Alien Shores (A Fenris Novel, Book 2)

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Turn around,” he said through half-frozen lips.

  The woman shouted, and she dropped Cyrus, letting him tumble from her back and smack onto the ground. With a bound, she was several feet away, with a stone-bladed knife in her hand. She stood trembling.

  “What are you doing?” Skar shouted.

  “He spoke to me,” she said.

  “Help me,” Cyrus said. The fall hurt, but he was terrified of the approaching fire. He could feel the heat on his face and saw flames leaping and crackling skyward.

  Skar scrambled to him, dragging Cyrus from the fire. “Put him on my back,” the soldier said. “Now we’re going to move.”

  Sullenly, the woman sheathed her knife and helped deposit Cyrus onto the soldier’s back. Skar ran like a machine, his short legs moving like pistons. The tall, individual stalks blurred as Cyrus passed them. Before long, the woman panted, with sweat glistening on her face.

  “You are more powerful than you look,” she said.

  “Save your breath for running,” Skar told her.

  Eventually, Cyrus made it easier for Skar by holding on instead of Skar hanging onto his dangling arms. Finally, the soldier and the woman burst out of the spindly grass and onto the plains. The roaring flames crackled behind them. They staggered for another hundred meters. Then Skar slid Cyrus off his back. The soldier stretched out, closed his eyes, and promptly fell asleep.

  The woman fell onto her hands and knees, gasping for air. Drops of sweat dripped onto the ground.

  Cyrus slowly moved his arms and legs. He felt numb in places, but he was beginning to feel normal again.

  “We can’t stop here,” he said.

  The woman lifted her head, staring at him. With her tousled hair, she was achingly beautiful.

  Struggling to a sitting position, Cyrus asked, “Do you have a name?”

  “Are you a demon-spawn?” she asked in a raw voice.

  “No. I’m human just like you.”

  “Then why are you so pale and thin?”

  “Different skin color is all.”

  She shook her head. “Your pale skin shows your weakness, your strangeness.”

  “Do you think he’s weak?” Cyrus asked, pointing at Skar.

  “He’s a demonslayer. He is a prodigy among men.”

  “And I’m his friend. My name is Cyrus Gant.”

  “You are two-named,” she said in awe. “I did not realize. No wonder he wished to save you.”

  Her simplicity surprised Cyrus. “You have only one name, I take it.”

  “Of course,” she said, as she brushed back hair with her fingertips. It was artfully done. Cyrus found it alluring.

  “What do you want me to call you?” he asked.

  She switched to a sitting position. Gathering her long hair, she tied it into a ponytail. She regarded him closely as anger showed in her intense brown eyes. Her mouth turned downward. “You slew my companions with your spell wand. I should slay you now in vengeance while I have the chance.”

  Cyrus didn’t doubt her, and he wondered if he could draw his gun in time. He would be slow and she correspondingly fast. He needed to talk his way out of this. “Don’t you remember that you five attacked us? We did not attack you?”

  “I remember, but it changes nothing.”

  How could he maneuver his right hand closer to his gun without her noticing? He needed a diversion. All he had were his words. “Why did you attack us before?” he asked.

  “You were there. Stone Fist believed you were demons. You had floated down from the sky. Only demons can do that.”

  Cyrus didn’t like the way her nostrils flared. He wasn’t sure he wanted to debate with her primitive logic. “Whatever else you can say, Skar saved you from the demon’s sky vehicle.”

  She appeared to think about that, and nodded an affirmative.

  “The demons are called Kresh, by the way,” Cyrus said.

  “Kresh demons,” she said, as if tasting the word. She regarded him anew, and there was something different in her eyes. “You know strange things, interesting lore. Where did you learn such wisdom?”

  “I came from a far place,” he said, “a place where there are no Kresh.”

  Her eyes widened. “No Kresh?”

  “Men and women live free on their own.”

  “We live free, but the demons—the Kresh—hunt us for their vile games.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question, by the way. What do you want me to call you?”

