Doc Harrison and the Prophecy of Halsparr

by Peter Telep

  Her eyelo flashes, and the shields ignite in the air.

  “Damn, dude,” Keane mutters, pulling up on his elbows. “That looks serious.”

  “Cypress, just shield us!” I order. “Don’t attack!” I wonder if she’ll even listen.

  She doesn’t answer. The shields of hexagons swell over us but remain in position.

  Meanwhile, Punk and Mr. Gurdy go nuts, hissing and roaring and ready to leap ahead toward the domes—

  Just as four figures with rifles charge out from behind the field of flowers.

  As they jog toward us, Tommy gets to his feet and waves both hands, shouting, “We come down from Violet, and we need help!”

  Cypress maintains the shields while shouting something to the grren, who continue growling but hold their places, scratching at the ice.

  As the group arrives, they lower their rifles and come forward, marveling over the hexagon-shaped shields and their tiny fragments tumbling in the air.

  Seeing this, Tommy lowers his own rifle. “We just want to talk,” he shouts. “No weapons.”

  “It’s okay, Cypress,” I tell her. “We’re okay now.”

  “All right, Doke.” She exhales loudly, and the shields fall like rain toward the ice.

  The men and women look to Cypress, eyes widening.

  “I think they’re prospectors,” Meeka says. “Used to work for the big fuel companies scouting out resources before the withering.”

  “But what’s up with…” I let my sentence hang because I’m so blown away by their appearance.

  They’re all dressed in shorts, boots, and light blouses or t-shirts, as if the frozen air means nothing to them. The two men wear white beanies, and the two women have their hair pulled back in buns.

  Their skin glows as though they’re in their personas, but it’s different, blurry around the edges like heat waves coming off a grill. The tallest of the group comes forward.

  She’s blonde, almost albino, and about forty, maybe a little older. No makeup, just a plain, lean face, with a few wrinkles near her silvery eyes. “You came all the way from Violet?” she asks, her voice sounding like she’s speaking through a fan.

  “That’s right. I’m Major Thomas McMillan, United States Marine Corps.” Tommy offers his hand.

  The woman scrutinizes him, her face shimmering in and out of focus. “You’re not from Violet.”

  “Not exactly, ma’am. Originally, I’m from Promised land, South Carolina. It’s a nice place. You’d like the sweet tea…”

  “Promised Land. I’ve never heard of it.”

  Tommy smiles. “It’s a mighty long way from here.”

  “I like the way you talk.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “And you,” the woman adds, directing her attention to Cypress. “We’ve heard all about you.”

  Cypress lifts her chin and then marches up to the woman, as Punk and Mr. Gurdy shiver and leap to her sides.

  The group backs off, and the woman raises her palms. “It’s all right. We’re friends.”

  Cypress snorts. “None of you are my friends—until you prove to be.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  All four prospectors grow dim and return to normal—no glow or blurry heat waves.

  “What were they doing?” I whisper to Meeka.

  “Hovering,” she answers. “I’ve only met one person who could do it, and she came from here.”

  “So they weren’t in their personas?” I ask.

  “Not exactly.”

  I’m ready to learn more about this hovering thing, but the tall woman shouts for our attention: “Everyone? Please. My name’s Daliah, and this is Pym, Mux, and Lyrric.” Her voice sounds clear and unfiltered, no distortion. “Brandalynn told us you might be coming.”

  “And that’s why you shot at us?” Steffanie asks.

  “I’m sorry, but there’s a large caravan of nomads on the coast. Their scouts fly in every week to probe our defenses.”

  “Do we look like nomads?” Steffanie asks.

  “It was a warning shot,” Daliah says, matching Steffanie’s sharp tone. “We’ve made a good life for ourselves since the withering—and no one will take it away from us. No one.”

  Cypress turns, drifts over to me, and whispers, “She tried to connect with me. They know I have Mum, and I don’t trust them. They want something.”

