Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3)

by Milo James Fowler

  “This is their Homeplace,” Gaia whispers into my ear, drawing me beside her and pointing toward the cave. “Now you will know it when you see it.”

  I nod, refusing to voice the reservations I feel. But she already knows my thoughts. My fears.

  “There is something else you must do first.” She takes my face in her cold hands and stares into my eyes, her look so direct, so full of incredible power, that I cannot bear to meet her gaze for longer than a moment. Yet in this dream, I am unable to look away, and her eyes ignite a fire that burns me from the inside—

  I awake with a start, sitting upright and wide-eyed, naked in the dark.

  “Ready now?” Lady Victoria eyes me from the opposite side of the bed. “I thought you would never wake up.”

  “You have that effect on me.” Our recent lovemaking is impossible to forget—the first time a weapon of any kind has been involved. She had to make sure I wouldn’t send my guards after the exiled Lemuel, and holding her knife to her own throat did the trick.

  It did not get in the way at all as I reclaimed her loins.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She winks at me as she fingers the blade of her dagger. “You certainly enjoyed yourself.”

  “Always.” I regard her figure with an appreciative eye.

  She reaches out a hand, beckoning me to her bosom. I come close, caressing her protruding abdomen as I do so, fingering the minor incision she made earlier with the tip of her blade. The blood has already dried.

  “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” she says.

  “Hardly.” In a single movement, I have the dagger out of her hand and my elbow jammed against her throat, pinning her down on the pillow. I have to chuckle at the surprised look on her face. “Did you honestly think I couldn’t take this from you whenever I chose?” I toss the weapon across the room where it clatters against the wall.

  “Why not sooner?” she chokes out.

  I grin down at her. “I was enjoying the show.”

  “You didn’t think I would do it.”

  “End your life? Or the child’s?” I shake my head, the coarse braid sweeping across my broad shoulders. “Not while you still have me to ravish you.”

  She almost smiles.

  Whatever feelings I once had for her are no more. They evaporated the moment I saw her with the runt Lemuel. She is a tool in my hand now, nothing more. Should she continue to prove useful, then perhaps I will allow her to be the mother of my child. If not, then I will cut the infant out of her and give it to one of my other wives to raise. They have proven themselves faithful and above reproach.

  I remove my forearm but keep a hand on her neck, my thumb on the quick pulse of her jugular.

  “I am ready,” I tell her.

  She blinks up at me. Then she reaches with both hands and cups them over my ears, pressing her fingertips against my temples. In turn, I cover her eyes with my hand. So joined, we share the same vision and hearing even as these senses are projected kilometers away. It is a melding of gifts we first discovered while making love months ago.

  It has served my purposes very well since then.

  “Where are they?” I murmur, staring vacantly across the room as our shared sense of sight travels across boundless stretches of unknown, untraveled desert.

  “They have kept their distance,” she answers.

  For a moment, our vision rests on two men clad in hooded cloaks, camped a kilometer beyond a group of five figures in heavy protective suits waiting for their solar jeep to recharge. Then our shared vision veers off-course abruptly, shifting kilometers away to focus on a lone figure stumbling awkwardly through the dead of night, casting furtive glances in every direction. Scared and alone. Exiled.

  “Focus, woman.” My hand tightens on her throat.

  “He will not survive out there.” She clenches her jaw. “Lemuel’s blood is on your hands!”

  “And yours could be as well, whore.” I shake her until our vision returns to my two cloaked men. “Now give them this message: Take the UW scouts, dead or alive. Move in now.”

  Victoria frowns as I loosen my grip on her. Of course she would wonder about this sudden change in tactics. Until now, my two warriors have been told only to follow the UW scouts. Keep their distance, and do not engage.

  Nevertheless, she does as she is told.

  “Move in on target,” she relays my order, using her gift from Gaia to speak telepathically across the distance between them. To their ears, it would sound as if she is whispering to a lover. “Take them. Dead or alive.”

