by Jim Stein
“Everything looks sick, like the trees and bushes are diseased. And there’s too much fungus for such a dry climate. This place hasn’t seen water in a while.”
“If you boys are done reliving your scouting days, there’s a clearing up ahead. It might be time to figure out what the hell we’re doing.” Quinn swung wide and shut off the engine as we entered the open area.
The ground was rent and torn by the passage of many feet. Few individual tracks survived, but the small horde we’d passed and perhaps others had come this way. Most had come straight down the path ahead, but others wound through the surrounding woods.
Low stony hillocks squatted among the trees. I counted five, but more could have been hidden in the dappled light filtering through the canopy overhead. A dark opening took up most of the face of the nearest hill.
“Looks like a cave over there.” I squinted and caught the edge of a similar opening on another mound.
“Those don’t look natural.” Pete backed toward his ATV and waved for the rest of us to do the same. “Let’s get a move on it. We can discuss plans la—”
Loud chirping cut him off. It was the first bird we’d heard since arriving. The sound came again from along our back trail. A third call answered from close ahead—too close. This last was more of a chittering near ground level—maybe not birds at all. The trees exploded with chirping, seeming to come from all around.
Manny and Ralph drew their knives. The manager’s flared with fire, which seemed a good choice. I drew on the magic, bringing my hands together with the beat of Pop Evil’s “Go Higher,” or it might have been called “Footsteps”—I never quite figured that out. Either way, the tune was well suited, and Fire pulsed between my palms in response. Quinn already straddled the four-wheeler, but turned to face out from our small circle. Spirit energy flowed across her fingertips, probably because there wasn’t enough moisture to feed a Water spell.
The bushes twenty paces ahead rustled, and the chittering grew to a crescendo. A blur rushed through the underbrush, just an outline as if I tried to focus on a piece of glass coming at us.
I fired short bursts of flame, tracking the half-seen thing. Bush after bush burst into flame. The third one just in front of us erupted in fire and an earsplitting squeal as something thrashed within. Quinn flung her arm forward and the energy she released smashed the burning bush and its occupant backward.
A dark form writhed on the ground and beat at itself with claw-like hands. The head to toe body armor saved it from the heat, but portions of the tightly wrapped material had burned away. Perhaps five feet tall, the creature had dark skin and a bulbous, hairless head with big shining eyes. It scurried on its back, arms and legs pumping to get away now that it had been revealed.
“Away, demon!” Manny yelled from my right.
His knife no longer flared, but he swung the nasty blade in a wide arc and sliced across the chest of another attacker trying to pull him from the ATV. Two more of the creatures grabbed him from behind. Shuffling feet pulled my attention back in time to see Quinn blast a pair of the humanoid attackers into the underbrush, but they both flipped to their stomachs, scurried on all fours, and came at us again. I shot a hasty gout of flame that ignited a patch of fungus in front of them and readied another burst when Quinn cried out.
“What is that?” She clutched her temples, and her Spirit energy cut out.
A wave of power crashed into me, and I teetered on the edge of falling. The blow wasn’t physical. Heedless of the hands I’d clamped over my ears, sound ripped through my hiding spell and tore the Pop Evil tune from my mind.
I reached for the vibrating chords, trying to reset my spell, but found nothing. It was if I’d suddenly forgotten the song completely. No, that wasn’t right. Notes did swirl in my mind. A simple tune plucked on an unfamiliar instrument blocked out the song I needed.
“Go Higher…Go Higher.” I tried to sing the title, but it left my mouth as a musical blob devoid of pitch.
Quinn spat a curse, pulled a short black stick from her back pocket and pushed the button to release eighteen inches of coiled spring. We’d found the compact batons handy in a fight, but our attackers carried much longer weapons like bo staffs with a nasty hook on one end and a weighty bulb on the other.
They scurried in from all directions, at least six of the narrow-waisted creatures bearing down on us. My head felt clearer so I reached for Spirit, intent on crafting a protective whirlwind to sweep them back. The element rose readily, and I chose Skillet’s “Invincible” to carry the spell. But the beat crumbled away, replaced by the strange stringed instrument and its chaotic tune.
