The Calypsis Project Boxed Set (Books 1-2 - The Echo-Alpha Duology)

by Brittany M. Willows

  Another projectile rammed into the Bandwagon’s underside and ignited the fuel tanks. The explosion ripped the dropship in half with a deafening roar, and the world turned to a blur of metal and fire and sky. For a moment, Kenon was certain the flames would consume him.

  A second later, he found himself submerged in water.

  The waves swallowed him before he could take a breath. He fumbled with the buckle at his waist. Unable to release it, the young warrior wriggled out of his restraints and swam toward the surface.

  Then one of the dropship’s engines came down on top of him.

  Chapter

  ———SIXTEEN———

  1000 Hours, September 10, 2442 (Earth Calendar) / Alqui, Kingdom of Oe’Nhervon, planet Thei’legh

  The Nephera had moved on in search of their key, leaving the remains of Alqui to smolder under the glow of Thei’legh’s moon. Teva’s icy form hung low over the sea, a hazy blue-white smudge in the smoke-veiled sky.

  A quivering whine filled the night. Dropships were gathering around the edge of the basin. Some carried portable medical stations, while others came bearing disassembled pieces of machinery. The parts were dropped off near one of the anti-gravity generators that once held Caenlegh Castle aloft.

  Now the structure lay in ruins at the bottom of the hollow, its great rings arching high above. Tattered vines dangled from the warped curves, shivering whenever the wreckage shifted.

  While the miners reassembled the plasma cutter, Levian pushed through the ragged green curtain with Calephus and Lenque at his side. The three of them peered over the basin’s rim into the billowing steam below. Most, if not all, of the water had evaporated in the blast.

  “The city, our home . . .” Lenque whispered. “Everything we had is just . . . gone.” His voice was hoarse, having not yet recovered from his outburst on the carrier when the castle fell.

  Levian placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, but did not dare respond for fear of losing his composure. Already he could feel it slipping—feel the ache in his throat as the reality of the situation chipped away at his calm façade.

  Vahn, Cyra, and his mother were trapped somewhere beneath the basin—whether dead or alive, no one could say for certain. The thought of losing them sent his hearts aflutter, and knowing he would be partially responsible for their deaths only made it worse. After all, it was he who sent them down there. It was he who issued the order, assuming it would be for the best.

  “If there is one thing previous wars have taught us, it is that cities can always be rebuilt,” Calephus said. “Given time, our kingdom shall be restored. For now, let us only concern ourselves with the search at hand.”

  Lenque nodded, a vacant look in his eyes. Withdrawing from his father, he headed to the generator to help the team prepare.

  Calephus retrieved a small metal object from his belt—a spherical drone that lit up like a miniature star when he gave it a pinch. It rose from his palm, hovered in place for a moment, then plunged into the basin. As it weaved between fallen pillars, he leaned over to Levian and said, “You mustn’t feel obligated to join us on this mission. Your father and I are fully capable of conducting the search on our own.”

  “I cannot allow that.”

  “I understand your reasoning, Levian. I do. But I can see how much this is tearing you apart.” Calephus dipped his head in an attempt to catch Levian’s gaze, but the Fleet Commander turned away. “Please, remain here with Lenque.”

  “Lenque is coming with us. I tried to persuade him to remove himself from the mission. No matter what I said, he would not stay behind. And just the same, neither can I.”

  “Then I suppose we must simply hope for the best.”

  Within a half hour, the plasma cutter was ready. A beam of focused energy shot from its barrel and drilled into the earth. Small pebbles jittered at its base. The device faltered when it hit the occasional crytal deposit deep underground, but eventually cut through and continued until it reached the catacombs sixty meters below.

  Levian grabbed a climbing harness from an equipment locker nearby, slipped it on, and anchored his line to the anti-grav generator. He then joined the rest of the party by the hole. Once it had cooled, they began their descent.

