by J Jordan
A few Desridanians would admit to feeling the strange rumbling on that day, but only when standing far away from religious buildings and statuary. And never on a Sunday.
Unless you’re an international seismologist, you wouldn’t know that seismographs around the world registered a similar, unimpressive line, even as people clung for their lives to anything bolted down. It was a quake felt around the world, a quake that rudely interrupted lives all across the planet, but a quake that ended without a trace. No buildings faltered, no bridges fell, no fine dinnerware was shattered. Phone systems around the world lit up like a Lanvale evening, every one of them calling to ask what had just happened. But that was it.
Perhaps you weren’t there for it. Likely, you were still a glimmer in your parents’ eyes. Or, perhaps you have reached your golden years, that majestic time when remembering where you left your keys is a marvelous occasion.
So, perhaps you don’t remember the Lanvale Quake of 2015. No one knew the cause. Romney and his associates, and everyone ascending the Prophet’s Mountains, and everyone within a thousand miles of its base knew. They remembered those three minutes vividly.
◆◆◆
Victoria and Cora had slowed to a brisk walking pace, although both continued to look behind them for signs of special forces and angry patriarchs. There were no more footsteps and no subtle movements in the dark. Cora cleared her throat.
“We need fresh air and light. We should all move outside after this and take a break. Sensory deprivation can have a lasting effect on the mind.”
“Right,” said Victoria. “Sensory deprivation.”
“Stress, lack of sleep, probably dehydration too. We need some fresh air.”
“Yes, you’re right. A bottle of water and a nap. That would do us some good.”
They arrived at the entrance, where Tykeso was standing in the same spot on the floor and waiting politely. He seemed embarrassed when Victoria approached. He knew enough Andaran to understand that the argument between the priestesses was going badly.
“Come on, we’re all going outside.”
“All right,” he said, “but I think they want me to stay here until they sort out these side bets.”
“We can continue the introductions later,” said Victoria, leading him out of the brazier. “The ancestral spirits will understand.”
The elf brightened as he moved away from the strange circle.
“Did you find Romney?”
The historians Victoria and Cora shared a puzzled look. Romney had gone in after Cora, but he never passed her on the way in. And Victoria didn’t bump into him on her way to find Cora. Victoria knew the reason why but didn’t want to share for obvious reasons.
“He can’t be lost,” said Cora. “It’s all left turns in there. What a strange place.”
“He will find his way out,” said Victoria. “I’m sure he’ll join us outside when he’s finished.”
They stepped out into the bracing air of the Prophet’s Mountains. It was a clear and crisp morning, the wind filled with fragrances of healthy pines. The three were relieved of their worries as they moved away from the entrance. They had almost forgotten that Andaran forces were likely scaling the mountains, in search of the five fugitives. It seemed like a small detail at the time. They stood at the first archway before the entrance and took a moment to enjoy the splendor of their surroundings.
They saw a man standing at the end of the path. He was a short, thin man in dress pants and a white dress shirt stained by dust and sweat. From where they stood, the three could make out his matted sideburns. Cora would later remark that only Romney Balvance would stand on a mountain top in business casual.
“Romney,” she called to the figure.
“What is he doing out here?”
“He wasn’t there a moment ago,” said Tykeso. “No, Cora, listen to me. He wasn’t standing there when we first came outside.”
“People don’t appear out of thin air, Ty.”
“What is he doing?”
They watched him from a distance. He was reading something in his hands. He flipped it over and read the reverse side, then stuffed the message into his back pocket.
“Romney,” shouted Cora, “we’re over here.”
Romney didn’t hear them. He stepped off to the side of the path.
And then he exploded into a column of light. The resulting cataclysm bathed the three observers in bright-blue light. The shock waves brought them to their knees. Tykeso huddled beside his two companions and pulled them close for support. The rising terror in his chest was accompanied by traces of smug satisfaction. There would be no way in any hell for Cora to explain this one without using the word “magic.”
◆◆◆
Lorna Reymus was having a wonderful time. She had spent the better part of an hour introducing the Andaran military to Joyce. Lorna never chose a single aspect of her job as her favorite, because every part was equally satisfying. But if she did choose one thing, it would have to be suppressing fire. There was something cathartic about holding down a trigger and letting your high-caliber weapon run free through an enemy advance. The sounds of the bullets ricocheting off the amphibious vehicle. The sight of bewildered faces peering from view ports. These were parts of a job well done.
Joyce was finished with her ammo belt as the APC reached the shore. The turret hatch opened up and the Andaran soldier was ready on the gun. He received a formal introduction from Gwen. A grenade round passed behind his back and dropped into the APC with a plunk. The interior made a squelching thump. It just wasn’t the same. Lorna fed Joyce the next ammo belt and locked it in place as three more APCs approached. She gave a hearty chuckle as return fire pinged against the walls of her vehicle. It was going to be a beautiful day.
