by Ben Hale
"How will visiting a lost city help us?"
"Because one of our foes was created there."
Janson threw him a sharp look. "The Iseonix."
"Yes," Hawk replied quietly. "Six thousand years ago the frostbird was purposely built to destroy my nest. It destroyed eight phoenixes. I alone survived."
A pang of sorrow swept over him as he recalled the battle. Archeantial, his beloved, had been his mate for eons. She had saved his life at the cost of her own, and in an instant the family he'd craved had been gone. Time had failed to ease the ache. Only when Tess had become like a granddaughter did the pain finally abate.
"But Alice is the greater threat," Janson said.
"Alice is not mine to challenge," Hawk replied.
"But the Oracle—"
"Is alive," Hawk said quietly.
Janson's surprise caused a single crack to appear in their ship, and he moved quickly to smooth it over. Then he whirled to face him. "How?"
"Alice threatened her mother," Hawk replied. "Tess chose to protect her instead of defending her own life."
"The aurens thinks she is a martyr," Janson said. "The rumors among the refugee fleet tell of her sacrifice and will to fight."
"Her survival is a secret that precious few know. When she returns to the surface it will be to face Alice. I wish to be prepared when that time comes."
A smile of anticipation creased Janson's mouth. "What do you hope to find in Atlantis?"
"The Iseonix may have killed my nest, but we destroyed it in turn," Hawk said, "or so I thought. It was not until the creature imprisoned me on Mt. Elbrus that I learned of its survival."
"You want to put it down for good."
"I must," Hawk said. "I am the only one who can."
"But it took nine of you to stop it the last time," Janson said. "What makes you think you can do it alone?"
Hawk flashed a smile, grateful for Janson's candor. It was a trait that Hawk had always valued in him, and the reason he sat on the Guild council.
"That is why we are here," Hawk said, and motioned to the object materializing in the gloom.
Lit by a glow from within, the lost city lay exactly where he remembered it—albeit thousands of feet underwater. Prior to its demise, Atlantis had sat a hundred miles from the entrance to the Mediterranean sea, a strategic location that had been chosen by its founders. Then it had been sunk to end a bloody war—and allow the mages to retreat from the world. Depth, time, and countless charms had protected it from discovery.
Sweeping towers and crystalline structures lay buried under silt and algae. Intricate bridges, curving pathways, and hundreds of lush gardens were barely recognizable. Enchanted homes had been crafted in curving rings around the center, and dotted the smaller islands that had spiraled out from Atlantis.
In its prime the city had been the center of light and understanding for the whole of the Earth. Science, technology, and magic had flourished for the millennium of its reign. The Earth had been known as Lumineia then, and it truly had been the land of light. Then an oracle had risen to power, and in the span of two decades she had corrupted the mage leaders. His lips tightened at the memory.
"Our destination lies in the center of the city," Hawk said, and fought the surge of anger.
Masked as knobby rock formations, great halls dotted the small pinnacle of rock. Each had been home to a guild of magic, and together they represented the last time the distinct magics had been governed autonomously. One loomed the largest, the White Sphere.
Built to satisfy the oracle's limitless pride, the massive orb dominated the heart of the city. Infused with the light unique to an oracle, the White Sphere retained much of its latent magic, and glowed beneath the layer of soil. Her relentless pursuit of praise had led her to lavish magic on her seat of power.
Janson steered them towards a gaping hole in the roof. They passed into the interior, and the sight caused Janson to suck in his breath. Erosion and age failed to hide the massive scars of battle.
"What happened here?" he asked.
"The end of an era," Hawk said, and didn't elaborate. He had no desire to describe the horrendous events that had led to the downfall of the city. "Can you drain the room?"
"Of course," Janson said, "but at this depth I will not be able to maintain it for long."
"Do it," Hawk said.
Janson left him at the center of the floor inside a bubble of air. Then he returned to the hole they'd entered from. He filled it with aquaglass, and then scoured the room for other openings. Once he'd sealed the Sphere, he began to draw the water out with a siphon charm. Air, pulled directly from the water, took its place.