  There was a sharpness to the air that grew stronger as they went, increasing to a nigh unbearable potency as they passed through a cloud of steam. The water vapor dissipated at the bottom of the hole, where the temperature had become remarkably cool.

  Levian detached from his safety line and moved away from the ingress, squinting in the gloom. A wide, forked passage branched off from the entry hall. The paint of the mural above it had chipped and paled over time, though the image remained clear.

  A group of ghostly figures stood beneath a star-streaked sky, arms outstretched toward the moon. Each one bore a crown atop their head, and a cloak upon their shoulders. These were the spirits of rulers passed, of the kings and queens of Oe’Nhervon who had settled down for the evernight.

  King Amalan landed heavily on the damp floor and lumbered over. “Levian, Calephus,” he addressed the two fleet commanders. “Take Pyos, Saryl, and Siq down the leftward passage. Everyone else, accompany me to the right. We shall regroup when the search is done.”

  The group split and went their separate ways, each led by a luminary. Luminaries were search and rescue drones, larger versions of the one Calephus had released earlier. Their purpose was to light the path, to warn of obstructions or hazardous zones, and to alert the party to any bodies found along the way.

  And there were many.

  Periodic chirps became more and more frequent the deeper they traveled into the catacombs. But amongst the fifty-six bodies they had uncovered thus far, not a single survivor had been found.

  Saryl crouched to tag the carcass of a guard for retrieval. “There should be more,” she said. Unfortunately, she was right. Thousands had sought shelter here. For there to be so few this far in was strange.

  “Most of them likely went to the vaults,” Siq surmised, bringing up a holo interface. “That would put them thirty meters below us. At that depth, it is possible they escaped the worst of the blast.”

  Calephus gestured onward. “Then we should hurry. These corpses are not going anywhere; we can tag them on the way back.”

  The party pressed on.

  They passed under a series of intricately carved archways, each larger and more elaborate than the last. At the end lay the Vault of Kings—one of two three-story crypts that served as the final resting place for Oe’Nhervon’s departed rulers. The neighboring crypt was reserved for the queens.

  Ten caskets occupied the first floor, laid out in the middle of the room like the spokes of a giant wheel. The faces carved into their surfaces would have indicated to which fallen king each casket belonged . . . if they had not been buried beneath the branches of a hygrove tree.

  The tree appeared to have fallen from the sanctuary above. There was a hole in the ceiling, and in the floor directly beneath it. The cruiser’s particle cannon must have punched straight through the castle, the basin, and into the levels below . . .

  This place may not have taken the brunt of the attack, but it had certainly suffered a devastating blow. Bodies lay strewn about the room, many so badly burned it was impossible to distinguish Drahkori from Leh’kin.

  Against all odds, a hand twitched amidst the rubble.

  Pyos rushed to the survivor’s aid, urging her to remain still as he placed an iridescent film over her charred skin. The underside of the film was covered in an analgesic cooling gel that would soothe her wounds and keep them sealed until the medical team arrived.

  Siq jerked her chin towards a mountain of debris across the room. “Looks as though we won’t be meeting the others in the Chronicle Hall,” she said. The Chronicle Hall held the records of all fallen rulers, kings and queens alike. It had also been the connection between the two vaults—before the ceiling caved in and blocked the way.

  The luminary drif
ted into the vault and swept its beam over the gnarled tree, marking the locations of four dead guards caught in its branches. As it floated around to the other side of the debris pile, its intermittent chirps escalated to a shrill warble, and a live IFF transponder winked on Levian’s display.

  It was Cyra’s.

  Levian leaped over the caskets and weaved through the hygrove branches, ignoring the twigs tearing at his suit. The luminary withdrew from the pile to give him space as he began to dismantle it, removing the rubble piece by piece until he discovered an opening.

  Inside, Cyra sat with two small hatchlings in her arms. The whole right-hand side of her body had been burnt, her legs pinned beneath the stone slab that had shielded her from the cave-in. But she was alive, as were the children she cradled.

  Cyra lifted her head, stirred by all the activity, and blinked up at Levian. “Father?” she whispered. “Where are we? What happened?”