It’s always a pity when good days end short. Lorna saw the pillar of light reflected in the Water Mirror. She looked back at the temple to see the brilliant blue flash. And then came the shock wave. Lorna remembered the sudden rush of electric heat from a long time ago. The shocks roared through the landscape, leaving the waters still and the trees unmoved. Lorna knew exactly what this was. This was magic unfiltered, crackling with potential, shaking her to the core. This was what Devon had been looking for, what Mila had been scouring the world to find. Lorna couched into the APC and braced against the walls. They had no use for magic. It was a dangerous tool from perilous times. Lorna remembered those days all too well, when life was a game of chance and tomorrows were uncertain. To bring it back was lunacy. So there had to be another angle to Devon’s plan.
When she returned to Lanvale, Lorna would get answers.
◆◆◆
Devon and Mila were answering to that particular subject at the time. They were at the long table in Devon’s conference room, sitting across from each other on opposite sides, facing Garn Vock and Thera Reymus at the end of the table. Garn had recently abandoned his seat to pace around the room. Both elders wore grim expressions. Mila crossed her arms and continued with her explanation.
“Like I said in the beginning, we’ve buried the expenditures in minor companies all over the world. They wouldn’t know where to begin. Our accounting department doesn’t even know and they’ve been scrubbing our records for weeks. The money, the new hires, everything. It’s untraceable.”
“But that’s what I’m saying, Garn,” said Devon, “is we don’t need to hide this anymore. The world is going to love the Reymus Collection. Imagine it. All of these beautiful historic pieces, preserved with state-of-the-art technology, for everyone to see. Presented to you by the beneficent Reymus Industries. This is public relations gold.”
Garn stopped in his tracks and made an about-face toward Devon. His scowl had lost any semblance of cool.
“Let’s clear the air about one thing right now. Your mother and I both know this little pet project has nothing to do with business. So, I pose the question again with this detail in mind. What are you doing with these artifacts?”
“It’
s charity,” said Devon. “I want to preserve history. I want to give the gift of knowledge to the people.”
Thera scoffed at this.
“Honestly, Devon. You can do better than that.”
“I don’t understand this, mother,” Devon replied. “Why the animosity? I’ve finally found an opportunity to give back to the world, to use my position and make a difference. I get the feeling you think this is some kind of sinister plot. And frankly, I’m insulted. I want to give back to the world. Swear on the Goddess. Do you really think me incapable of charity? Am I really such a villain?”
The air was heavy with the notes of Devon’s words. A beat passed, where Mila seemed to choke back a tear. Thera Reymus gave polite applause.
“A heartfelt performance, with gravitas. But lacking believability. Did you write it yourself? Or would this be Mila’s work again?”
“Let’s move to the second question, since you won’t answer the first,” said Garn, now hovering beside Devon. “Why did you choose these artifacts?”
Devon and Mila shared a glance, a little too quickly, before looking back to Garn. They smiled together, but gave no answer. Garn continued his pacing, his arms now folded neatly behind his back.
“You had my attention when you brought in the Golden Shell of Orren. Unless my memory fails me, that particular piece belonged to the Mighty John of Orren. It was being kept by Robert Glaiveman, up until last week. A pity what happened to him.”
“I remember that shell,” said Thera. “When the sunlight caught that gaudy plate armor of his, the flash of it. You couldn’t see for days afterward. And that damnable hammer.”
“The Iron Fist of Orren, they called it,” added Garn. “What the Orrens lacked in creativity, they made up for in sheer force of will.”
“I believe you have that one in with the others,” said Thera. “Northwest corner, in the double-wide case. Mia Talandra was keeper of that one. And what a coincidence too. Her estate was ransacked by hooligans, a month ago to the day. Everything in her collection, gone.”
“And you managed to find all six of Ira’s claws, those daggers in the middle cases, Row 6, C to I. Truly impressive. You likely know that Valdo Antario was their keeper. And now he’s dead. Coincidence? Again? I don’t think so.”
“We could go on,” said Thera, “but should we? Garn?”
Garn Vock flourished, index finger raised to the ceiling. He was prepared to drive it home.
“There is one commonality between all of these artifacts. Each is imbued with tremendous magical power.”
Devon tried his best at showing reproach. Mila kept her composure. She knew it wouldn’t work.
“Garn, dearest friend, what are you implying?”
“Cut the act, Devon,” Thera groaned. “Now it’s just painful.”
“You wound me,” said Devon with the sentiment of a leaking battery. “I’m only looking out for my fellow man.”
“Each was under the care of a keeper, for a very specific reason, and you know that reason, Devon,” continued Garn. “These items were meant to stay hidden. They were kept hidden for our benefit. And yet, here they are in your collection. You’ve brought them all under one roof, knowing full well that doing so is dangerous, pointless, and completely ludicrous.”
“Don’t forget senseless, shortsighted, half-witted, simpleminded, and plainly unintelligent.”
Thera aimed these at Mila. Their effects burned away Mila’s half smile. In a deeper part of Devon’s mind, a question arose. Who came up with the idea? And then came another. How long had they been chasing this goal? A wave of confidence swept these up and threw them out. Devon and Mila had been chasing this goal for too long. They wouldn’t stop here.