  She nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision. Her eyes shone as she said, “I am Jana. No one can twirl a sling better than me or track a beast with greater ease.”

  “Thanks for your help, Jana. I appreciate it.”

  “It is strange,” Jana said. “I owe him my life. Otherwise, I would have killed you while you were under the demon spell. I do not trust someone so pale. Now that I hear your lore and know that you are two-named . . .”

  Was she coming on to him? He wouldn’t mind that. You have to keep focused, man. Quit staring at her and start thinking. He cleared his throat. “What happened to your friend in the demon vehicle?”

  Jana looked away, finally saying, “He died during the crash. He broke his neck.”

  He shouldn’t have asked that. It was only a short connection to the other dead friends, the ones he’d shot. “It seems that you truly hate the demons.”

  Jana glared at him. “The Kresh demons, you said.”

  “Actually, I said just ‘Kresh.’ You call them demons. They’ve been molesting your clan for some time, is that right?”

  “For all time,” Jana said. “They have always attacked our clan.”

  “That’s what I thought—we thought. We’re here to destroy them.”

  Jana peered at him, and she cocked her head. “The demonslayer has great courage. I saw him attack us: one man against five. Not even Stone Fist would have done such a thing. The slayer must have skills to challenge the demons. You used magic to kill three of us. Yet now your magic has proven less than demon spells. The Kresh demon froze you. You did not freeze him. Is it possible for you to defeat even one demon?”

  “I didn’t mean just me or even the two of us,” Cyrus said. “We have powerful friends. Some of them live in space.”

  Jana frowned.

  “Up there in the stars,” Cyrus said.

  “I know where space is. But you said you are humans, not demons. Only demons live in space.”

  “Have you ever been into space?” Cyrus asked.

  “I belong to Berserker Clan. I live here.” Jana touched her hair, and her eyes widened. “Is your question an insult?”

  “No,” Cyrus said. “I just wondered how you knew everyone in space was a demon if you haven’t actually been there.”

  Jana thought about that. “I spoke common knowledge.”

  “It is wrong knowledge,” Cyrus said. “Only those who have been to a place can tell you who is there.”

  Jana shook her head almost as if surprised. “Your words seem wrong, yet there is wisdom in what you say.”

  “Not everyone living up there is a demon. I’m from there. He’s from there. You saw us coming down from space, so you know my words are true.”

  Jana glanced at Skar before scratching her head and looking at Cyrus. “Your words are strange, but they have the ring of truth. Why did you ask us about Klane before?”

  “Have you heard of Klane?” Cyrus asked, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

  “No.”

  “He is pale-skinned like me,” Cyrus said.

  “He, too, is from space?”

  “Klane has lived among the Tash-Toi—”

  Jana sprang to her feet, and she drew her stone blade. “We have fought the Tash-Toi. They are a strong clan, but not stronger than the Berserkers.
”

  Hope flared in Cyrus’s breast. He needed a break like this. “Do you know where the Tash-Toi live?”

  “I know their range,” Jana said. “It is far on the other side of the mountains. It is many, many sleeps from here.”

  That didn’t sound good. “How large is a clan range?”

  Jana shrugged. “It changes with the seasons and with the years. We fought the Tash-Toi long ago. No one has forgotten it, though. We await the chance to challenge them again.”

  “How many sleeps would you estimate they are from here?” Cyrus asked.

  Jana shrugged. “It could be ten sleeps. It could be twenty. After such a long time, it could be a hundred.”

  “Do you follow migrating herd animals then?” Cyrus asked.

  “Sometimes we follow the bosk,” Jana said. “All the clans follow the bosk at some time or another.”

  Cyrus didn’t want to hear that the Tash-Toi could be one hundred sleeps away. In the memory crystal on the needle-ship, the seeker had obviously been a Special, a psionic. Could one seeker speak to another?

  “Does your tribe . . . your clan, have a seeker?” Cyrus asked.