While Janson worked Hawk gazed at the curved walls of the White Sphere, overcome with the flood of memories. Once enchanted with flowing detail, they still retained their elegance. Behind the shattered remains of the oracle's erstwhile throne, two images remained resplendent in white.
Their wings of light flowed from their backs. Their robes and hoods had been fashioned of mithral and cotton, lending a supple appearance to the armor. Towering well above a human, the carvings stood with enormous swords touching the ground at their feet. In every respect they resembled angels.
"Do those represent what I think they do?" Janson joined him as the last of the water flowed away.
"The Aspects of Justice and Peace," Hawk said quietly.
"Did they really look like that?"
He nodded. "Even when stained with the blood of thousands."
"So they were as bad as the records say?"
Hawk met his gaze. "She called them war enders for a reason."
He turned away from the sight and strode to the side of the massive dome. The layer of silt shifted under his feet, forcing him to move with caution to avoid slipping. He came to a halt before a line of eleven pedestals. Several of them lacked their displays, but the trio in the center remained. Flanked by statues of the Aspects, a solid blue ice sculpture showed the snarling Iseonix.
"What is all this?" Janson asked.
"Her creations," Hawk replied. "There were eleven, including the Iseonix. All except the frostbird she created in pairs."
"Why?" Janson asked.
"She was very particular," Hawk responded. "She liked everything in perfect order." He pointed to the opposite side of the hall, where a matching set of pedestals sat. "Her obsessive nature leaked into every aspect of her life."
"So what now?" Janson asked, and looked around the chamber. "We might have ten minutes before my enchantments crack. What exactly are we looking for?"
"Where she created it," Hawk said.
They split up and searched the room. Mindful of the time, Hawk moved quickly, scanning the walls, floor, and ceiling with both normal and mage sight. The sphere reeked of mold and mud, yet still bore hints of what it had once been.
Detailed carvings, etchings, and enchanted figures graced the walls. Smooth stone from every corner of the world shaped the intricate floor. As the focal point of the space, the roof had seen the most attention. Underneath the slime it spoke of a different age.
"Hawk?" Janson lifted a shard of bright blue stone. "What do you make of this?"
Hawk issued a grunt of understanding. "It appears we are not the first to be here. The oracle of that age was gifted with her creations, and must have left sentries. That is a piece of one."
"To guard what?"
Hawk joined him at the throne. Instead of scanning the surface of the space, he used his magic to delve beneath it. He lacked the ability to sense different materials, but he could feel a deviance in temperature. He smiled when he found it. Following the thread of warmth, he moved to a space between the Aspects on the rear wall. Then he touched the twin runes that had been inscribed on their swords.
Huge and forbidding, the painting of the Aspects bowed to him, and then a door opened in front of Hawk. Light flickered to life, illuminating a set of stairs that spiraled out of view. Rather than wet and grimy, the walls were dry, indicati
ng that the enchantments guarding it had held the ocean at bay.
They descended together, and came to a second cavern that lay directly beneath the first. It matched the one above in size and shape, and had evidently been built in secret. Enormous images of a striking woman ringed the space.
"Why do you never speak her name?" Janson asked.
"Because I do not wish to remember her." The darkness to his tone kept Janson from pressing the topic.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"I always suspected she'd built a place of creation," Hawk said. "I never imagined it lay beneath our feet."
Shallow bowls circled the chamber, and Hawk guessed they had once held sources of magic. Only the earth and water ones remained. The center had been raised into a platform for crafting large spells. Hawk felt a chill as he realized this was the spot of the Iseonix's birth.
He came to an abrupt halt as he saw what hung from the ceiling. His gaze on the scattered evidence of magic, Janson nearly bumped into him. Then he followed Hawk's gaze.
"What do you see?" Hawk asked him.
"Looks like the ceiling was designed to open. It was probably the only way her creatures could exit."
"Look at the edges."
Janson frowned at his tone. "I don't know, I don't see anything . . . wait, is that pieces of ice? How could they still be here? Even enchanted it could not have endured."
