In the distance, she heard the heavy beating wings of the approaching Thunderbird. As Luonnotar’s messenger drew overhead, Nessa bowed her head in acceptance, waiting for her father’s last words. Except for her own life, there was nothing left for her to lose. There was no longer the overwhelming grief that had gripped her heart from Tolnik’s death. Everyone she had ever called family was dead. Even the Thunder Tribe was lost to her now.
This time, when Nessa felt Wakinyan’s claws grasp her soul and lift her into the spirit realm, there was no fear. Around her the golden plains were gone, in their place was only ash and death. Rising higher into the sky, Nessa saw the world around her burning. This time, it was her people that carried death and destruction across Irlendria as the shadow shapes of Tuonellian Hulks drove her people forward in berserker hordes. Tears began flowing from Nessa’s eyes as she felt the touch of her father’s soul next to her. Looking away from the death and destruction surrounding her, she met his pain filled eyes as his voice reverberated in her head.
“Nessa, you must undertake a Yatra or all that you see will come to pass.”
In the spirit realm, communication was not verbal, but concepts wrapped in emotions that carried whole ideas. Nessa understood that her father had tried to protect her from becoming a Questor and had paid the price for the decision with his life. Bowing her head, she gave the ritual answer.
“I offer my life to Luonnotar.” Meeting her father’s gaze, Nessa continued. “How might I serve so that what has become of our people never comes to pass?”
She felt her Father’s sadness as he delivered the Yatra. “Head east to the Great Forest of the Elves, there you will find the last Paladin of Ukko. You must bring him to the Council of Elders.”
Nessa’s head jerked up in consternation. Her father’s spirit must be mistaken. The Klavikians had been destroyed almost nine years ago. There were no Paladins left on Irlendria.
Confused, Nessa looked to her father for answers when she felt the Wakinyan’s claws tightened its grip on her soul. Nessa saw the anguish on her father’s face as she reached out to him one last time, but no more words came as her soul plunged into darkness.
***
Location Irlendria / Nessa Manitou:
Waking with a start, Nessa opened her eyes wincing from the brightness. Shading her eyes from the light, she studied Paiva’s position in the sky above. Maybe half a day’s light was left. Pushing her torso up, Nessa realized she was on her knees with her father’s head still lying in her lap. Her legs numb from sitting in one position for too long.
Looking at the ground next to her, Nessa froze as she saw the dried blood on the trampled ground next to her. It was, at least, a day old. Looking at her father’s body once more, she saw that rigor mortis had set in. She must have been passed out for a day if not longer.
Nessa’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the bleached white skin of her arms. With difficulty, she climbed to her hooves checking out the rest of her body as the memories came flooding back. It was the Mark of the Yatra, proof that she was a Questor of Luonnotar. Although it looked like paint, the color of skin could never be washed off. It would never leave her until she completed the quest that had been set before her or died.
In the grass next to her was the Staff of Yatri. Black in color with Klavikian Runes running down its length, the staff was a gift from Luonnotar and the only weapon a Questor was allowed to carry during their trials. Bowing her head, Nessa gave a fervent prayer.
“Sky-Father, I pray that you give me the strength to carry out your will.”
A Questor could only be chosen by God. There was no higher calling for her people. Nessa didn’t know if she was worthy of such a sacred trust. She could only do her best to save her people from the vision of doom that had been shown to her.
By the time Nessa built a stone cairn over her father’s remains in a small clearing near the base of Mount Airy, Paiva was already setting in the north. Bowing her head, she took a moment to give her respects. Although Uzila had basically raised Tolnik’s and Nessa’s after the death of their mother, her father had always done his best to spend time with them. Only that time had been limited during the end of the Tuonellian War. Nessa had understood the need for her father’s absences in her life, especially when the Imperium tried to wrestle control over the Alliance of Aurenko after the Klavikians’ destruction.
Unfortunately once that the Alliance fell apart, many of the old prejudices had returned to Irlendria. Unconcerned about the other races as always, the Centaur Tribes had returned to their isolation on the plains. Forbidding all but the Elves of the Great Forest passage into their domain, her people distanced themselves from the rest of the world’s incessant squabbling.