I clutched at songs by Seether, Shinedown, and even Metallica. I couldn’t have forgotten the music. Yet each attempt fizzled out before I’d grasped a single note, blocked by the foreign music looping in my head. The forest closed in, and I couldn’t get enough air.
Rough hands with fingers ending in segmented pads pulled me off the ATV. Pete and Vance were already on the ground; they’d never even gotten off a shot. My vision narrowed to a tunnel as I focused on the creature dragging Quinn’s limp body and again reached for a spell. The tunnel shrank to a pinpoint of light, and I slid into oblivion accompanied by the cascade of plucky notes and primitive drums.
17. No Picnic
I
FELL through gray that seemed like Tokpela, but the damp cold was out of place.
“Quinn?” The all-encompassing fog muted my call. “Pete?”
Nothing.
I walked toward where the mists lightened ahead. The smell of smoke and sage hung heavy in the air. Flames flickered from a fire ring, pushing back the fog and revealing two figures. The first was small as a child and covered in a decorative blanket. Long blond hair spilled across the beaded pouch serving as a pillow.
“Pina!”
She didn’t move, and the larger person slumped by the fire didn’t turn. The hunched back and feathered headpiece were hard to miss. At first I thought Koko also slept, but as I moved to the right his face came into view. He stared blearily into the smoky fire as if transfixed. Sweat ran down a face etched with concentration and…pain.
I reached out, but the fog coalesced, growing thicker the harder I pressed. Resistance mounted as I tried to push forward. I managed three steps, but could go no closer. Dark shadows encroached on the sandy clearing. The fire cast jumping shadows against the one adobe wall, making the scene look like a play with scenery painted on cardboard.
The old spirit’s brows drew tight. He lifted his flute with shaking hands and blew a dozen notes. The melody quickly fell into disarray. His head drooped, and the god toppled.
“No!” I clawed at the fog, a futile gesture.
He fell hard, and I winced at the sharp crack of his head hitting the ring of stones. Instead of blood, light leaked from the gash on his left temple. The flute was gone—replaced by his staff. The carvings and designs pulsed with subdued energy. He thrust it at the fire, wood and flesh inside the flame.
Green swirled and swelled within the flames, buffeting the staff as Koko’s arm shook. This was the vortex viewed as a kind of magical hologram. From his prone position Koko tried to push the mass back, to banish it into the fire. Sullen red sparks dripped from where his staff touched. What started at Pete’s farm as a slender tornado had turned fat and distended. Molten material dripped, and a crescent-shaped section of the staff disappeared as the vortex ground away the god’s symbol of power.
The ground lurched, sending me to my knees. I whipped my head around at another crash. The tall palm-like trees of Uktena’s domain canted over Koko’s clearing. Beyond the fire and adobe wall, stark mountains rose against a purple sky that shifted to blue as the mountains turned to forest.
Uktena in his mighty serpent form slithered down toward the prone Kokopelli while a group of people walked out from below the land that had been mountains, then forest, and was currently a frozen tundra. A gangly figure followed the handful of people. He was tall
and skeletal under his vest and breechcloth. I did a double take as he drew near—not just thin, the man was a walking skeleton with ghastly tatters of muscle and skin dangling from yellow bones. He miss stepped, made an awkward grab for the sack he carried, and basically bumbled his way down to the fire.
“Watch out!” I called. “Pina, Koko, get up!”
But they still couldn’t hear me. Koko’s staff was half gone, and he hugged the nearest stone for support. The serpent slid around the adobe wall and flicked a tongue out, testing the air and grazing Pina’s hair. I trusted Uktena wouldn’t take advantage of my unconscious friend and weakened father. But the skeleton was a total unknown.
I watched helplessly as his people spilled onto the sand. Each dressed differently, from what looked like simple homespun to full ceremonial regalia. Details grew indistinct as the fog thickened and closed over the scene. Koko finally noticed the newcomers and threw his free hand up to ward off the skeleton and whatever grisly offering the bag he pushed at my father contained.
