Godsend (The Circle War Book 1)

by Matt King

  Gross.

  He scanned the cabin for other walkers. What he saw made him blink to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. A wafer-thin console hanging in mid-air was all that stood between him and the battle raging on the field. He was pretty sure the tank still had a hull when he’d crawled inside. Then, the image of the valley flickered, and he realized that the walls of the ship were somehow projecting the outside view like a wraparound theater.

  A shadow moved across the scrum of battles. It stretched across the sky until the entire cabin was cast in darkness. He looked up to see a Mountain trudging toward the tank. The giant Orphii trained its single eye on the ruined ship. When it got close enough, it raised a foot off the ground.

  “Shit.”

  August grabbed his other sword, sheathed them both, and jumped to grip the edge of the hull breach. He was halfway out when a shadow fell over the hole in the tank. A downburst of wind prefaced the Mountain’s attack. In a single motion, he pulled himself free and launched himself off the side a split-second before the Mountain's foot came crashing down, instantly flattening the vehicle. The tremor from the stomp bounced August farther into the woods. He came to rest against a fallen log.

  The Mountain roared in triumph, rattling August's chest.

  No sooner had the Mountain finished its bellow than a deep rumbling tremor shook the battlefield. August could barely see above the fray, but he could make out the shadow of something moving through the synapse on the other side. Its body dominated the doorway, walking on a tripod of elongated diamond-shaped legs. Hovering between the appendages at their apex was a spinning golden orb. As soon as it cleared the synapse, the two front legs turned in the direction of the Mountain. The orb's color shifted to white. Concentric halos of light formed around the sphere, increasing in number until they formed a complete shell.

  He jumped and waved his hands at the Mountain. “MOVE BACK! GET AWAY!” he shouted. “GET OUT OF HERE!”

  The Mountain looked down at him before facing the synapse. An ear-splitting blast sounded from the opposite side of the field, and in a matter of seconds, the Mountain's midsection exploded in a mushroom cloud of fire.

  The earth shook as the Orphii giant fell to one knee, its injured side bleeding a mixture of stone and earth. It stumbled as it tried to right itself, but eventually made it back to its feet. The Mountain opened its jaws, directing a low, pained roar in a sweeping circle aimed at the Orphii fighting at its feet. August watched as at least a dozen of the smaller creatures gathered around it in a circle. They turned their heads to the sky. In unison, they produced streams of energy from their eyes aimed at the Mountain. The towering beast absorbed their gift, standing tall as its body rippled with pulses of white light. As the smaller Orphii's beams ended, they dropped to the ground, collapsing into lifeless bodies of rock. One by one they fell until they were nothing but a pile of spent corpses around the Mountain's feet.

  The Mountain turned to face the advancing cannon, whose orb readied another volley. With a defiant roar, its single eye bloomed with light, sending out a long streak of white fire that tore across the field. There was a blinding flash on the other side as the cannon erupted in a shower of sparks and flames. The synapse disappeared behind a curtain of fire.

  August ran back to the field and climbed on top of a boulder to get a better view. He beamed at the sight of the cannon burning in the distance, its trio of legs shattered and spread in broken pieces across the valley. If that was the best Galan had, they might make it through this thing after all.

  The stone outcropping shuddered beneath his feet. He turned to see the Mountain stumbling, trying to keep its balance until finally it wavered too far to one side and fell, cracking the fire-scarred field beneath it. Plumes of dust rose in a cloud around its body.

  “No!”

  He ran toward the dying titan even though he knew he couldn't do anything to help. A group of Orphii moved in front of him to head off the army of spiders threatening to swarm the fallen Mountain. One made it through the Orphii’s defense and began to scale the body. August veered off to give chase. Using the rocks as handholds, he scaled the Mountain's charred midsection. The spider widened its lead, crawling effortlessly along the rocky skin as its legs navigated the spiked crust with probing front legs. When it crested the body, the spider pulled something from an open compartment in its midsection. All August could see was a blue glow in its hand. The spider pointed its free arm and opened fire, blasting away at the Mountain until it created a hole in the crust. The device in its hand blinked faster.