Uzila, Tolnik, her mother, and father, they were all gone, killed by the evil that had invaded their lands. Now the very future of her people was in jeopardy. Hanging her head low, Nessa let the tears stream down her face. Racking sobs shook her body as she let out the grief inside her soul. Never in her life had she felt so alone.
Remus was high in the night’s sky before the tears finally stopped falling. Slowly Nessa felt her hands clench into fists as she felt her heart come to a decision. She would do whatever it took to make the Tuonellians pay for what they’d done!
Standing up, Nessa quickly began removing her gear. Armor, weapons, equipment harness, everything was dropped to the ground until all that was left was a water skin and a small pouch of Alttash’s Tears. Picking up the black Staff of Yatri, Nessa looked to the heavens.
“Luonnotar, I only ask that the deaths of my family not be in vein. Guide my steps so that I can bring an end to the evil plaguing our people!” As if in answer, thunder and lightning rolled across the dark sky as the first drops of rain splattered on her upturned face. As the water ran down her cheeks and soaked her mane, Nessa took one last look at her father’s cairn before taking off at a trot heading east.
Chapter Twenty-One
Location Earth / Sean MacRory:
Sean had just sat down at the small table in the bridge with a copy of the Book of Ukko and a steaming cup of hot tea when he suddenly froze with his head cocked to the side listening intently. For a second he was unsure if it was his imagination or not. The sound seemed to be just on the edge of his hearing.
Seconds ticked by as Sean sat there unmoving as his eyes slowly drifted towards the cooling cup of tea sitting on the table. Almost imperceptibly he felt the throbbing steadily increase through the soles of his boots as his sixth sense began screaming out in warning. He could feel it in his bones. Something wasn’t right.
Rising to his feet troubled, Sean was unaware of the small metal chair skittering across the floor as he grabbed up the binoculars next to him before moving towards the front of the bridge. Standing in front of the thick windows of the deckhouse he slowly lifted the eyecups to his eyes scanning the horizon.
The males of his lineage always had a predilection for sensing trouble before it happened. A trait that had helped his mercenary ancestors throughout the ages, if the family history of the Clan could be believed. Normally the premonitions came with only seconds to spare, but in most situations that was usually enough to survive.
Some said the MacRory’s carried the luck of the Irish. Sean grimaced silently at the ironic phrase. The only luck his people ever had was bad luck, especially when it was in the disguise of something good. It was told that his great-grandfather had survived the blitz of nineteen forty-one when he suddenly awoke in the middle of the night from a sound sleep. Grabbing his family, he’d dragged them to the closest bomb shelter just as the first bombs fell on Belfast. Although the family survived that fateful night, his great-grandfather had died at the end of the war by drinking himself to death from depression due to the loss of the family fortune and the failed economy that never recovered.
His grandfather had a similar story. After escaping death time after time while fighting with the Seventh Armored Division against the Germans i
n the North Africa Campaign during World War Two. He’d returned home only to lose everything for supporting Fianna Fáil during the Irish general elections in nineteen forty-eight.
Although his father had fought hard against the Irish curse, his story hadn’t ended much better. In the recent history of the Clan, father had done better than most of his relatives to improve their lot in life. While most of the Clan refused to believe that a curse had been laid against their lineage, Sean knew better. He’d felt its touch his whole life growing up as a Protestant in Catholic controlled Belfast. Even though is childhood had been hard, it paled in comparison to the troubles he’d experienced as a young man after the Social Democratic and Labor Party took control of Ireland in the late nineties. Unlike his grandfather, Sean didn’t lose the shirt off of his back, nor did he drink himself into a grave. Instead, he faced it down as his father had refusing to give in. Those times had been hard, but he was a born survivor. What didn’t break him only made him stronger.