  “And bring their bodies back to me.” I nod as she sends the message.

  Then we watch. It is as though Victoria and I hover behind and above the two cloaked men as they shoulder their weapons and prepare to close the distance between them and their quarry. I am reminded of the films I watched in the Sector 15 bunker so many years ago. Our current perspective is much like a camera angle used to film battle sequences. All I need is some popped corn.

  I almost smile. A protein or vitamineral pack will have to suffice.

  “Now what?” Victoria shifts uncomfortably, but her hands remain on my ears. The child in her womb no doubt has something to say about her remaining in one position for too long—pressing against her bladder when she least expects it. Will she relieve herself right here as a way to get back at me?

  I scowl as our vision jitters in and out of focus. “What’s wrong now?”

  “Nothing.”

  Our view sharpens into crystal clarity. We watch as an unidentified figure charges through the night, straight for my two tribesmen.

  “Who’s this?” Victoria’s attention no longer wavers.

  “One of the UW scouts.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  My frame tightens as I notice what the UW soldier carries: an assault rifle, the goblyns’ weapon of choice.

  “They’re armed?” Victoria says in disbelief. “But you said—”

  “My men are armed as well.” Nevertheless I grit my teeth, unsure about this turn of events. “Tell them to fire at will.”

  She nods, relaying the command. But my warriors seem confused. “They don’t see him. He must not be in range.”

  “Tell them to prepare for attack—”

  “They don’t hear anyone approaching.”

  I curse under my breath. “Gaia help them then,” I mutter, already planning ahead, deciding who I will send after the UW scouts once these two incompetents fail me.

  I can only watch as the UW soldier closes the gap, lumbering awkwardly in his unwieldy armored suit, hurling himself forward. A man on a mission, but one who will soon tire from the exertion.

  “Tell them to find cover. Do not engage.” Time for a new tactic, now that an automatic weapon and combat armor are in the picture. “Repeat: Do not engage. Observe target from cover.” No reason for them to be slaughtered outright.

  Victoria sends the command twice for good measure. “They have him outnumbered and outflanked,” she says. “They would easily subdue—”

  “A trained, armed man encased in reinforced Kevlar? With four others right behind him? The last thing our men should do right now is engage.”

  “So we fall back.”

  Interesting. She seems to have a vested interest in this endeavor.

  “We wait. And we watch.” I want to gauge this soldier’s fatigue level once he reaches his destination. How difficult is it to move in that suit? I also want to be certain he is acting alone. It makes no sense, but at present he appears to be making a solo attack.

  “Our men have taken cover.” Victoria points, taking her right hand from my ear briefly to do so. In our shared vision, I see her hand with its index finger extended.

  For a moment, I am deaf in that ear, unable to hear the night winds whisking through the sands where my two warriors hide themselves. An odd sensation, even as I hear the hull of the ship creaking around me, cooling with the night. It is strange to feel as though I am in two places at onc
e.

  Her hand returns to my ear just as the UW soldier stumbles across the level stretch of sand where my men stood moments before. Swinging the muzzle of his rifle to and fro, he wavers, unsteady on his feet.

  “Where are you hiding, you sons of bitches?” he demands, out of breath. He sprays rounds into the air with no targets in sight.

  Victoria and I cringe instinctively. For a moment we feel exposed, but the fool is only wasting ammo. And we are beyond his reach.

  “Show yourselves! Why are you following us? Who are you?” The soldier takes a moment to catch his breath, nearly doubling over with the effort. “C’mon, man! What are you —cowards?”

  I groan at that. It is never wise to question a warrior’s courage.

  One of my men emerges, rising like a phantom from where he buried himself in the sand, unseen and unheard.

  “Do not engage!” I repeat the order, but even as Victoria relays it, I recognize the futility.

  “That’s Markus,” she says. All the explanation needed.

  The UW soldier staggers backward in his cumbersome suit at the warrior’s sudden appearance and now trains his weapon on him, the red laser sight jittering across Markus’s wide chest.