  It’s got a bomb.

  August reached the top and tackled it from behind, knocking the sphere to the ground. The spider's legs writhed beneath him, trying to push him off while at the same time reaching for the bomb with its upper limbs. With a lunge, the spider grabbed it. August stepped on the carapace, drew a sword, and sliced off the arm holding the device, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the machine. The bomb strobed faster. He wrenched the orb from the severed arm and shoved it into the machine's chest before pushing it over the edge with a hard shove. The spider detonated in a blast of blue flames.

  Gasping for breath, he re-sheathed his sword and looked out at the field. The valley was in ruins. Fires dotted the landscape as the machines and Orphii clashed in mobs. The Orphii were still outnumbered, but they had reduced the ranks of the machines by half at least. Only two of the Mountains remained. One moved through the trees to his left, chasing a group of machines and tanks trying to seek shelter in the forest. The other marched straight into the heart of the enemy, and that's when August saw the shadows of two more cannons appear in the synapse.

  A small dot on the horizon appeared, a black fleck suspended between the machines’ corona. He squinted to make out its shape. It wasn’t until the shadow grew larger that he realized it was flying toward him.

  He had no time to react. The black streak crashed into his chest, knocking him off the Mountain. August flew through the air, tumbling, until he came to a stop at the base of one of the pits created by the Mountains’ arrival.

  “August Dillon!” a man’s voice boomed. The sound was instantly familiar.

  No, August thought. That's not possible.

  He tried to turn over. A foot came crashing into his midsection, flipping him across the soil. Heavy footsteps shook the ground as he tried to clear the cobwebs in his head.

  When his vision cleared, he looked up to see the image of Coburn staring down at him, but it was only a shadow of the man he remembered. His face was a mass of black wires, with needle-thin pistons creating artificial lips and nostrils, extending and contracting like mechanical muscle fibers. The rest of his body was a patchwork of machinery oiled with blood. His chest and legs were covered by ornate armor, with molded, raised designs depicting an eye with a horizontal red pupil. His hair was longer and washed completely white. Like the spiders, Coburn's eyes were gone, replaced with a network of hexagons whose borders gave off an orange light like burning coals. He held a staff in his hand weighted on the bottom with four sickle-like blades. Topping the shaft was barbed spear.

  Don’t react, August told himself. He wants me to be scared. He only hoped Coburn couldn’t see into his thoughts to know he was.

  “Look at you,” he said as he got to his feet. “I never thought I'd say this, but somebody managed to make you uglier.”

  Coburn readied his staff and grinned, showing a mouth full of steel teeth. “Talk now. Before this night is over I will hear you scream.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  The air passing through the balcony of Amara's retreat was thin and cold. Rising from the peak of a mountain, miles above the surface, the tower gave Michael a view of everything—the black bruise of the decadrome remains, the synapse used for Galan’s army, and the lights of the castle far on the horizon. He lingered on the castle. How close had Dillon come to killing him? Amara wouldn’t say, but he’d seen the look on her face. The image still left a hole in his gut. I’m stron
ger now, he thought, and it was true. Now he wished he could be out on the field with Galan’s troops to show Dillon and the others just how strong he’d become.

  He watched the fight unfold through a hovering canvas of energy over the balcony’s stone railings, like a window to the world he’d left behind. He could feel Amara’s stare as he watched the two armies clash. One of the giant stone monsters was dead, but the fight had gone on for longer than he expected.

  “Patience,” she said, walking to stand beside him. “The tide is already starting to turn.”

  An image of Dillon appeared, lying stunned at the bottom of a pit. Then, the window dimmed, shrinking until it left Michael staring at the sparkling mountains below the tower. A gust of wind passed over his skin. In its wake, a fine mist of steam rose from the red cracks on his arm. He smiled at the sight.

