by Ben Hale
She was still getting used to the enhancements that Iris had placed on the rifle. The optics now gave a display of a dozen other elements, and shifted according to her thoughts. To her surprise the readings seemed to automatically adapt to the round in the chamber, and showed the ideal trajectory to the target. Zeroing the distance, she lined up the shot and fired.
At over eight hundred yards the bullet would have dropped. It did not. Defying the pull of gravity, the bullet flew perfectly straight. Kate had been firing long-distance rifles for over twenty years and had never witnessed a bullet fly true. The sight brought a smile of intense satisfaction to her features.
"Did you know that was going to happen?" she asked, and rose to face Lerik.
"I hoped," Lerik admitted. "You said that Iris had added enchantments of her own to the weapon, and from your description I guessed they would guide the projectile's path. The spell will dissipate with distance, but it should reach the Spirus if you have the requisite skill."
"How many can you make?"
She grimaced. "Only a few. The nature of the enchantment is fragile, so having several in close proximity will cause them to negate each other. In addition, each round will alter the material of your weapon. Given time I could likely make them more stable . . ."
"But time is what we lack," Kate finished, and her jaw tightened. "I'd better not miss."
"One other thing," Lerik said, and the severity in her voice caused Kate to look at her. "This will make your weapon capable of penetrating a gravity shield, the charm mages use to protect against your firearms. It is—in every respect—a mage killer."
Kate understood exactly what she was saying. Lerik had enchanted a weapon capable of killing her own people. Leaving her gun on the floor of the alcove, Kate stood.
"I will be careful where I aim."
"Of that I have no doubt," Lerik said.
Lerik enchanted four other bullets for her, and Kate lined them up beside her. Each emitted a faint purple glow. She would have preferred to practice much more before using unfamiliar rounds, but she lacked the time—and a four-mile range. When Lerik was finished Kate thanked her.
"You can return the favor by not informing others of my assistance," Lerik said. "Prior to the Dark's invasion my act would merit the stripping of my magic." Her features tightened. "I would not care to lose my ability to fly."
"No one will hear your name," Kate said. "I can promise you that."
Lerik offered the first real smile Kate had seen on her, and then departed. When she was gone Kate settled into her position. She regulated her breathing as she put her eye to the scope. Four miles away, the Spirus leapt into focus. Then she put every thought of what she would be attempting out of her mind.
To her knowledge the longest confirmed kill had touched a mile and a half. She intended to triple that, if she could. The very idea of the attempt caused her to feel a sober determination. Unlike other snipers, she had equipment augmented by mages. She doubted she could even call her rifle the same weapon, and realized it had evolved into a gravity gun.
She passed the scope over the side of the Spirus. Much of the glass had been shattered during the battle on Auroraq, and there had been insufficient time to repair it. Through the openings she searched for any indication that they had been breached. She knew in her gut that Alice would seek to punish them for their defiance.
Her finger on the trigger, she waited. As if Stel approved, he flowed off her arm and settled into a stance that mirrored hers. It chirped an acknowledgment, and she almost laughed. Her humor faded as he didn't move, and she realized what he had become.
Her spotter.
Chapter 7: The Stacks
Breaker worked his way through the endless rows of shipping containers, and the stifling crowds between them. Built from millions of steel containers, the series of temporary homes had become known as the Stacks.
Layered three high and placed throughout the plains of the central United States, the multi-colored containers were the final destination for the three hundred million refugees that had survived the Dark's expansion. Countries had been given a section based on their surviving population, and their citizens had been packed in like fish in a can. Ladders and makeshift stairs allowed the displaced access to their homes.
Lack of power and running water had driven the people into the roads and alleys, where they trod underfoot the farmland that had dominated the plains before the war. Each day, military units passed out food and supplies, much of which the food and plant mages had prepared in order to stretch the desperately thin stockpiles.
Every surface carried a dingy sheen, matching the people trudging down the paths. Weary and loaded down with belongings, the latest to arrive looked to be from somewhere in Central America. Evacuated before the Dark closed off the southern front, they had abandoned their homes for the uncertain safety of the Earth Army.
Breaker's lips tightened. More than likely their homes would be gone if they were ever able to return. Alice's attempt to leash mankind to her rule had erased entire civilizations. Even if the Earth Army won, nothing would be the same.
An alarm sounded. Loud and piercing, it reverberated through the Stacks as a series of lights flickered red. Angry shouts erupted from a group attempting to gain entry to a bottom container. Four heavily tattooed men had pulled guns and were attempting to force their way inside.
Breaker made to intervene, but another man beat him to it. Wobbly and sporting a full head of white hair, the elderly gentlemen approached the assailants and raised a palm.
"You have been warned of such actions," he said in a squeaky voice.
The men ignored him and opened fire on the group huddling inside the door. The bullets came to a stop three inches from the end of their barrels. A collective gasp escaped the onlookers as they witnessed the bullets drop to the ground.
The tattooed men stared at the old man in astonishment until the older mage tapped his hand down. The gravity punch slammed into the leader like a falling boulder. His bags ripped as he crumpled, spilling bricks of white drugs onto the muddied ground.