  “And you know this because…”

  “I just do,” she snarls.

  “All right, we’ll be careful.”

  I push past Cypress and approach the group, as Tommy greets Pym and Mux. The two men slide off their beanies to expose gray hair. They bow, and Tommy does likewise. He introduces me, and then calls to the others.

  I turn to Lyrric, who could be Daliah’s younger, teenaged sister with the same color hair but slightly darker features.

  She raises her eyebrows. “Sorry, I’m so nervous,” she says with a gasp. “You’re really Docherty Harrison.”

  “Uh, yeah?” I ask. She’s making me feel like a celebrity, which is very strange. “But hey, I’m just Doc.”

  “Okay. I’m just Lyrric. And your grandmother’s one of the nicest ladies I’ve ever met.”

  I smile politely and don’t have the heart to tell her that my grandmother’s gone. Maybe she already knows.

  Daliah and her team shudder at the cold, and then, as if cued by her, they all start hovering again. Daliah waves everyone back toward the outpost, with Tommy at her side.

  I fall in beside Lyrric. “How do you do that?”

  “You mean hover? You don’t know? You just project your persona really close and then project it again, really fast, over and over. Takes practice, but that’s how we keep warm.”

  “Damn, that’s sweet.”

  “I could’ve told you that,” Meeka says, hurrying up beside me and then glaring at Lyrric. “Hi, I’m Meeka.”

  “I’m Lyrric, your Highness.”

  “Oh, please,” Meeka says with a groan.

  Lyrric’s confused.

  “She’s just being modest,” I explain.

  “Why?” Lyrric asks. “I was in the Community and saw you. You looked pretty. And Keane wore those funny clothes.

  “Yeah, well, I’m just a rumm,” Meeka insists.

  “I don’t understand,” Lyrric says. “Because I think—”

  “So Lyrric, you like this place?” I ask, widening my gaze and hoping she gets the hint.

  She’s still confused but finally nods. “Doc, I’ve been all over Flora. Chrysantha’s a paradise compared to the cities in Larkspur and Centennial.”

  “Sorry, I grew up in a really warm place.”

  “Winter Springs, Florida.”

  “How do you know so much?”

  “My parents worked for your grandmother. She used to jump here all the time and talk about you.”

  “And how long ago was this?”

  “Pretty much my whole life.”

  Her answer strikes me as odd. “I guess my dad told her about me. Maybe he was meeting with her while I was growing up.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I just met her not too long ago.”

  “Really? That’s weird. She sounded like she knew you.”

  “My whole life is weird. So far this year I’ve been on three different planets and on a ship made out of personas. I guess it’s better than sitting in chemistry.”

  “You mean school? Because I hate it, too. All we learn about is how great Flora was and how we need to rebuild it. They shouldn’t have blown it up in the first place.”

  I wince and nod.

  We file onto a path leading through the field of golden flowers. I ask about them.

  “Your grandmother planted these a long time ago,” Lyrric explains. “She never told us what they were, but every year the field gets bigger.”

  “Cypress calls them rokujahh. What do you call them?”

  She gives a little shrug. “Your grandmother said they’re ‘schol
ars.’ They’re learning about us, whatever that means. They don’t do anything, though. I like the shapes. And the cold doesn’t bother them.”

  We reach the nearest dome guarded by two heavily armed prospectors. One guard tugs open a rusted hatch and waves us inside.

  As the prospectors pull back their personas, we follow them through a shadowy passage and into a dome with a massive skylight.

  “Aw, dude, now we’re talking,” Keane says, tilting his head up and bathing in the warm glow.

  With a grin, I realize that Hedera liked being in the cold—because Keane clutched her to his side. Now he releases her, and she frowns in disappointment. But that only lasts a second as she, too, takes in the place.

  The perimeter walls are lined with booths where people are selling trays of food. I feel like I’m back home at the mall. The only things missing are the neon signs and people shoving toothpicks of teriyaki chicken in my face.