  “Where’s Vincent?” Victoria scans the scene before us for any sign of the second tribesman.

  “Still in hiding—for now,” I mutter. Thanks be to Gaia, at least one of them has the sense to follow orders and keep a lid on his pride.

  “Put your hands where I can see them!” the soldier barks.

  Markus stands with his arms out to the sides, staring down the armed UW scout, and seemingly with no weapons of his own. But I know better. Both Markus and Vincent carry an impressive array of weaponry, from daggers and short swords to handguns, rifles, and explosives, all hidden by the folds of their cloaks.

  The soldier soon realizes it as well. I notice the display on his face shield flash red as it catalogs every weapon in an instant.

  “Drop your weapons! Do it now!” He tightens his grip on the rifle. “I’m warning you, this gun’s got a real hair trigger.”

  Markus’s direct stare never wavers as he reaches carefully with both hands to remove his weapons one at a time and drop them to the sand with puffs of dust, white in the moonlight. I become aware of my own breathing in the moment, even as I notice Victoria holding her own.

  “Good.” The soldier nods, but Markus is nowhere near finished. “Now tell me who you are. Where are you from?”

  “The coast,” Markus says in a rich baritone. He doesn’t sound nervous in the least.

  “Why are you following us?” The soldier takes a step toward him. “And where’s your partner?”

  Markus nods over his shoulder. “Taking a leak. He’ll be back.” Guns and blades lie scattered around his boots. Only the explosives remain in hiding.

  “Those too.” The soldier gestures with his rifle muzzle at the pockets in Markus’s cloak.

  “You don’t miss much.” There is actual humor in the warrior’s tone.

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Then you’ve probably noticed I’m not wearing any sort of breathing apparatus.” Markus fishes into his pockets, and each hand reappears with a frag grenade in it. He thumbs the detonators, activating them.

  “What the hell?” I can only stare.

  The soldier does the same, wide-eyed as he stumbles backward.

  “You do realize the air is fine out here, don’t you?” A tight grin spreads across Markus’s sharp features.

  “What’re you playing at, man?” Real fear tightens the soldier’s voice. “Shut those things down!”

  Markus frowns, regarding the explosives with curiosity. “I don’t think they work that way...”

  “So what, then?” The soldier knows better than to think he can outrun the blast—not in his suit. “What happens next?”

  “You drop your weapon.”

  “Yeah, right.” The soldier curses. The laser sight remains on Markus. “You don’t expect me to believe you’re gonna blow yourself—”

  “My orders are to take you dead or alive. The particulars are up to me.”

  “Either way, I need him in one piece,” I grumble. “Not blown to bits!”

  Victoria frowns at that, but she doesn’t ask me why. And I am glad of it. The last thing I want is to explain how Gaia tasked me with starting a war between the Sectors’ survivors and the UW. Staking the body of this soldier and his comrades along the shoreline in clear view of the UW ships will be a surefire way to get their attention.

  “The hinges,” she murmurs, bringing me back to the moment. “You see?” She points, and I see what she means. At the joints, while not providing the best mobility, the hazard suit’s heavy Kevlar is missing. Instead, there appears to be a dense mesh material of some kind. “A blade should slip through easily enough.”

  Has she been looking for a weakness in the suit all this time? I can’t help being impressed. But then again, there is a reason why I chose her as a wife.

  I nod. “Tell them we’ve found Achilles’ heel.”

  No sooner has Victoria relayed the message than Vincent springs upward from the sand behind the soldier. As Markus advances with the explosives held outward like a peace offering, Vincent’s blade gleams in the moonlight, puncturing the back of the soldier’s knee joint before he has time to whirl around and face his new adversary. The soldier cries out, trigger finger contracting spastically as he throws up his arms in alarm and agony, bursts of automatic fire puncturing the night. Then he crumples awkwardly to the ground, cursing and pounding his fists.

  Markus deactivates the grenades and pockets them, moving quickly to confiscate the UW scout’s only weapon. “Nice work.”

