Krath firmly posted his fists at his hips, his large chest pushed outward as he drew in a deep breath. “Well, boy, tya gonna get that thing so we can get outta here or just continue to stare at it till our recycled buddies join us down here?”
“Yeah, it’s so high up there that I’ll have to use the orb to get it.”
“Crix, just do it. They will know we are down here, but if we are down here too much longer, it won’t matter anyway. Besides, I have a feeling that mystic Andor can help us . . . hopefully.” Kerriah was not one that would normally believe in the supernatural; yet, it was hard for her to deny what she had witnessed with her own eyes.
Crix nodded, and then snapped into a blue glow. He raised high into the air near the tree that clutched the Tersik crystal. As he reached into the vines to grasp it, he was stunned with an overwhelming feeling of despair and sadness. He pulled back, struck by such a feeling of deep sorrow that he could not help but weep. He had never felt so extinguished mentally. His thoughts went to the darkest of places, places that he had never been. He felt livid, sad, and bitter all wrapped into every sweeping thought.
Why does he have to do this anyway? Getting pushed around by these . . . whoever they are. It’s his fault, though. They will all suffer and die because of him. He doesn’t deserve to live . . .
“What’s wrong with him?” Kerriah asked. Krath just grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “Crix are you all right?” she persisted. He slowly faded, having difficulty shaking off the feelings of despair as if a cold, bony hand clenched around his heart so tightly that it held his soul captive. A rumbling shook the cavern hall so violently once again that Krath and Kerriah found it difficult to stay afoot.
An explosion collapsed a portion of the ceiling. It continued to crumble downward as a large, metal dome smashed a hole from the surface above. Fragments of trees tumbled to the floor, and the immediate area was showered with crystals. Two giant hands plunged through the fracture from around the dome extended by long, scaly tubes. The hands turned back, placing themselves against the flat of the ceiling. They gave a push, dislodging their hosts from the stubborn rock above.
The metal dome pushed further inward.
“Please, Crix! Hurry!” Kerriah pleaded.
He looked down at her, and the feelings of despair melted away, its clutching grip unraveled. He swung back up to the grey tree with his focus anew and began tearing away the vines to get to the crystal. He tried to reach for it, but as he got closer, the despair snarled back into him. He withdrew his hand.
The metal dome finally smashed through the rocky ceiling and crashed to the floor below. A huge Marck rose slowly up from piles of rock and dirt. The dome was the head, and its legs and arms extended outward from its bulky torso. The top of its head grazed the tips of the inverted trees. A single, large, glowing red circle in the center of its head scanned the cavern.
Witnessing the destruction, Crix plunged recklessly into the mangled vines and grabbed the crystal with one hand while cutting away the vines with the tool that Suros provided. He blacked out, overtaken by visions of a Laggorn and bizarre foliage followed by an exploding star. He observed a shadowy Andor with fire blazing deep in his eyes. He pulled the crystal from the tree’s vines, and his vision cleared. The strange feelings of despair departed. Ahead of Crix, a large, domed- headed Marck shredded through the lowest hanging trees, its red eye cast a glow upon him, and it charged forward.
More Marcks poured in from the newly created hole in the ceiling. Some dropped from cables and others from hover disks.
“Away with you, interlopers—you whom have desecrated the sacred hall of Mothoa. Now behold your foolishness,” Suros called as he appeared from the darkness and cast fistfuls of crystals down upon the cavern floor.
He drew his blade, and it ignited into deep blue flames. The floor shook, an eerie shrill echoed out from beneath the ground, and a maze of boney spines ripped up from the earth. The spines interweaved with red and blue veins, and then took the shape of flesh. Before them now stood a small army of ancient Andor warriors from generations past, each in different adornment representative of their era and tribe. Suros dove forward and slashed at the oncoming Marcks, and the Andors followed behind, swarming the uninvited guests.