The resistance holding me back disappeared. I stumbled forward only to be enveloped by true Tokpela. I rushed though the gray, calling for Koko, but found only swirling mist.
***
“Ed?” Quinn’s voice and the constant jarring drew me back. “There you are.”
She hovered over me as sickly trees whipped by in the background. I lay on canvas that jarred and vibrated. The only reason I didn’t roll off was a wide webbed belt securing me to the incline. The ATV engines whined and we put on another burst of speed.
“For crying out loud, slow down! We aren’t athletes.” Sweat coated Quinn’s face, plastering wild strands of hair to her forehead.
I craned around in my improvised stretcher to see who drove. The back of a shiny bulbous head bounced at the front of the stretcher. Spindly arms with thick sparse hair and oddly jointed elbows dangled down to where hands with long finger pads wrapped around the poles supporting my canvas conveyance. The creature ran effortlessly, dragging me and following the three ATVs that roared ahead. My fog addled mind had assumed Quinn rode, but now I picked out the thudding of her feet as she jogged alongside my stretcher.
“What’s going on?” I managed in spite of my teeth being rattled out of my skull.
“Been on the move for an hour.” She grimaced and sucked in a breath. “Mostly slow and steady, but something’s changed. Damned bugs have been sprinting for a couple miles now.”
“Forget me. Make a break for it.” I fumbled at the belt but couldn’t find a buckle.
“Too many of them. We’d need the ATVs.”
“Well, who’s”—I whipped my head around and would have fallen out of my proverbial chair if I hadn’t been strapped in— “They can drive?”
Impossible, yet an attacker straddled each of our rides, weaving and maneuvering through the underbrush like cross-country experts. There was no sign of the path, which left those on foot dodging fungus, trees, and bushes in an attempt to keep up. Pete jogged off to my left on the far side of another sling carrying an unconscious Manny. He and I weren’t the only casualties. Two of our attackers traveled in slings among a cluster of their brethren. The brush behind us shook and shimmered as at least a dozen more of the creatures followed, though I couldn’t catch more than a glimmer of an outline. The things were damned good at camouflage.
“I know.” Quinn stumbled to a stop with hands on her thighs as our progression lurched to a halt. “Barren forest, primitive tribe, and road warrior skills. Makes no sense.”
She wiped her face, and the rest of our group shuffled over. Pete seemed more winded than Vance, which surprised me because I knew his family worked him from dawn to dusk. But maybe there wasn’t much running on the farm. Dwain skipped over like he’d been out for a stroll instead of a forced march, and Ralph—the imp climbed down from the handlebars of our ATV, pulled a hunk of candy from his hidden stash, and sauntered over wearing a devilish grin that would look suspiciously like a menacing snarl to the uninitiated.
“Consortin’ with the enemy to get a ride.” Pete gave the imp a glare between ragged breaths. “Treason I say.”
Ralph blinked back and tore off another bite with fangs ill-suited for sweets.
“He didn’t even fight when the bugs attacked,” Quinn whispered.
“Why do you keep calling them bugs?” I tried to get a look past the wall of people gathered around my litter. “Will someone please cut me loose?”
The way everyone patted their pockets was comical, but I found myself doing the same—damned peer pressure. My baton and knife were gone, as was the section of Koko’s staff. Thoughts of making a run for it vanished. Without the staff we were up a creek without a paddle.
Ralph pushed over to my side, slid out his stone knife, and severed the restraining belt. I stood shakily and ruffled the little guy’s non-existent hair in gratitude. We’d only known the imp a few months, but he’d always been there in a pinch. And since Max had deemed him worthy of riding my dog into battle…well, that said it all. I pushed away from the makeshift stretcher and the memory of that fatal day as a lump formed in my throat. Stupid dog still gets to me.
We’d stopped in another clearing surrounded by the strange mounds—entrances to some underground lair. Our vehicles sat close to the nearest tunnel and beyond a loose line of our captors. We stood in roughly the center of a circle of fifty. There hadn’t been that many earlier.
