and ever since it had sat there vacant and gathering dust.
Although not quite as vacant as everyone had believed.
“So we reckon the Nagas is underneath the theatre?” Darkthorne asked as a point of clarification.
Kiel nodded. “We should attack from several fronts. If we go in from four different directions, we should catch them entirely by surprise and hopefully be able to reach the Nagas before he gets away.”
“Like the last time,” Sparky said.
“Yeah,” Kiel said. “Like the last time.”
“Well let’s move, people,” Darkthorne urged. “We have a job to do, so let’s do it.”
They split into four groups of one and each took a different entrance. Kiel headed for the roof, for with her ability to
fly it seemed the obvious option, while Darkthorne took to the sewers and Sparky chose the front door. Tarne easily located a window and dropped into the theatre before casting a furtive glance about her.
“There’s no one else around, Heather.”
The voice had come from her personal genie, Cynch, and she would have hushed him if anyone else could see him. “Make yourself useful,” she whispered instead. “Take a look about the theatre for me. The Nagas is bound to have left a few guards.”
“I think you may have missed my point, Heather,” Cynch said. “We’re alone at last. It means we can talk freely, that I’ll be able to tell you everything I’ve been trying to these last few lifetimes.”
“What are you babbling about now?” Tarne asked, keeping low as she moved through the darkness, not really being able to see anything at all and hoping there was no one else in the room with her.
“I don’t know which of the others it is,” Cynch continued as though she understood, “but I’ve always known it’s one of them. I tried to warn you earlier, I saw my opportunity at last and seized it, but I was too late. The others were in the kitchen, just after your poker game, and I was your landlord back then ...”
“Is there a point to your insanity?” Tarne snapped.
“Heather, I’m trying to warn you of ...”
“Who’s back there?”
“Now you’ve done it,” Tarne hissed as she dropped low behind what she hoped in the pitch-darkness was ample cover.
The light of a torch played about the room, and Tarne caught glimpses of her surroundings at last. She was in the main stage area, currently hiding behind the end row of seats, and there was someone moving towards her from the back of the room. A bright, glaring light suddenly erupted from above and she realised someone had just turned on the main lights. “Drat,” she muttered, holding herself closer to the chair without success. She blinked excessively, attempting to clear her vision from the effects of the sudden glare, although her sight was filled with Kirby dots, and was taking far too much time to return to normal.