Crix and company sprinted down the hall and deeper into darkness, weaving through the melees that were emerging all around them. More Marcks continued to pour in, and another domed head crashed through the ceiling above. After a lengthy trek, they finally reached a split corridor at the far end with two passages, one to the left and one to the right. The squared right passage had a large header with ancient Andor symbols above it, and the left passage was round and appeared to narrow.
“Which way?” Kerriah stopped and took a closer look at the Andor symbols. ”Neither,” Crix replied. He pulled the dark crystal out from his pack and held it in front of the passages. The two passages vanished and between them appeared a steep stairway leading upward into darkness.
“How tya know that was there?” Krath inquired.
“I’m not sure. For some reason, I just knew,” Crix explained. He thought it must be the crystal, or possibly some other influence. Either way, Crix was certain this was the right path; there was no doubt in his mind. He had no reservation about his choice. Krath dropped his head down and rubbed the back of his neck bemused.
Behind them, in the distance, they could hear the battle as it moved closer and another metal dome punched through the ceiling close by. “They are on to us,” Kerriah said. Together, they dashed up the steep incline through the hidden passageway.
The steps led up to a large square chamber that was dark; it was difficult to tell its scale and size with certainty.
“Well, where now?” Krath asked. He was confused as to why they were in a dark empty room while hoping it was not a dead end. Being a Hybor, Krath had keen sight in the dark due to life in the murky depths of Thale and could see that the chamber had no distinguishable features or exits. He gave a growl of discontent.
Crix, still holding the crystal, cupped it in his open palms and extended his arms forward. An unsettling, dim light filled the room and revealed its secrets. The walls and ceiling were filled with hundreds of small holes of many different proportions, the largest of which one could fit a normal-sized fist. Kerriah cautiously approached the wall closest to her and rubbed her fingertips across the holes.
“For some reason, I don’t like the looks of this.” Her voice quivered nervously.
All at once, black vines rapidly crawled from out of the holes and scaled across every section of the wall and ceiling and eventually blocked off the stairway for which they entered. The vines continued to weave their ways in and out of each other and slowly filled the room. The three of them huddled close to the center of the room in an attempt to keep a distance from the encroaching vines.
“What the heck are we supposed to do now?” Krath barked at Crix.
“I’m not sure exactly,” Crix replied as he stood strong, clenching the crystal. “I feel compelled to just stand here and do nothing.”
“Do nothing!” Krath shouted. “We’re supposed to just stand here and become plant food? Tya must be tuggin’ on me, buddy, ‘cause I’m not goin’ out like that!” As one of the vines neared Krath, it curled out as if it attempted to grab him. Krath snatched the vine and twisted it; the vine was rigid, and even with his strength, it would not bend easily.
“This thing won’t break.” He struggled against it with both hands, the muscles in his arms strained with tension.
Kerriah ducked and spun away, avoiding several of the grabbing vines. However, as she backed too close to the wall, one snatched her ankle and pulled her down then dragged her across the floor as other vines seized and subdued her limbs. Her struggle against them proved futile, and the strength of the vines was too much for even Krath. They overtook him as more and more vines grabbed hold and pulled him up to the ceiling. He howled lividly over his situation, while he squirmed
like a restrained beast in an effort to free himself.
The vines circled Crix but never made a motion to grab him as he kept his ground in the center of the room. One of the larger vines coiled back and pointed directly at Crix’s face as if it were looking at him with unseen eyes. It turned and circled around his head before stopping again by his face.
“What do you want?” he asked, speaking to the vine.
The vine pulled back as though startled by the sound of his voice. Two more vines crept in and touched the crystal Crix was holding but snapped back as soon as they made contact. The two vines drew back and formed into an insignia, one that looked vaguely familiar to Crix. An insignia of two stars joined at the corners with a column behind them. Then, he recalled noticing the same insignia on Suros’s armored shoulder pads.
“Suros!” he shouted.