Each stood about five feet with a big oval head. Dark shimmering patches like wet window screen on each temple took the place of ears. Their round eyes sat out from the skull like black marbles rather than being recessed in sockets. The nose was non-existent, but each long face tapered into a tiny oval mouth. They’d effortlessly dragged the stretchers, so were certainly strong in spite of their gangly legs and arms and impossibly narrow waist. They did look rather wasp-like if you thought of the shiny brown skin stretched over muscle and sinew as an exoskeleton.
A moan interrupted my thoughts. Manny thrashed on his own litter off to our left. Dwain led Ralph over, the imp cut off the road manager’s restraints, and they joined us.
“You okay?” Pete asked Manny, then continued at the man’s weary shrug. “If we get to the ATVs, we can outrun them.”
“Did anyone see where they put our weapons?” I asked. “If we leave without the staff, the whole mission’s a bust.”
“I think they took them in there.” Quinn pointed to the entrance by our vehicles. “Along with our supplies, first aid kits, everything.”
The ATVs’ trunks stood open, and the side bags had been removed. Only the spare gas cans remained strapped to our machines. Without weapons, we needed magic to even the odds. These things weren’t indestructible. Manny proved that when he slashed at his initial attackers. It hadn’t taken much. The flesh wounds he’d inflicted shouldn’t have stopped a committed attacker, but the two he’d backed down lay sprawled by the entrance as though they’d been mortally wounded.
“Is your knife special—like poisoned or something?” I asked, jutting my chin toward the injured creatures.
“Just a keen edge made of bronze when I’m not channeling power.”
Of course it wasn’t steel. Cold iron and its many variants hurt those of the Dark Court. The fact that his black blade avoided the common material served as poignant reminder of his history. But I didn’t have time to rehash the manager’s intentions and allegiances. He’d swung over to our side and that was good enough for now. The thinning world veil threatened all the realms, so it seemed appropriate someone from the dark lend a hand.
“Maybe these wasps are susceptible to bronze like steel hurts those nasty buggers…” Pete trailed off with a glance at Manny. My friend had been up to his neck in our prior problems and knew as much about the unsavory side of the supernatural world as I did—including when to not ruffle feathers. “Well, the bronze might hurt them.”
“I doubt it.” Manny looked about to say more, but didn’t—one of his many annoying habi
ts.
“Either way, we need to get through these wasps without getting stung, retrieve the staff, and make a run for it.” I ticked each item off on my fingers.
“Ants?” Dwain’s question caught me off guard, but he stared down at Ralph who for once wasn’t stuffing his mouth with sweets. “Of course!” The sprite turned to the rest of us. “Ralph says these are Ant People. That’s why he wouldn’t fight them.”
“Whatever.” Quinn huddled in close and kept her voice low despite the fact our captors ignored us. “Once we’re through the ring, we take out the two to either side of the door, get our stuff, and we’re gone.”
“You don’t understand.” Manny looked from Dwain to Ralph. “If these are the Ant People, they helped your first people escape this world when it was to be destroyed.”
“Well, they’re certainly not in the mood to help us now,” I said. “Can you summon fire without your knife?”
Manny looked at me in disgust. Even Dwain seemed annoyed. Although these creatures clearly weren’t insects, I could see they indeed resembled giant ants. But we didn’t have time for history lessons. If that cave hooked up with tunnels, we might already be too late to retrieve the staff.
“I told you the knife wasn’t important.” With a sneer, he held his hand palm up, but dropped it a moment later in disgust. “Something blocks my power.”
“On to plan B. I’ll get us through to the entrance and drop the guards. Vance and Dwain can help me find the staff while you three get the ATVs fired up.” I looked to Quinn. “Can you hold them off with Spirit until we come back?”
At her curt nod, I called on Fire. Quinn’s Spirit energy surged as I grappled for an appropriate song to tie into my spell. Fire was wild and chaotic, often wanting to lash out on its own. The music had to be powerful, yet not too constraining. I’d lost control of the flames once and didn’t want to go through that again. Something from Three Days Grace would work.