  Jana sheathed the blade, bent down, and picked up several pebbles, shaking them in her fist. She stared at the ground as she said, “No. The Tash-Toi have the seeker. They are an arrogant people due to that. They believe themselves better than the Berserkers.”

  Cyrus frowned. Was she lying? Why would she lie about something like that? He didn’t know enough about the clans. “Well,” he said, “is it possible you could help us find Clan Tash-Toi?”

  “Never!” Jana said, dropping the pebbles and standing. She redrew the knife and pointed it at Cyrus. “I should kill you for suggesting that I’m a traitor to my people.” She took a step toward Cyrus.

  Cyrus didn’t hesitate. He dragged out his gun, drawing as quickly as he could. Unlike Skar’s heavier pistol, Cyrus had a flattish heat gun.

  Jana shouted in alarm as she kicked sand and gravel at Cyrus.

  Particles stung his eyes. He envisioned her lunging at him. She was beautiful, but he’d rather live. Cyrus lifted the heat gun and fired where he’d last seen her. The weapon made a sizzling sound. He expected to hear the thud of Jana’s falling body striking the ground. He didn’t hear that, however. Cyrus rubbed his eyes and dared fire again in a different location. He tensed, expecting a knife to plunge into him.

  “Cyrus!” Skar shouted.

  Cyrus finally managed to clear his eyes. The primitive raced away, kicking up dust with each step.

  “What happened?” Skar asked. “Why did you fire your gun?”

  Cyrus told the soldier what had happened.

  Jana kept running, although she halted after a kilometer. She lifted an arm, and she made a strange undulating cry directed at them.

  “You should have killed her,” Skar said. “I think she’s telling us this isn’t over.”

  “I didn’t want to shoot her. I was just trying to keep her from killing me.”

  “We’ve made an enemy,” Skar said. “By what you just told me, she has learned our goals.” The soldier clutched his axe. “If she didn’t have such a long head start, I’d chase her down and finish it.”

  “Let her go,” Cyrus said.

  The soldier eyed him.

  “The Tash-Toi live somewhere on the other side of the mountain range,” Cyrus said. “They could be ten sleeps away or one hundred. It isn’t much, but at least we have a direction. We have to get out of here before more Kresh show up.”

  Jana gave another cry. Then she turned and began jogging away.

  “And we have to reach the other side of the mountains before Jana brings the rest of the Berserkers against us,” Cyrus said.

  “You are right,” Skar said. “We must leave.”

  As the grass fire continued to rage behind them, Cyrus climbed to his feet. The two of them set off for the mountains and the valley that divided the present plains from the next.

  8

  Klane groaned in the darkness. He felt sick and ached all over. He lay on cold stone, and he held something in his right hand. With an effort of will he forced his frozen fingers to move. With his left hand he felt around his palm and discovered pieces of junction-stone.

  The stone broke? I couldn’t have crushed it with my flesh. The power pouring through it must have shattered the stone.

  He’d never heard of such a thing happening before. It must have had something to do with the singing gods.

  Anguish washed over him so Klane wanted to weep. He’d lost his precious junction-stone. Yes, he’d managed to get off the cliff ledge, but now he was lost in the darkness of a strange cave system. Perhaps as bad, something had torn inside him and—

  He felt his forehead. It radiated with heat. He had a fever, too. He needed water. His throat was parched. He must have been unconscious for longer than he realized.

  I must escape from these caverns. I must find water.

  Klane began to crawl through the darkness, sliding his aching body across the stone floor. As he crawled, he sensed the singing gods as a distant stream. They were like an icy river gurgling over stones and boulders. He knew that in reality whatever gurgled did so through the metal pipes.

  What or who exactly were the singing gods? What were the pipes? Klane didn’t think the Kresh had installed them deep under the Mountain that was a Machine. No. Klane had sensed terrible age among the singing gods, old, old, old beyond his understanding. Did they live as he did, or were they ancient memories, spirits of a long-dead race?