  Vincent nods as he wipes his machete clean before sheathing it over his shoulder. “You didn’t do so bad yourself.”

  The soldier writhes, grappling with his injured leg, bleeding profusely in spurts of crimson across the earth.

  I scowl. “Tell them to stop the bleeding. Otherwise, they’ll leave a trail straight back to us.”

  Victoria relays the message.

  “Have them bring him to me.”

  “And the others?” She scans the distance. No sign of them on approach. “I have a feeling they will be close behind this one.”

  “As do I.” Of course they would have heard the shots fired.

  Markus does his best to hold the soldier still, but he fights a losing battle, finding the heavy arms of the suit difficult to restrain, much less the legs.

  “We’ve got to get him out of that thing,” Vincent says. “No way to apply pressure to his wound with him still inside it.”

  Markus curses. “We can’t carry him like this, that’s for sure.”

  Vincent faces the soldier through the transparent helmet. “You like it in there?”

  The soldier spits foul curses and insults, eyes bulging, teeth flashing against his dark skin.

  “Thought as much.” Vincent reaches for the helmet’s locking clamps.

  “What the hell are you doing?” The soldier swings his arms, fighting to keep the two warriors at bay.

  “Hold him!”

  Markus moves to intercept the flailing limbs. “You sure this is a good idea?”

  Vincent has one of the clamps pried free. Four others remain. “Cain said dead or alive.”

  Markus smirks at that.

  “No—you can’t! You—!” the soldier shrieks, reaching an octave usually reserved for small boys. Or men missing their testicles.

  “The air’s just fine out here, boss.” Vincent pries open two more clamps.

  “Y-you’re infected!”

  “Hear that?” Markus turns to Vincent and shakes his head. “He thinks we’re sick.”

  “Do we look sick to you?” Vincent chuckles.

  Markus slaps the side of the soldier’s helmet. “Must not have seen any goblyns yet.”

  The soldier stops moving. “You can’t do this to me. Please—!”

 
“Gaia is the All-Merciful One.” Vincent unlatches the remaining clamps and jerks the helmet upward, tossing it aside. “Me? Not so much.”

  The soldier took one last gulp of processed air, and now he holds it as if his life depends on it—life as he knew it, anyway. Markus clocks the soldier across the jaw with a solid left hook, whipping the man’s head to the side with a gust of expelled air.

  “May Gaia do with you as she will,” Vincent says.

  “He’s out cold,” Victoria observes.

  “Easier to carry.” I watch as the two tribesmen set about removing the hazard suit from the UW scout’s limp body. “But they must hurry.”

  Victoria reminds Markus and Vincent, and they both nod as if she spoke into their ears simultaneously. “Do you think Gaia will bless this one?” She looks down at the soldier’s slack-jawed face with what could be mistaken for concern.

  He won’t live long enough for it to be a possibility. Fortunately for me, this link I share with my fourth wife does not include the merging of our thoughts. Otherwise, Victoria would already know what I have planned for this man.

  “More than likely, his true nature will be revealed.” I adhere to the catechism I teach the tribes, that which I have learned from Gaia herself.

  “Then he is to become a goblyn.” She nods gravely. “It will be the first time.”

  I frown. “How’s that?”

  She faces me, her expression difficult to read. Does she challenge me yet again? Or is it the catechism itself that she disdains? “No one has seen a man turn into a goblyn before.”

  True enough. After All-Clear when we emerged from the bunkers and began our journey to the coast, inhaling the air Gaia used both to bless and to curse in equal measure, there were goblyn packs already roving across the barren terrain in their solar jeeps, seeking victims to devour. When Gaia first appeared to me, visiting in the dead of night as I sat on a windswept dune facing the brackish sea, staring at the blockade of ships in the distance, I had just become aware of my far-sight ability. Blinking, staring, unable to believe I could focus on the lettering alongside the Argonaus without the aid of binoculars, I suddenly noticed her presence beside me.