  “Hush, sweet child.” He splayed his palm across her chest as she tried to sit up. There was no telling how severe her injuries were. One wrong move could be fatal. “We are in the vaults,” he said. “There was a collapse. The castle fell and took much of the catacombs with it. You are very lucky to be alive.”

  “And mother—is she . . .?”

  “We have not found her yet, but we are still searching. Now rest. We will have you out of there soon.” Levian signaled for Pyos to take over, then continued to the lower levels with Calephus and Saryl.

  The second floor had fared no better than the first. More charred remains, more crushed caskets. The third floor, however, held promise. Having escaped the particle beam’s wrath, the heat down here wouldn’t have been anywhere near as intense, and only a small portion of the ceiling had been knocked out by the hygrove tree.

  As the luminary began its rounds, the group split up to cover more ground. While Calephus and Saryl combed over the rubble at the base of the tree, Levian went to investigate the alcoves behind uncarved pillars—the faces of which would one day bear the names of future kings.

  There was a body at the foot of one statue. A guard enveloped in steam. She had been cooked, boiled alive inside her own armor. Levian shuffled quickly past before the image could embed itself in his brain. Thankfully, what he saw in the next alcove erased it entirely.

  A couple of Leh’kin had huddled inside, along with a family of Drahkori refugees. Though delirious from the heat, they were all very much alive. Levian offered them a few words of comfort, gave them a tag so the medical team could find them, then continued his search.

  There was hope yet.

  Chunks of dirt and rock splashed into the floodwater a few feet away as Calephus and Saryl pushed over a great stone slab. Both knights then took an involuntary step backward, gaping at something by the tree.

  “Oh, spirits . . .” Calephus breathed.

  Levian started across the room, curious as to what they had discovered. Before he could get anywhere near the scene, Calephus strode up and slapped a firm hand on his harness.

  No words were necessary. His expression said it all.

  Levian shoved past him and trudged into the deep end of the pool. When he reached the base of the tree, he stopped dead in his tracks.

  Strands of scarlet silk clung to its mossy bark. Golden chains glimmered beneath the water’s surface. And at the heart of the bedraggled mess, lying tangled in the hygrove’s roots, was Vahn. Blood trickled down her forehead, streaking the pool blue.

  Heaviness infused Levian’s veins, and he fell to his knees. “Vahn?” He lifted her gently from the pool, sweeping the silken strands from her face. It almost seemed like she was asleep. The heat had yet to leave her skin, and luminous freckles still glittered upon her cheeks.

  I swore to protect you, Levian thought, and I failed.

  I should have known they would attack the castle.

  I never should have sent you here.

  As he gathered Vahn’s body in his arms, he submitted to grief’s will and let out a feeble cry. He had not the strength for anything more, for if he had, he would have roared. He would have cursed himself a thousand times over.

  But ultimately, he was not solely to blame.

  The Nephera did this. The Nephera took Vahn’s life.

  And they would soon pay.

  ———PART III———

  GODS AMONG US

  Chapter

  ——SEVENTEEN——

  Unknown Hours, September 10, 2442 (Earth Calendar) / Va’rien Falls, Kingdom of Oe’Nhervon, planet Thei’legh

  Alana rolled onto her side, the acrid stench of smoke and fuel burning in her lungs. She inhaled deeply, hoping for fresh air, and broke into a coughing fit. She curled into a ball and waited for it to pass. As the pain subsided, she lifted her head to look around and saw one of the Bandwagon’s propellers lodged in the dirt mere inches from her face.

  She drew herself up onto her knees and surveyed the scene through a cracked visor. Singed pieces of metal lay scattered about the grass. Small fires danced among the trees, though none appeared to be spreading. There was no sign of the passenger cabin in sight, nor any indication that her teammates had landed nearby. She must have been thrown out during the crash . . .