The vines stopped and moved in from every direction before pulling Crix off his feet. The stone ceiling slid open and pulled the three upward in a twisted web as they intertwined themselves in and out, moving them up, and then forward. Crix struggled to keep hold of the crystal and, at the same time, not to be mangled in the snaking vines.
He yelled, “Stop!”
The vines stopped all at once, as though they responded to his command. “We just need to get to the Alcazar hangar.”
They started moving upward again, and then to the left and forward. They could see nothing but felt pinching and scratching all over as the vines continued to transport them to their destination. They moved for a short while with small cracks of light sliding by as they traveled through the underground passage. Heavy stones were grinding beneath them; then, full illumination swiftly emerged. The three of them dropped into a brightly lit room; the vines withered back into the ceiling and vanished from sight.
As they got back to their feet again, they found themselves in an observation room overlooking a hangar area with a regal, pale, greenish-grey ship located in its center. At the far end of the hangar, two giant, star-shaped columns lead to an opening. Emerald dyed banners, each embroidered with a unique insignia, hung from the moderately adorned walls. Crix took notice, once again, to one of the insignias that were the same as what Suros had on his armor.
“There’s our ship,” Kerriah quietly asserted, thrilled at the thought of flying once again. As she stood up, Krath grabbed her by the back of the head and pulled her back down below the window opening.
“Yep, but we are going to have to deal with those two soon to be headin’ to the scrap yard buddies over there first,” he whispered, pointing over at two Marcks that had an Andor guard subdued with his hands behind his head and face to the floor.
“I see that . . . What exactly did you have in mind?” She turned to look back at him but realized that he was already down a staircase to the right, eagerly trotting off toward the Marcks without an apparent care or worry.
Crix peered over the ledge for a look. “Has he lost his mind?”
Kerriah, with her hand over her mouth and a troubled look in her eyes, replied, “I believe that went a long time ago.”
Metallic screams and blasts echoed across the hangar, followed by metal spinning across the stone floor. “Whatcha waitin’ on? Get down here,” Krath yelled from below.
Crix and Kerriah started their way down to Krath when they were stopped by a bulky, Morak warrior that dropped in from somewhere above them. His appearance was battle weathered with blisters across the left side of his face. He grabbed Crix and tossed him almost without effort against a nearby wall. Kerriah planted her heal into his knee, causing him to flinch just long enough for her to slide past him. She hurried over to where Crix laid clenching his ribs, still trying to shake off the massive jolt he had just taken.
Displaying complete control over his emotions, the steadfast Andor warrior charged at them, the look in his face cold and menacing. A blinding flash and an image of Suros emerged before him and sent the Morak to an instant halt.
“Child . . .” Suros said, “you have fought bravely. However, these three are not our adversaries. Your enemies are there.” He pointed to the opening between the columns where a group of eight Marcks in green-tinted armor tactically worked their way into the hangar. Suros placed his two hands on the Andor’s shoulders and his blisters and wounds dispersed.
“You are whole again. Now, go in defense of our kingdom!” The Andor leaped high into the air to the top of a service platform near the ship. He then dove into the Marck intruders and bashed them away as if possessed by a warrior spirit.
“The ship is there. Now, take it. I will see to your safety out of this place. Keep safe the Tersik crystal. Go!” Suros’s body misted away into the air as Krath ran up in his place.
“What tya waitin’ on? It looks like that big ole Andor is holdin’ his own against those hunks of refuse, but more keep comin’. I think we need to get goin’ and quick.”
The slender ship with its long, forked bow and wider aft looked properly majestic for that of the Andor Grand Chief. As they approached its clear lift tube, a feeling of hope crept over them. Krath activated a switch, calling the lift down, and they hurried on, shooting up into the ship’s belly.
A gleaming, concaved, metal door groaned open to an area highly polished and ornate. A series of tall-backed chairs, padded with black velour and dark, metallic, brushed steel, lined both walls on each side. In the center of the room sat a trim and judicious Andor, who leaned forward with one elbow rested upon his knee as though sizing up the group that had just arrived. His long face was pure white, and his mane was a stark contrast of dark grey. He wore a tall crown of brass with a circular emblem in its center that matched a standard above his chair.