  “You are eager,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “And you are powerful.”

  “I can feel it,” he answered.

  Her hand slipped to his neck. She ran her fingers through his hair. “Come with me,” she whispered in his ear.

  She took him by the hand to lead him back inside. Shadows cast by the fire pit danced on the walls. Waiting for him in front of the flames was a portal.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “This is for you. It is time.”

  He looked to her and then back to the synapse. “What about Galan’s army? I can’t control my blasts. They’ll all die.”

  And so will a lot of others.

  “They are nothing to you,” she purred. “Galan’s legion knows this is coming. This is what you have been waiting for, why I have given you your gift.”

  “I know, it's just...” He thought about the people again, the ones who wouldn’t know it was coming. She let go of his hand as soon as the thought crossed his mind. His stomach lurched in panic. “Wait! I’m not scared to. I'll do it.”

  “This is no time for weakness.”

  “I know. I won’t be weak.”

  “Then tell me, my prince,” she said. “Are you ready to face him?”

  Dillon. He could melt the smug grin of Meryn’s champion with a single burst. Michael flexed his fingers, stoking the red fault lines of his skin.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Go then. Show the world what you have become.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  August took out his swords. The rest of the battle had moved north, leaving him and Coburn alone in the shadow of the fallen Mountain. He scanned the ridge of the crater, hoping that the Horsemen had followed the Orphii instead of him. There was no telling what Coburn was capable of now. Judging by the lingering pain in his ribs, he'd gotten stronger. Maybe even as strong as Bear. If the brothers tried to get involved, there was no way they'd live through it. As he looked into the light of Coburn’s eyes, he started to wonder whether he would either.

  “Are you scared under that mask?” Coburn asked. He took a quick step forward.

  August flinched.

  “I thought so.”

  Coburn was a blur of speed, ramming August to the ground with a well-placed shoulder. He wasted no time going for the killing blow, stabbing the end of his staff down before August could recover. The metal tips clanged against the suit’s visor, snapping August’s head back. It should have killed him. Two inches lower and it might have. Coburn left him pinned beneath the staff for a pause.

  “This is not the man I trained,” he said, his voice thick, every word sounding like it had to pass through a layer of grease. “Your powers have made you soft.”

  August knocked the staff away, fighting his way back to his feet while simultaneously trying to move out of Coburn’s range. He slotted the two ends of his swords together and twisted until they locked. “Are you gonna talk or fight?”

  Coburn rushed forward with a snarl. His strikes carried so much force that each block seemed as though it would snap August’s swords in half. The quickness of Coburn’s movements overwhelmed, keeping August on the defensive. His weapons whistled in fits and stutters, begging for a chance to sing if he could ever get enough time to counter.

  Every hit left him thinking it was the last one he could take. Finally, he saw an opening and slammed his head into the bridge of Coburn’s nose. The cyborg shook it off and grabbed him by the throat, slamming him to the ground. August’s fingers slipped on the blood-slicked cables of Coburn’s arm. It took every bit of strength to pry his grip away.

  With a final heave, he pushed the arm aside and held onto it as he rose, flipping Coburn over his back. August jumped up quickly, driving the point of his sword staff toward Coburn’s chest, but he was too slow. Coburn brushed it aside, got to his knee, and swung his staff around like a bat, catching August flush in the stomach. He came to a skidding stop next to a rock.

  Coburn’s footsteps left deep imprints in the soil. August sized him up, trying to spot a weakness. He came away empty. Coburn was stronger, faster. Always deadly, now he was a magnified version of the hard man who taught his hunters the art of the kill.

  Over the advancing Coburn’s shoulder, four dark shapes appeared at the lip of the crater.

  “No,” August said.

  Coburn swiveled to see the Horsemen collected together. “Traitors.”