  Alana got to her feet and went to take a step forward, only to find that she couldn’t put any weight on her right leg. There was an absence of pain—a peculiar sensation that merely warned her not to move. She looked down to see what was causing it, and her breath hitched.

  A thin metal rod jutted out above her knee. The flesh surrounding the wound was so heavily drenched in blood that she couldn’t even determine the extent of the damage.

  The shock hit her like a tidal wave.

  She reached out for the nearest tree to support her quaking body. It could be worse, she told herself. It could be a lot worse. I could be dead—chopped up by that turbofan over there. This isn’t so bad . . . a little medi-foam and I’ll be good to go. I just have to get the rod out first.

  Steadying herself against the trunk, she took the rod firmly in her grasp, teeth clenched in anticipation of the pain. Alright, let’s get this over with. Three, two . . . Alana wrenched the broken pipe from her leg.

  Blood streamed down her leg. She yanked the canister of medi-foam from her belt and stifled her sobs as she filled the wound.

  Now she understood why her teammates always squirmed so much when she treated their injuries. The feeling of foam expanding and hardening beneath her skin was one of the most uncomfortable things she had ever experienced.

  After a moment’s rest, she started rummaging through the wreckage in search of equipment. She was able to recover her rifle and a pack of ammunition, but her backpack was nowhere to be found. That meant no food or water—or any of her emergency supplies—until she could regroup with the team.

  Alana tapped her headset to open a communications channel, hoping she hadn’t fallen too far away from the others. It would be impossible for her to cover any distance with her leg in this condition. “Carmen to Echo Team,” she said. “Does anybody read me? Over.”

  No response came.

  “Echo, do you read? . . . Jenkinson?”

  Still, nothing.

  Desperate to get a hold of somebody, Alana tried to reach Alpha, then the Legacy of Night, and even the comms outpost. Each attempt was met by the same eerie quiet from the other end of the line.

  Oh, no.

  What if something was wrong with her gear?

  She went to bring her suit’s status report up, then realized with a pang of fear that her display was gone. Her motion sensor, targeting reticule, and shield bar . . . Everything had disappeared, and there was no way she could fix it without the repair kit in her backpack.

  No, no, no, please! You can’t do this to me now!

  She was on her own—lost in a jungle at the bottom of a ravine with minimal supplies and no way to call for help. To make matters worse, night had already fallen. She could hardly see a thing, and there was no telling wha
t kind of vicious beasts may lurk in these woods.

  Suddenly the shadows seemed far more intimidating.

  ————

  Kenon awoke to a clear blue sky, the taste of salt on his tongue. He frowned as a flock of birds soared overhead, long tails fluttering like ribbons behind them. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all! Where was the night? The smoke, the inferno? Where were billowing clouds that promised rain?

  The young warrior sat up.

  Sand stretched all around—a vast desert peppered with spindly shrubs whose leaves were curled to ward off the heat.

  Strangely, Kenon felt no such warmth. Despite the sun on his skin and the hot granules beneath him, he couldn’t stop shivering. And unexplained sounds of water only added to his confusion, for there were no streams or rivers anywhere in sight.

  Where . . . am I? he wondered.

  The last thing he remembered was trying to escape the Bandwagon after it crashed into a lake at the bottom of Va’rien Falls. This place was about as far from a lake as one could get. How in the world had he ended up here?

  Kenon got on his knees and forced himself to stand, pushing against the bizarre pressure that clutched his body. It felt as though he were fighting a current, like some unseen force was attempting to restrict his movements.

  His ears twitched. Distant voices came to him on the wind, carried from somewhere up ahead. The young warrior stumbled forward on shaky legs and crested the top of a sand dune. From here, he could see a sparse forest of ebony trees, a parched riverbed, and . . . a couple of Drahkori.

  They were hissing and spitting furiously at each other.

  One was a female whose tattooed figure was wrapped in many layers of black and gold fabric. The other was a male dressed in heavy leather armor—a warrior, no doubt, and one who had suffered a rather nasty injury. Much of the left side of his face was covered in burn scars.