  Klane coughed, and he felt wetness on his tongue. He tasted the wetness, a coppery sensation.

  That’s my blood. I’m coughing up blood. Maybe I’m dying.

  He paused in his crawl and rested his forehead against stone. Somehow, he had torn his body while teleporting across the chasm and deep into these caves.

  He could never do that again. He managed a wry chuckle. He didn’t think he would do anything ever again. His life force ebbed away.

  If I die, will my spirit go into the pipes? Will I join the singing gods in death?

  Something about that terrified him. He didn’t want to spend death in the darkness of the mountain. To remain with the alien singing gods—

  No. If I die, let me die cleanly under the sun.

  He raised himself up onto his elbows and spat blood. He wasn’t dead yet. His friend, the seeker, had sacrificed himself to the demons. If Klane was going to die, he would die killing more demons and setting the seeker free. Clan Tash-Toi needed the seeker. He couldn’t let the old man down and he couldn’t let his clan down. The eternal war of man against demon had sucked him into the abyss of the singing gods. Now he had to escape this place.

  Klane wasn’t sure the spirits in the pipes were good. Maybe these were the singing demons. Maybe the seeker had been wrong about this place. It was evil and dark, hidden from the light of the sun.

  I will live. I will prevail.

  Klane thrust his elbows forward, crawling through the darkness. Time became one monotonous agony of burning limbs and coughing and spitting up blood. Memories returned of his childhood: the endless mockery from older, stronger boys. With the memories of the abuse, his stubbornness grew. He would prevail. He would not die as a weakling in the caves.

  In the darkness, with the throb of stubbornness, his thoughts began to magnify. With his power he reached outward, upward and saw the Machine that was a Mountain. He could go inside it with his mind and finally see the inner workings.

  “No,” he whispered, down in the darkness of the caves. “I must use my strength wisely.” Who knew how long this would last?

  He turned his powers inward and he plunged his consciousness into his body. He used his mind to heal ruptured parts of flesh. He listened to the blood swish through him and to his heart beating like a drum
. He repaired himself, using magic without a junction-stone. He had never known this was possible.

  At last, weariness stole upon him. He ignored it and mended interior flesh, knitting it together one particle at a time.

  Without warning, ahead of him, rocks tumbled against each other.

  Klane’s eyes snapped open. He found himself on his hands and knees. A cold draft blew over him. He squinted, because light nearly blinded him. He endured, and he realized that he was still in the cave. Craning his neck, he peered upward at the spark of light. It didn’t seem so great now. His eyes were adjusting to it instead of the bitter darkness.

  What had happened to cause this? He didn’t understand.

  As he knelt there, he began to reel off his memories, playing them back. His ears had heard something earlier, while his hands had felt . . . yes, yes, the singing gods had just tried to kill him. They had started a rockslide, tumbling the heavy boulders at him. He had reflexively shielded himself, using his powers, a Telekinetic Spell, to create a shield. Quite far away from him, the boulders had slid aside. Through the palms of his hands, he had felt them striking the floor. This was amazing.

  Now, because of the rockslide, he viewed a distant opening up there.

  He laughed until he felt something new. The singing gods raged at him, and they considered striking directly this time.

  I must leave this place at once, but I don’t dare practice a Teleport Spell. That would kill me.

  Wearily, Klane climbed to his feet. He concentrated on tasting the inside of his mouth. No more blood came up. He had healed the rupture inside him. His mind no longer felt hazy, either. He was thirsty and very hungry, but he was whole again.

  He realized something else: his mind had become like a junction-stone.

  In that moment, understanding filled him. The junction-stone had always been a crutch. In the teleportation, he presumed that the singing gods had done something to his mind. Now he was different, more powerful, and could think more clearly or quickly.

  I have thrown away childish things. Now I am a man.

  He sensed the singing gods. They gathered strength and they gathered resolve. He must flee or they would surely overpower him and bury him here with them.