Hawk looked at him, and Janson took a step back. "There is no heat in them," Hawk said quietly. "A frostbird scraped its wings as it departed."
Janson's eyes widened in understanding. "She made them in pairs."
Hawk let out a long breath. "There was a second Iseonix down here, one that Alice must have retrieved once she knew my identity."
"But why make you believe it was the same?" Janson asked.
Hawk's fingers curled into fists, and traces of fire rippled across his frame. For the first time since Mt. Elbrus he felt a surge of anticipation. The Iseonix that had destroyed his nest was not the same—meaning his family had truly destroyed the first.
Janson all but flinched as Hawk spoke. "She wanted me to doubt it could be destroyed. She wanted me to doubt myself."
"There is still only one of you."
"But it can be killed," Hawk said, and his rage abruptly cooled. "And now I know it."
Chapter 9: Swarms
Captain Eric "the Wolf" Thompson rushed his men into position as the army platoon retreated. The leading edge of the Dark was just twenty miles away and closing fast. The evacuation of Rome had begun days ago, but as the cloud swallowed Italy it had reached a fever pitch.
"Good luck captain!" The army lieutenant had to yell to be heard.
Wolf merely nodded and settled in. The other SEALs joined him. Across the highway Lieutenant Chuck "the Duck" Harmon organized the other half of SEAL team 3. In sixty seconds they were dialed in and ready for the onslaught.
"The grunts got the explosives laid," Sergeant Peterson shouted. "Both sides of the road are rigged to blow."
"On my order, Sergeant," Wolf yelled. "The rest of you, get your scopes up and ready. You know what to do."
Radio's clicked as the others accepted the order, and Wolf felt a rush of pride. They had fought the Twisted for weeks, and the only victory was the number of people saved. Every day the conflict was the same. Stop the Twisted so civilians could escape, retreat before they were overrun, and then regroup for the next day.
Today they faced a strategic intersection at the western side of Rome. The road between their rooftop positions led to the Mediterranean Sea, where a massive armada of ships frantically loaded Italian refugees. Everything from cruise ships to recreational speed boats dotted the choppy water.
Dominating the flotilla, a US carrier group was led by the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower. Jets roared off its stubby runways and arced into the sky, performing recon and strafing runs. Below decks, the air craft carrier burgeoned with United States military personnel that had been evacuated from the Middle Eastern bases.
It was not enough.
At every battle, every engagement, millions were left behind. Men, women, and children stocked the thousands of ships like cattle in a stock pen, and still they loaded more. Food and water were rationed, and military personnel of a dozen countries enforced the martial law. The ships that were full joined the world's evacuation to the Americas.
"Twenty minutes!" Duck shouted.
Wolf looked at the opaque cloud that was in the process of swallowing Rome. Screams of the dying echoed through the winding streets, heightening the sense of panic. Italian soldiers were hard pressed to keep the crowd under control. Seconds later the organization crumbled, and the entire mob surged into a stampede.
The tile roof under Wolf vibrated from their motion, but there was nothing the SEALs could do. Their job was to stop the Twisted from taking more. It was up to those on the docks to deal with the frantic crowd.
"Hold your position!" Wolf bellowed. "Here they come!"
The courtyard they faced had three roads that split off and angled into Rome. All three were packed with people shoving and driving forward. Those that fell were trampled, and Wolf counted them lucky. Those that fell behind were taken by the Dark.
A shadow fell over the area as the cloud moved to block the late morning sun. The sight caused a hush to fall on the civilians and many gazed at the approaching wall of darkness. From north to south, the Dark was an endless cliff of black that reached to the heavens.
A helicopter buzzed above them, and the sound sparked a panic unlike any before. Italians sprinted through the streets carrying food, prized possessions, and children. Their fear robbed them of speech, yet the gasps of breath and pounding feet were more terrifying than the angry shouts.