“And the absolute madness of it all. You’ve had the undaunted stupidity to gather them up and put them all here, in the Reymus Building of all places. Our greatest monument, our roost with its giant, glowing ‘R,’” said Garn. There was more to Garn’s tirade. And it was certainly going to cut Devon down to size.
But it was cut short by a shock wave. Everyone in the room could feel the raw potential coursing through the air. And they knew exactly what it meant. But they had never felt a pulse this strong before. It seemed to shake the very fabric of the world, bringing unseen machinery to a screeching halt. And with it, the dread sounds of seizing parts. It was a very long three minutes for the four occupants of Devon’s conference room. But the wave of raw magic did subside. It was replaced by a dead silence.
When Garn spoke again, his face was a hair’s width from Devon’s face.
“Get rid of everything. Return them, hide them, I don’t care what you do. But do not keep them here. They will be found. And they will be our end. Do not destroy what we’ve built.”
And without another word, Garn Vock saw himself out.
◆◆◆
This whole thing was new to Agent Kinsey, although she would never admit this to anyone. This was a real field operation. She was standing at the shore of the great lake atop the Prophet’s Mountains, watching another APC dip into the waters. She shouted at the turret gunner as he loaded a new belt into the mounted machine gun.
“We want them alive.”
The gunner made a dismissive gesture. He snapped the belt in place and ducked into the hatch. There had been a series of miscommunications since the OIB had arrived. They involved OIB agents explaining the Balvance situation and the Andaran military ignoring them. But this was getting cleared up between Andar’s Commando Central and the Lanvale office. Seeing as this was their fifth APC, it seemed there were still kinks in the line to iron out. Kinsey turned to the commander of the Andaran operation.
“How many times do we have to go over this? Balvance and his crew are wanted for questioning. That means they need a pulse.”
“Those guns are for la Drega Mala,” said the commander. “The Wyvern, as you call her. We will do our best to spare your novio, but we can’t help him if he’s in the way.”
“No,” snapped Kinsey, “Balvance and his associates are wanted alive, in acceptable condition. I don’t care who they’re standing in front of, you will not shoot them. Where is the sat-phone?”
“What do you need it for?” asked Agent Salinger, appearing with a stack of documents tucked under his arm. “I got the warrants here, except for Costa. The gents in Lanvale are writing that one up as we speak. We should be getting it by email any moment now.”
“Have you seen the firepower? They say it’s all for Wyvern.”
“From what I hear, it won’t be enough.”
They watched another APC roll into place. The gunner waved at Kinsey and winked with all the charm of a goofball. She returned the sentiment with her best grimace.
“Novio is boyfriend, isn’t it?”
“No idea, sorry,” said Salinger, moving his burden to the other arm. “Try looking at the context of the word.”
“You know the problem with guys like Balvance? They never get what’s coming to them. They always find some way to wiggle free. And what do they get when they do get caught? They get the nice, big prison cell and their own VoPad and anything else they ask for, hand delivered. Anywhere they go, they’ve got that network of goons ready to serve, ready to bend the rules to their whims. They think they’re immune to justice.”
“Well, not this time. Not Balvance. He won’t get away. And when I’m done with him, he’s getting a shoe box in Queensdale Maximum.”
“There’s no justice. There’s just us,” said Salinger. “Read that in a book.”
Kinsey had no reply for this. She was watching the sudden flash of light coming from the temple on the other side of the lake. She turned to the commander.
“Is that an air strike? Are you kidding me?”
The commander’s reply was lost in the shock wave. A wave of electric heat ripped through the camp, bringing soldiers and special agents to their knees. Kinsey buckled under the invisible power as it surged through skin and bone.
She remembered
it from her dream. The cacophony of screeching parts followed close behind, as if the world were seizing under this terrific force. She looked out to the lake, its mirrorlike surface reflecting the brilliant column. The waters were still. The trees motionless. The papers now scattered across the shore lay flat in the wet sand, unmoved by the wave of force. This was something stronger than any explosive known to man. And it had Balvance written all over it.
And in a hidden place, deep within the folds of space and time, a goddess was righting wrongs and cursing under her breath.
Romney Balvance and Agent Kinsey
The world came back into focus. The buzzing and the crackling had finally subsided.
Romney blinked at the landscape and attempted to regain his bearings. He was standing before Hirna Andrea, temple to the Prophet Andrea, atop the Prophet’s Mountains, in the northernmost parts of Andar. It was a nice place, Romney mused. His thoughts were abnormally pleasant after the shock of a high-yield magical transference. Plenty of people had survived a direct hit from a lightning bolt, but Romney was the first to survive a transference of this magnitude and live to tell about it. He would have been pleased to know this fact, had anyone known it at the time. Instead, he was occupied with the weather. Clear skies, sunshine, a slight and bracing chill. Glorious. Mountaintops were supposed to be snowy places, and cold.
He was roused by a tap on the shoulder. Romney turned to see his three companions, now standing a respectable distance from him. Cora’s hand remained an inch from his sleeve.
“No residual buildup,” she said, prodding him once more. “No visible burns. Did you feel that? Can you hear me? What is your name?”
Romney took a moment too long to answer, causing Cora to frown.