  His feet lifted off the ground. August sheathed his blades, ran forward, and tackled him from behind before he could fly away, pinning Coburn’s head down with his forearm. “Run!” he yelled to the Horsemen. The sound seemed to bounce around the inside of his helmet. When he saw the brothers coming down the slope, he leaned down to keep Coburn pinned and pressed the button to release the shielding around his face. “GET OUT OF HERE!”

  Coburn’s hand reached up, his fingers curling around the lip of August’s neckline. Like he weighed nothing, he pulled August off his back with ease, holding on to bring them face-to-face. The thin pistons of his cheeks clicked and chattered.

  “I'll deal with them later,” he growled. “For now, let’s see how well you fly.”

  The ground beneath August’s feet fell away as they took off toward the ceiling of the dome. Coburn’s grip covered the mask’s release button, and as hard as he tried, August couldn't pry the fingers away. Air rushed against his exposed face, making his eyes water. As they rose, he got a view of the battle spread out across the valley. A second cannon exploded near the synapse, but at the expense of another Mountain giving its life. Only one of the titans remained, its head rising above the trees as it struggled to fend off the machines scattered amidst the brush at its feet. He saw the Horsemen near the crater and the large swarm of machines moving in on them.

  He tried again to peel Coburn’s grip away. A fist crashed into his ribs.

  “Not yet,” Coburn said.

  They flew higher until the brightness of Meryn’s shield burned the back of his eyes. The surface rippled under the weight of bombs exploding on the other side. He wondered if she could see him there, struggling to breathe and hanging over a drop that would likely kill him. When he imagined her face, he pictured a look of concern.

  No, that wasn't right. What he saw in her face was regret.

  Coburn turned him around, forcing August’s head down until he was staring at the crater so far below.

  “All those years spent trying to force you to live up to your potential,” he said, “and you repaid me with betrayal. Now your new master will see the true August Dillon. Even with the power of the gods you fail to achieve what is asked of you.”

  “I’m not a…failure.”

  “You lie to yourself as easily as you lie to others.” Coburn brought him close to whisper in his ear. “How does it feel knowing that you will die a man of no consequence?”

  He released his grip.

  August dropped in a free fall, his arms flailing against the flow of air as he tried to reach up to his neck to trigger the mask before it was too late. His fingers slipped against the fabric of his suit. With barely a second to spare, he found the bu
tton and pressed it. His mask formed in a blur just before he crashed to the earth.

  The world turned into a jumble of streaking images as he hit. His neck popped violently, and in an instant, the storm of pain faded to a numb haze. He came to rest with his cheek to the ground, staring through a clouded, frozen stare at a battlefield turned on its side. Nothing responded to his attempts at movement. Blurs slowly came into focus. Something moved along the hill in front of him, steadily building like a wave until he saw light glinting off metal armor. The walkers closed in, surrounded by a sea of spiders. As a faint prickling sensation spread through his extremities, he could feel the vibrations from their footsteps.

  Galan’s machines moved closer. They raised their weapons. The feeling in his arms and legs returned, but not his strength. He tried to stand. He pushed himself up on his arms, but his legs were still too weak to respond. They trembled, unable to give him enough strength to move away.

  “Help,” he uttered, barely able to form the words. He looked around drunkenly for the Horsemen. When he tried to call for them, another name came out instead. “Bear…”

  A howling scream ripped through the valley.

  Shadow leapt from the top of the Mountain’s corpse, raining down in a blur as she landed in front of the troop of walkers with the remnants of her transformation still crackling over her skin. Her orange eyes searched for August. When she saw him, she held his gaze for a moment, standing rigid until he gave a sign that he was okay. Then she turned to face the machines. Her roar was thunderous—wild and angry—and while its echoes carried through the valley, she bared her teeth at Galan’s legion with claws outstretched, daring them to come.

  The sight of her was enough to urge August to his feet. It hurt his jaw to smile, but he did it anyway.