Then the Twisted appeared. Bounding over rooftops, the former human beings sought to cut off the refugees’ escape. They dropped into the crowd and tore into the civilians without mercy. Once they had hemmed in a crowd, they stopped killing and formed a cage of flesh, holding their captives in place for the advancing Dark.
"Keep the road open," Wolf shouted, and opened fire. The SEALs around him followed suit, and the rattle of gunfire filled the square. Bullets tore into the Twisted, and the sudden gap became an unspoken invitation. With a roar the terrified civilians rushed the hole. Several died as the Twisted tried to close it, but it was too late. In moments they had forced their way through.
"Right flank!" Duck shouted, and his platoon cut down another attempt on that street.
Wolf swiveled his MP7 to help, but noticed that the left street had been infiltrated as well. Engaging the hostiles, he and his men kept the Twisted from caging the Italian refugees. They were not alone. North and south of their position, hundreds of similarly placed rooftop units performed the same task.
A jet roared by overhead and banked hard. Then it strafed a courtyard off to the left with larger caliber rounds. Somewhere to the south an explosion caused fire to erupt into view. Gunfire from other placements became a constant snarl as the line of soldiers fought to get the civilians to freedom.
"Ten minutes to evac!" Ensign Baker yelled over the tumult.
"Why do they keep doing this?" Ensign Morris shouted. "Why not just let the cloud take us all?"
"They're recruiting," Wolf answered.
"But why?" Morris replied. "What do they need the numbers for?"
Wolf didn't answer. Whatever the reason for the Dark's behavior, it clearly wanted every person it could find.
"At least it's only changing humans," Wilson shouted. "We'd be roadkill if the cloud twisted anything else."
Just then a large shape burst free of the cloud above the city. Flapping its wings for altitude, it released a shudder-inducing screech, causing everyone in the vicinity to cringe. Then the creature banked and disappeared back into the Dark.
"You had to say it, didn't you," Peterson growled at Wilson. He reached over and slugged him in the arm.
"Cut the chatter," Wolf said. "Keep y
our eyes on your scopes. Duck, you're closer, any idea what it was?"
"Negative," Duck responded. "But if I had to guess I would say it resembled a bat."
Wolf threw Duck a look across the street. "Are you serious? That thing had a wingspan of twenty feet."
Another of the creatures burst from the cloud—followed by thousands more. Their collective screech caused the hairs on Wolf's skin to stand on end. The nearest mass flew less than two hundred feet from them, and there was no mistaking what they had originally been. Flapping like a single, churning unit, the Twisted bats coiled like a snake gathering to strike.
"Yep," Duck said over the radio. "I'm sure."
Before Wolf could respond the creatures surged into one of the overwatch units. The soldiers fired into the swarm but it was like throwing darts at a stampeding herd of buffalo. Men were picked up and torn apart, their guns clattering to the rooftop from lifeless hands. A pair tried to flee, but the enormous bats flitted to them and picked them up. Even as they struggled, others ripped into their bodies until they went still.
"Wolf?" Duck called over the radio. "I don't think the roof is safe anymore."
"Peterson," Wolf growled. "Call in air support. We need every plane and chopper up and inbound."
Off to the south another swarm burst from the cloud and shredded a rooftop unit. Then another appeared to the north. By the time Peterson had passed on the request Wolf counted nine swarms.
"Blasted shriekers. We are so royally screwed," Wilson muttered, but he kept firing at the Twisted trying to corral the civilians.
"Request denied," Peterson said. "HQ doesn't want to risk the planes. They are ordering a full evac. They are sending choppers to collect us now."
Duck cursed over the radio. "What do you want us to do, Captain?"
Wolf sucked in his breath as one of the bat swarms turned toward them. "Survive!" he shouted. "Peterson, trigger the countdown on the explosives. Everyone else leave a primed grenade on the roof and get to the street."
The bats surged toward them. "Now!" Wolf barked.
Taking his own advice he pulled a pin on a grenade and set it on the roof. Then he snatched his gun and slid toward the balcony they had used to ascend. Leathery wings buffeted the air as the bats reached them—just when the grenades detonated.