Unbelievably enough, things had started looking up for both him and his Clan. Even in these tough economic times when there seemed to be no money to be made, they were surprisingly prospering. Thinking about the book he’d left on the table, Sean couldn’t help but smile. Ever since the entire Gallowglass Clan had converted to Ukkodians things had started changing for the better. Still, he was always wary of the luck of the Irish rearing its ugly head.
BOOM BOOM BOOM
Sean jumped as three sonic blast waves shook the heavy windows of the deckhouse in quick succession as a formation of fighter jets flew low across the length of the island. One glance told him they were armed to the teeth. A second later he heard the distinctive chop of approaching helicopters as the ships radar suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree with the thick yellow bands of multiple contacts approaching from the air and sea. He swept the binoculars towards the ridge of the island as four separate wings of sleek Cobra attack helicopters screamed over the top of Santorini in a tight combat formation.
Like a pack of deadly wolves, they hit the lagoon at a height of about twenty meters above the water’s surface on a fast approach path. Nearing the edge of the island, they suddenly split off into four separate wings as they quickly fanned out around Nea Kameni, before coming to a stop in what was obviously predestinated control points.
A moment later, Sean’s eyes were drawn back towards Santorini once again as an even louder throbbing sound filled the air. Hugging the contours of the island a large wing of slower moving helicopters crested the ridge. He easily recognized the familiar incoming shapes of the much slower Sikorsky Seahawk assault helicopters as they spread out into tight V formation headed towards the lagoon. Looking like something right out of the movie Apocalypse Now, the birds bristled with mounted machine guns and missile pods that protruded from their rounded sides as they speed towards Nea Kameni twenty strong.
For a long moment, Sean could only watch in stunned amazement as the Seahawks took a shortest approach path before settling down on the island. Within seconds squads of combat marines were pouring out across the island. Focusing his binoculars on the shoulder patches of the soldiers, Sean immediately recognized the familiar red, white and blue of the Americans. Dropping the binoculars to his chest, Sean swore loudly.
“What in the bloody hell are the Yanks doing here?”
Sean was just turning around at the loud roar of heavy diesel motors coming from a small fleet of amphibious assault vehicles entering the bay, when his eyes took note of two Seahawks breaking off from the landing operations heading towards his ship. For a second, he thought the birds were going to pass overhead, but as they slowed down to take up hovering positions above bow and stern of his ship. He felt his Clan’s infamous temper flare through his veins.
Slamming his fist down, Sean triggered the alarm for action stations as the ship's klaxon began ringing throughout the ship. Instantly the automatic recording began broadcasting its warning. “All hands to action stations, all hands to action stations. Assume Damage control state one, condition Zulu.”
Leaping out of the deckhouse, Sean hooked his legs over the railings of the stairs as he quickly slid down to the lower deck in a move befitting a much younger man. Already he could see black, combat fatigue soldiers repelling down onto the deck of his ship. Heading towards the bow, Sean passed by his First Officer without slowing down. Not waiting for instructions, Mr. Dudek fell in behind giving his report as he held his walky-talky down by his side.
“Chief McDougal has secured engineering and is warming up the engines. Captain. Mr. Crosslander is requesting orders.”
“Tell the Chief to stand fast and have Mr. Crosslander head towards the stern of the ship with Hans and Wolfgang to repel boarders.”
“Aye aye, Sir!” Except for a slight widening of the eyes, Mr. Dudek passed on the orders without comment. Seeing the fast approaching Black Ops teams headed their way he quickly sheathed the radio at his waist as he murmured softly under his breath. “This should be interesting.”
The soldiers were heavily armed and moved with quick efficiency as they fanned out across the main deck. Aiming their weapons at the two unarmed sailors the point men began screaming at the top of their lungs. “Get on your knees and place your hands on your heads now!”
Ignoring the commands both men called out a prayer to Ukko, continuing forward as power began flowing through their veins. “Suoja”
Instantly a gray glow surrounded them as their tattoos flared red with power. Without slowing down, Sean bellowed at the top of his lungs at the approaching men. “Your illegal trespassing on a ship of the Republic of Ireland is an act of piracy. Lower your weapons and return to your craft or face the consequences of your actions.”