"You knew the consequence of your choices," the older man squeaked. "You will now be banished for your crimes." He then cast a charm that lifted the offender into the air and tossed him back. His companions began to scream profanities and opened fire, causing the crowd to surge away.
"There is no need to panic," the old man squeaked.
As bullets came to a stop around him, the man cast a gravity locking charm that froze every person in view. The firing stopped as the other drug dealers lost the ability to move. Then the elder mage tottered forward and wrapped them in gravity bindings. They strained against their bonds until the older man stepped close to them and again raised his palm.
Like metal to a magnet, every gun and speck of drug was drawn to a floating ball in front of him. The men twitched as knives and other weapons were torn from their bodies to join the ball. Raising his second hand to it, he unleashed a torrent of white-hot flames. The drug dealers eyes widened as the ball was incinerated.
"I am sorry to see you choose such a fate," he squeaked, "but you were warned when you joined us."
He then turned and tottered away, trailing the floating offenders behind him. He made a dismissing motion, releasing the aurens. Then he noticed Breaker.
"Prime," he squeaked. "We have things in order here."
"I can see that," Breaker said as the old man passed.
"I may not be able to fight on the front, but this old battlemage still has a few tricks."
Breaker grinned and allowed him to pass. The gathered nations had been forced to pull anyone with combat experience to man the front line, leaving older mages and retired police officers to maintain order in the Stacks. Despair and desperation had led many of the refugees to acts of cruelty already.
Breaker sighed, and continued on his way. Winding past throughways and dining stations, he reached the stack that had been reserved for his family. Rather than use t
he stairs, he lifted himself on a finger of rock to the topmost container and walked inside the opening. Rivena looked up at his appearance and rushed to embrace him.
"I didn't think we'd see you before it started," she said, her voice relieved and joyful.
She smelled like dirt, sweat, and the unique scent of enchanted water. Stained after endless hours of work, her clothing bore creases and wrinkles. The evacuation to the Stacks had been swift, leaving little time to collect much clothing.
He gripped her tighter. "I wasn't about to go without seeing you," he said. He flashed the soft look reserved for her, causing her to return a worried smile.
"I just got off a shift," she said. "They have me casting aquaglass water tubes to each stack. A lot of people still don't have clean water."
"Where are the boys?"
She waved in irritation. "Out getting into mischief, I'm sure. The Magtherian stated that anyone over the age of eight could help. They're just a hair too young. I'm sure they will be here any moment. They have a knack for arriving just moments before punishment can be levied." Her tone was both exasperated and loving.
"Rox is on her way," Breaker said. "I told her if she didn't come home for tonight I would order her to. She couldn't refuse."
Rivena grinned at him, but the smile gradually disappeared. It did not need to be spoken out loud, but they both knew this might be the last moment they shared. When the line buckled, the Stacks would be the last resort. He could only hope that Tess had defeated the Dark in time.
"Do you think she can do it?" Rivena whispered, unknowingly echoing his thoughts.
"If anyone can stop the Dark, it will be Tess."
Tears formed in her eyes and she looked away. Her reply was interrupted by a pair of boys bursting through the door. Dirty and disheveled, they looked nearly identical. They had taken after Breaker in both magic and build, so even at the ages of six and seven they were muscled and thick.
"Dad!" they cried out in unison, and piled on top of him.
He pulled them into a crushing embrace, but they did not seem to notice the extra pressure. Jumping from his arms, they launched into a description of what they had discovered four quads over. Breaker listened with rapt attention, but out of the corner of his eye he watched Rivena.
Her expression rigid, she went about preparing a meal on the one counter in the container. The distilled food passed through the tiny cauldron and came out as bread and pasta. There was no table, so she put the plates on a bench made from bricks and a piece of wood. As the boys jumped to their dinner Rox appeared in the opening.
With the sun setting behind her and dressed in the uniform of a battlemage, she did not resemble the daughter he knew. The lighthearted glint to her eyes had been replaced with a determined gaze, and her stance betrayed her combat training. Conflicted at the sight, he hugged his daughter with a fierceness that drew a grunt.
"I'm glad you made it," Breaker murmured.
"You didn't give me a choice," she said. "An order from the Prime cannot be disobeyed."
"I couldn't stop you from joining the corps," he replied, "but I can order you to come home for—" He stopped himself from saying it, but it seemed everyone heard it.
A last meal.
Rivena pushed him out of the way and hugged their daughter. When they separated she touched Rox’s black and silver uniform.
"I never wanted this for you," she said. Her voice cracked, and a few tears left furrows in the dirt on her face.
Breaker's heart tightened in his chest. He'd agreed to let the Order of White join the battlemage corps, but had nearly refused simply to keep his daughter out.
"Shorn got assigned patrol," Rox said. "He couldn't make it."
Breaker met her gaze and read the tension in her eyes. He had specifically asked for their family to come together. Knowing Rox, she had tried to bring Shorn, yet he had remained behind—out of respect for him. All at once he realized how much the boy had been devoted to his daughter, and he regretted his effort to drive Shorn away. As far as teenage boys went, he was as decent as Breaker could hope for.
"Next time I want him here," he said, startling both his wife and Rox.