Flanked by two heavily armored Moraks, which bore the same circular emblem on their chest plates, the crowned Andor sat up and let out a deep grumble before speaking.
“So . . . this is Crix, son of Corin Emberook, I presume. Well, I am confident that you have in your possession the Tersik crystal, as Suros has promised, or else you would not be standing here before me now.” His voice was gritty and difficult to understand.
“Grand Chief Isomar, I take it?” Kerriah cut in, unimpressed with his title.
“Hmmm . . . and who is your haughty companion?” The Grand Chief responded. Kerriah braced her fist at her waist and took a swaggered stance in preparation to deflect any potential insults.
Crix took a slow and humble bow. “These are my friends and have aided me in my journey here, Grand Chief. I stand here humbly before you.”
The Grand Chief arose and grasped his staff with a crescent edge at the top. He popped it hard against the floor. “Yet, you came here to steal my ship, did you not?” His voice raised.
Krath stepped forward defensively. “Now, tya look here. I’m not one for kissin’ the hiney of any—”
“Silence!” The Grand Chief’s voice roared out so forcefully that even Krath backed down from his advance. “There is not time for you to interject your views, only that you will take my ship and get the crystal far away from here. The great prophecy long predicted this, though I, as most Andors in this age, have chosen to deny it until now. The rebirth of our ancient lineage will come from what you now hold in your possession, and you are the instrument for its safekeeping. These lands are forsaken now, and I will sacrifice myself as my ancestors once did long ago to ensure its survival.”
He paced toward the lift tube with his two guards falling in behind. “Take my ship and leave these lands to safety.” The ship shook, and a rumble echoed from outside. He looked upward. “Our destroyers are upon us. We shall repel them!” He placed his hand upon Crix’s shoulder and looked squarely down at him. “There is a place of perfect alignment, the forgotten world where all has died. That is where we will begin anew. When that time comes, it will require the mystic abilities that you inherited to awaken the crystal from its sleep.” The ship shook so hard it felt like it nearly capsized. Crix looked at him, confused. For now, he would just try to remembe
r these words with the hope that one day, they would become clear.
The Grand Chief turned and disappeared behind the cylinder door.
“Ookay, let’s get this thing in the air,” Kerriah said, still in slight puzzlement over the scene that just played out before them. She hurried through an arched door, and then a lengthy hall that led to a cockpit with four seats.
“You know how to fly this, right?” Crix asked, troubled that he had not considered this until now.
Kerriah smiled at him. “I can fly anything that’s flyable.”
Crix exhaled his built-up anxiety and nodded several times with relief. “I knew that; somehow, I knew that.”
She is going to be good at everything she does.
Outside the ship’s window, they observed the Grand Chief and his guards hacking and slashing away at Marcks that swarmed into the area. Kerriah fired up the ship’s engines as if she had flown it a hundred times before. As the engines whirred up out of their slumber, the guards outside became overwhelmed and fell to their relentless attackers. The Grand Chief’s crown dropped from his head and clanked to the floor; blast wounds riddled his body. He threw down his broken spear and drew his blade for one final engagement. In his death rage, he sliced the head off one last Marck before he slumped to the floor, never to rise again.
Crix was horrified as he watched through the viewport and witnessed the great Andor Chief fall. “Kerriah . . . we have to get going!” The Marcks outside were all turning their attention back to the ship.
“Got it!” She tapped several switches and pushed the throttle forward. The ship rose from the hangar deck, and the nose dipped forward slightly before moving steadily forward through the two massive columns. They thrust out of the hangar and kept a low altitude to avoid detection as they pushed their way out of Troika.
“This is my fault.” Crix’s face was long as he observed the distant landscape of Troika blackened in smoke with flashes of war sparkling throughout. “All my friends, everything I know . . . Gone.” He dropped his head in sorrow.
Age of the Marcks Page 13