  And hell yeah, whatever’s cooking smells like total heaven. The grren agree, whimpering and begging Cypress for something to eat.

  “We have a little competition going on,” Daliah explains. “So help yourselves to whatever you want, and let us know what you like the best. And please feed the grren as well.”

  “Roger that,” Tommy says. “But only a quick bite, ma’am. Then we’ll need to get going to the lab.”

  “Please eat. And then we’ll talk.”

  About twenty or thirty prospectors are here for their own meals. Most resemble miners in stained coveralls, with just a few dressed like administrators in tailored outfits that look clean and neatly pressed. Everyone’s staring at us.

  “Awkward much?” Keane asks, heading toward one of the booths.

  “Oh, don’t mind them,” Lyrric says. “We don’t get much company that doesn’t want to kill us.”

  I hesitate as Keanes hurries off toward one of the booths.

  Lyrric looks after me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing really,” I answer. “But can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “You know about the lab we’re trying to get into, right?”

  “Everyone knows about it.”

  “So can you help us find it? Because I think we have the key to get inside.”

  “We know where it is. But that doesn’t matter.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you can’t get close. No one can. Just don’t go there, Doc, please.”

  “I have to. And there has to be a way to get in.”

  “There isn’t.”

  I glance up—

  To find Daliah staring at us from across the dome. Lyrric sees her, too, and then quickly excuses herself.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  After we finish eating, we meet with Daliah at a table near the cafeteria’s exit. Cypress stands behind us, along with the grren, and they all stare suspiciously at our host.

  I give Cypress a look, as if to say, “Please, be polite.”

  Cypress gives me a look, as if to say, “Shut up.”

  “Obviously, we know why you’re here,” Daliah says. “But you need to see what you’re up against.”

  She sends us an invitation to connect.

  One by one, we accept it, but Cypress holds out for a few seconds. I emphasize the importance of this and that she can keep her guard up, and finally, she gives in.

  We jump with Daliah to a cliff overlooking a valley that’s barely a quarter mile in diameter. It’s walled in by mountains and so perfectly round that it resembles a crater. A blanket of snow sweeps across the surface, thinning toward sheets of ice ringing the perimeter.

  Every few seconds, dull green lights pulse in a hundred random locations from beneath the surface. They’re barely noticeable, and I wonder if they’re just weird reflections or something.

  “The entrance to the lab is deep below the surface. There’s a lift that can get you there, but even its entrance is still pretty far below, about forty feet,” Daliah says.

  “So what do we need? Some digging equipment?” Tommy asks.

  “The grren could dig you to the lift entrance. That’s not a problem,” Daliah says.

  “Then what is?” I ask.

  “Getting into the valley in the first place,” she answers. “And the lift is right in the middle.”

  I raise my hand. “What’s the problem?”

  “The isloucykfalda.”

  “I’m sorry,” Keane says to Daliah. “Do you have something caught in your throat?”

  “We say is-lou-cyk-falda,” she repeats.

  “I know what they are,” Meeka says. “But most people just call them snowglass, right?”

  “Yes,” Daliah answers. “But that’s the nickname for their personas. The people who built the lab brought them here as guardians.”

  Daliah jumps us to another side of the valley. We’re down near the shoreline, with the wind whipping across a few ice flowers and dulling their edges.

  “Now please watch,” she says. “This happened a few days after the withering.”

  A much younger Daliah walks right by us, hovering in her persona and leading a group of worried-looking prospectors, also hovering to keep warm.

  Out on in the snow, about a hundred feet away, sits a teenaged boy wearing nothing but shorts and a sweatshirt. He’s either unable or refusing to hover. He’s shivering, with his knees pulled into his chest.

  Abruptly, he looks up and bolts to his feet. “Don’t get any closer, Mom, I’m telling you!”

  “Aw, hell,” Keane whispers. “This won’t end well.”

  “Reesha, we need to talk,” the younger Daliah says, lifting her hand and bringing the group to a halt. “Come back.”