Completely ignoring Sean’s words the Black Ops teams closed in on them still screaming for them to get on the ground. A split second before they closed the distance, Sean saw the point man’s look of shock as he suddenly realized they really weren’t stopping.
In the blink of an eye, Sean closed the distance as his fist slammed into the man in front of him like a wrecking ball, the force of the blow knocking him off his feet into the soldiers behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his First Officer plow into the second team on the right as a Mr. Dudek simultaneously exploded into motion.
For a long moment, the leader of the third combat team could only look on in shocked horror as his platoon mates were taken out of commission by two unarmed men in officer uniforms. The flowing martial art moves looked like something right out of the Matrix. Almost faster than the eyes could follow lightning fast strikes effortlessly flung men through the air like ragdolls to bounce off of nearby bulkheads. Within seconds, the fight was over.
Turning around to face the remaining Black Ops team at the bow of the ship, Sean spoke in a level voice. “You have illegally trespassed on a ship of the Republic of Ireland. Drop your weapons and get on your knees with your hands behind your head or face the consequences for your actions.”
The only answer to his orders came in the form of the team leader aiming his deadly carbine towards Sean and his First Officer. Without hesitation, the soldier triggered a three shot burst at the center of Sean’s chest.
***
Location Earth / Larissa Evans:
“What are you doing? I’m a British citizen!” Larissa grunted in indignation as a black, gloved hand unceremoniously shoved her from behind. Swearing and screaming, she stumbled trying to catch her balance. “Get your bloody hands off of me you wankers!”
Sharon’s shriek of fear galvanized Larissa as another black-clad soldier roughly grabbed her friend by the back of the neck. Manhandling Sharon with his free hand, the man propelled her ahead of him, cursing under his breath as she suddenly plowed face-first into the hard ground. That’s when something snapped inside Larissa. The soldiers hadn’t given a word of explanation as to what they wanted. Instead of answering their questions, the hard-faced men had simply began dragging them away from the dig.
<
br /> Larissa hated resorting to something as crude as violence, but she refused to be carted away like some helpless twit. Sean MacRory had been teaching her how to fight for years now. Although she was nowhere near the expert in hand-to-hand fighting that he was, she could handle herself in a row when needed.
Using the forward momentum to her advantage, Larissa rammed her elbow through the back of the soldier’s head that had just thrown Sharon to the ground. The strike must have hit true because the large man instantly dropped like a rock as she smiled to herself in satisfaction.
Whipping around, Larissa knocked aside the hand that reached for her from behind. Locking her fingers around the soldier’s wrists she yanked with all her strength, slamming her open palm into the man’s face. She saw the complete look of shock a second before she flattened the man’s nose with the brutal blow. As the soldier staggered back in agony, Larissa dodged another pair of arms lunging for her. Stepping back a pace she snapped her foot into the side of the man’s knee, before giving him a hard push. Crying out in pain, the soldier nosedived into the ground as his legs suddenly gave out.
Turning around looking for Sharon, Larissa saw a blur of motion in her peripheral vision as her mind registered the large fist flying at her face a split-second later. Throwing herself backward, she tried to dodge back as she raised her hands to ward off the blow, but it was already too late. There was a bright flash of light just before everything went dark.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Location Irlendria / Tiberius Decius Lupus:
Cresting the last rolling hill before the Great Forest, Tiberius signaled the bull’s behind him to stop and drop before diving into the long grass. Focusing intently on the field below, his eyes searched for any signs of movement as Decanus Cornisus crawled up next to him.
Lying stock-still, they studied the silent battlefield intently. Thousands of butchered legionnaires were strewn across the trampled ground all the way to the tree line of the Great Forest. Directly below them were the broken standards of the First and Second Legions and the largest concentration of dead. This was the spot where the Legion’s shattered ranks had come together to make their final stand. Across the battlefield, the caws of crows at their grisly feast were the only sounds as his eyes took in the slaughter. Ten thousand of his people were dead. Unconsciously, Tiberius course hands clenched into tight fists as he swore a silent oath.
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