The stunned silence lasted until Rivena broke it. "We should eat," she said.
"We're already done," one of the boys said, and the both flashed gleaming smiles surrounded by red sauce.
"Can we go play?" the other asked.
"Not this time," Breaker said, and sat down beside them. Accepting a plate from his wife, he added, "This meal we eat together."
The boys started to protest, but Rivena's eyes flashed dangerously, and they fell to grumbling under their breath. Breaker smiled in gratitude, and the adults set to the task of eating.
Breaker ate the food without tasting it, but savored the moment. Little conversation was exchanged. Instead it seemed like they looked between each other with the desire to embed this event into memory. After a few moments even the boys seemed to understand, and their fidgeting with the steel wall came to a stop.
Breaker had been Prime for mere days, and yet this was the burden he deemed heaviest. Protecting his men was one thing. Guarding his family was something else entirely. Throughout his career he'd suffered at the hands of Harbingers, mage criminals, and even enraged reavers. The idea of losing his wife—or one of his children—far exceeded any agony he'd sustained. No matter what he did, he knew they would never be the same. Just as they finished, Alice began to speak . . .
You are the survivors of this world . . .
The words penetrated Breaker's mind like a hot lance. His face went rigid with disbelief as he realized who was speaking, and he darted to the door. Rox and Rivena were only a step behind. They came to a halt on the threshold, and watched the panic seep into the people below.
As Alice continued to speak through the Dark, the members of the crowd came to a jarring halt. Someone had a television on, and the screen showed Alice floating on the threshold of the Dark. Her words pierced every mind and sent fear stabbing into every heart.
Children began to cry, their wailing adding a frightening backdrop to Alice's sudden anger. Woman sank to their knees, and men bowed their heads. Even here, the furthest location from the Dark, they felt its presence. Then Alice issued her final warning, and the proclamation sounded like a sentence of death to the refugees.
At dawn my army comes . . . and by dusk it will be finished . . .
The Dark had reached their borders.
Chapter 8: Killers in the Night
His forehead creased in irritation, Robar struggled to reject Alice's ultimatum from his mind. He'd been sitting with a group of soldiers when her voice had pierced their minds. They had been field stripping their weapons, but all motion ceased when their enemy's words touched their consciousness. As he finished, Robar glanced at the window to gauge the time.
The sun was setting on the horizon, meaning they had the night to prepare. It was a small boon, but one he knew could potentially tip the scales. Alice likely hoped the Earth Army would realize they were outmatched and simply surrender, but Robar knew that would never happen.
He assembled his rifle with practiced fingers and then pulled the trigger. A satisfying click indicated he'd done it correctly, and he laid it on the table. He released a held breath and tried to dismiss the thought that had nagged him since he'd set foot on Auroraq. After Alice's words he knew the night’s peace would be shattered when the sun rose on the eastern flank. If he was going, this was his last chance.
"I'll catch up with you guys later," he said.
A round of "later Robar" ushered him outside, but he paused as the door closed behind him. For a long time he stood in the deepening darkness, knowing that if he started, he would not stop. Growling under his breath, he turned and trudged his way into Eastpoint.
After the battle for Auroraq, Robar had stayed out of Eastpoint. With the war coming in the morning, he could hold out no longer. Leaving Sentre behind, he found himself walking through the gra
ceful streets of the neighborhood he'd grown up in.
He had left when he was sixteen, but the residences had not changed. Even after two decades the spiral earth mansion still smelled of cool earth. The tree house next to it brought a smile to his lips. The multi-story home boasted several balconies and private, smaller bedrooms. He'd always wanted to climb up there. After the tree house came the home he'd grown up in.
He came to a halt, wanting to enter and yet reluctant to do so. Unlike the others on the block, his old house stood vacant. Its owners—his parents—had been killed. There hadn't been time for another to buy it.
Time slipped away, and still Robar remained in the street. Full dark settled on him, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. Releasing an explosive breath, he strode to the front door. Crafted of polished whitestone, the residence stood modest compared to those around it. Few magical enhancements had been added over the years, making it appear rather plain.
Robar tried the latch and found it locked, so he leaned back and kicked the door in. It crashed open with a clatter, the metal emitting a whine of protest. Bracing himself for the memories, Robar stepped inside.
A large entry greeted him. Steeped in shadow, the staircase curved up to the second floor. Several of the railings bore a slight tilt. It was not noticeable, but he knew where to look. His older brother had been nine when he'd been caught playing with knives in the kitchen. Their parents had tied him to the banister as punishment, but even that young his magic had been strong. Inside of ten minutes he had freed himself, and from then on their parents had used heavier chains.
Robar's forehead creased in anger, and he turned away from the sight. Taking two steps into the kitchen, he came to a halt in the doorway. The glass counters were supported by an aquaglass base. It too bore the mark of repairs.
The memory burst across his mind. Robar's brother had put him to bed and then set about cleaning up the kitchen. Well into their drink, his parents had come home late. Finding him still working, their father had picked the boy up and thrown him into the aquaglass cupboard. Glass and water had shattered, cutting him in a dozen places. Their laughter had drawn Robar from his bed.