  “Come back? I just wanted to leave this rock! But now there’s nowhere to go! And we’re all gonna die!”

  “We’ll be safe here. We’ll never leave you.”

  “I hate you. I hate this place. I hate everything you love, everything you think is so important. It’s all killing me. And now I’m trapped!”

  “No, you’re not,” Daliah says. “We’ll get through this.”

  “No,” the boy says. “We won’t.”

  With an eerie look—as though he’s seen heaven and knows how to get there—the boy runs off, straight into the valley, leaving shallow footprints behind.

  He gets about thirty feet when the snow cracks apart in his path, shattering just like glass. Blinding white light filled with green particles shoots up between the cracks.

  The boy staggers, loses his balance—

  And then, with a breathy roar, he gets sucked down as though through a straw.

  In the next second, the snow flickers green and returns to normal, the cracks and hole completely gone. A gust of wind blows more snow across the valley…

  And then… utter silence—

  Until Daliah’s group shrieks and cries, and Daliah herself falls to her knees, devastated.

  Meeka swears and tucks in close to me as the older Daliah continues, “My boy is gone.”

  “Daliah, I’m so sorry,” I say. “You didn’t have to show us.”

  “Believe me, I did… because you’re next… if you go.”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry for your loss, too,” Tommy says. “And you’re right. It’s looking real hard to get on that target.”

  “Impossible,” Daliah says.

  “Can we jump out there in our personas?” I ask. “And if the ice breaks, can we just jump away?”

  “No,” she replies. “The snowglass interferes with the wreath and blocks anyone from jumping into the valley. This is as close as we can get. If you want to go out there and dig for the lift, you have to walk.”

  “So look here, we’re supposed to walk through an ever-changing minefield full of monsters till we find the right spot to dig,” Tommy says. “All right, let’s roll up our sleeves.”

  “I told Brandalynn it’s impossible,” Daliah says. “But she sent you anyway. And I guess I’m just here to disappoint yo
u, because whatever’s under that snow will stay there, unseen by us, for another thousand years. Maybe you’ll have more luck up in Larkspur. You shouldn’t waste more time here.”

  “Daliah, these snowglass things, has anyone ever tried to connect with them?” Steffanie asks.

  “Every day,” she says, choking up. “Because even after all these years, I still wonder if my boy’s alive. Maybe they just took him for some reason…”

  “Are there any sages?” Steffanie asks.

  “There was one,” Daliah answers. “But he died just after I got here. Why? Are you one?”

  “No, but I carry his immortal. His name was Joshua. He was a blue and green sage. Extremely powerful.”

  While this is news to me, I’m not surprised. And I guess Steffanie had no reason to tell me. It’s all really personal and heartbreaking. Joshua was a great man, and Steffanie really loved his daughter.

  Daliah’s eyes fill with hope.

  * * *

  The prospectors have a solar-powered tracked vehicle we can use for the two-hour ride back to the valley. Once we’re there in our bodies, Steffanie can project Joshua’s immortal.

  Tommy says he wants to “keep the mission tempo high,” so we need to leave pronto.

  But first, Keane projects my grandmother’s immortal, and we grill her for more answers.

  I even ask if Mum’s immortal should try to connect with the snowglass instead of Joshua’s.

  No, Mum can only open the doors. Reaching those doors is our responsibility.

  “Grandma, this might sound stupid, but we always left a key under a fake rock to get in our house. Did you or my father leave us a key somewhere? I mean besides Mum?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But you’re not sure.”

  “Some information is not complete.”

  “Are you being deliberately vague?” I ask, getting even more disgusted. “Or do you really not know?”

  “I don’t understand the question.”

  I can’t roll my eyes any harder. “You sent us here to get into the lab. Obviously, you knew about the snowglass. Will Joshua’s immortal be able to get us in there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’re those flowers you planted here? The scholars. Do they have anything to do with this? Can they help?”