The Goddess Denied

by Deborah Davitt

  Worst of all, really, was the fact that the lindworms didn’t seem to be creatures of pure instinct. They learned. They adapted. They’d started off, eight months ago, as solitary hunters. More recently? They’d started hunting in packs. Still, shouldn’t be a problem for us. Should be able to pick them up on radar, miles away, as big as they are. Then we lock on, use our guns. Try to find their nesting site, blow it to gehenna with our missiles, and any of them that get in our way, well, that’s what the machine guns are for.

  They achieved their cruising altitude, leaving sound behind them, and raced for the mountains. Tall, snow-shrouded, savage-looking. And they had wind-currents all their own, breeding storms. “We’re within range of the designated target area,” Auzh called over the radio. “We’ve got pings on the radar.”

  Atzmay glanced down, and blinked. “That’s . . . a lot of traffic.” There were at least fifty large objects in the sky. “What are they feeding on, that they gather in such numbers?”

  “Could be mating season. Some animals don’t eat during mating . . . and the locals did call it a rookery. The creatures have to mate to lay eggs,” Auzh said, reasonably.

  “All right. Lock on targets, let’s bag these and go home.” They were still miles away, and would have to drop to subsonic speeds, and shoot the lindworms. They only carried so many missiles, after all, and would need to save those for the hatching site, itself. Additionally, the terrain was steep, rugged, and one bad downdraft from the brewing clouds overhead, and they could spin out. “Stay sharp.”

  They were still in radio contact with the airfield back in Gotaland, proper. He got permission to fire, not that he really should need permission for non-human targets, with no humans in the area that he could possibly harm with friendly fire, and they engaged.

  By now, the lindworms were clearly aware of their approach. Most of them scattered into the sky, though a few stayed at the actual rookery site, which was along an old access road, which jutted out from the mountain like a long cliff. They couldn’t fly directly at the cliff, and thus, had to take passes along it. “Launching missile,” Atzmay reported, and watched the weapon speed away, leaving a trail of smoke behind it. It might not have worked on a djinn, but anything corporeal? Should be little more than a mass of burned and broken flesh. Eggs? Should be splatters on the ground.

  Behind him, the second plane’s pilot echoed his assertion, ensuring double coverage of the target zone. “Incoming lindworms,” Atzmay reported, and tried not to chuckle under his breath. They might be a threat to helicopters, civilian planes, truck convoys, livestock, and people, but they couldn’t possibly match him in the air. He opened fire, while Auzh reported in on which lindworms fell out of the sky. Which spread out and fell behind him. “Have another contact,” Auzh reported. “Smaller. About five thousand feet above us, and just . . . maintaining its position.”

  Atzmay didn’t have time to wonder about that. Weather balloon, was his first thought, as he sprayed another lindworm with bullets, and then banked, turning back around to follow his own path back towards the mountain for another pass at the rookery. Helicopter. Wait. No. Neither of those should be out here. “Lindworms can’t hover—”

  “Not big enough for one of them,” Auzh replied. “Adults have all moved to a higher altitude. They’re going to try to dive in on us—”

  “Then we’ll go meet them,” Atzmay said, cheerfully, and angled his nose up, preparing, once more, to open fire as soon as he got a clear target.

  Lindworm speed, as he’d thought earlier, was nothing special in straight-line, overland flight. Seventy, eighty miles per hour, if they caught a really good tailwind. It was their dive that was problematic. They were big, but almost as aerodynamic as a hawk. And so, as he pushed his Dmiony towards the clouds, the lindworms screamed down at him, and Atzmay grinned and opened fire. Child’s play, really, they’re coming to me . . . . He rolled the wings of his plane to keep the falling body of the creature he’d just killed from hitting him, and then there was an almighty thwack, and a tearing sound. The plane shuddered in mid-air, and Atzmay’s grin vanished behind his mask, as his indicator board lit up with red lights. “What the fuck was that?” he snapped, desperately fighting the shimmying and shaking as the plane pitched nose-down, and began to try to spin. No, no, no, no you don’t, no you don’t, come on, mami, work with me . . . .

  “You rolled to miss the first one! I think its big brother to the left lost its fucking head in the number two engine.” Auzh’s voice was just this side of full-born panic.

  Atzmay risked a glance left, and swore, viciously, and fought the controls once more. Clouds and earth spun sickeningly, and he needed one level, constant thing to focus on. He found his level gauge and focused, calling into his radio, “Tower, this is Tsadi-five-fourteen. I am declaring a flight emergency. Number two engine is out. Trying to control and get home on number one.” Part of the back of his mind tried to tell him, The wing could be fractured. You’re lucky it didn’t tear off entirely. That wasn’t a duck that just went through the engine . . . .

  “Tsadi-five-fourteen, you’re too close to the mountain. You don’t have time. Eject. Eject, eject, eject!”

  Frantic voice from the tower, and for a moment Atzmay thought, no, no, I can do this, I can get us home—and then he got another look at the looming mountains, swore, and said, “Ejecting! Auzh, hold on!” He popped the canopy, and their seats flew up out of the plane. From shaking and tumbling sickeningly in the vehicle to the relative peace of rising through the air, cold wind snatching at his flight suit. Dark shapes moving across the clouds. Lindworms, infuriated by the destruction of their nests and mates, in a killing frenzy. The moment of peace at the top of the arc, then the inevitable descent. Freefall. The altimeter in his seat should be setting off his chute . . . now. Shock of relief as the chute popped out, slowing his fall . . . .

  . . . and then a feral scream from overhead, and a lindworm dove from above into his chute, tearing at it blindly with teeth and claws. Atzmay’s stomach dropped, and he fumbled for his sidearm. Tried to fire up at the beast, but the bullet bounced off the scaly hide. Oh god, this is it. I’m going to die.

  Light exploded in his eyes, and he thought for a moment that this was what death was. Brilliant light, but there was a simultaneous slam of thunder so intense he could feel it in his sternum, and when his eyes cleared, he was still looking up at the ragged remains of his parachute as he continued to fall . . . and then, as if someone had kindly attached a rope to the back of his seat, and he’d reached the end, he jerked to a halt in the air. Impossibly, it really did feel as if someone were behind him. Atzmay twisted around, trying to look, but his helmet blocked his view. “Steady,” a female voice told him, in perfectly good Hebrew, though her accent was odd and a little harsh. “Going to put you on the ground next to your friend, all right?”

  He tipped forwards, still strapped into his seat, and then he was rushing for the ground again, although, this time, it was clear that his descent was controlled. Just by a person unknown. Atzmay craned his neck, trying to figure out who the impossible mystery woman was, and then spotted Auzh’s chute, on the ground, near what looked like a wide, open place, snow-covered, between the trees. “He landed in a clearing, good,” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth without conscious control.

  “That is a frozen lake, not a clearing. He is fortunate that it is midwinter, else the ice would have cracked under him.” Auzh was unlatching himself from the seat, and looked up, freezing in place as Atzmay now came in for a landing just beside him. Atzmay, on feeling solid ground under the seat, wobbled for a moment and then finally unlatched his own straps, and whirled around, finally catching sight of his rescuer.

  No flight-suit. A cloak made of white feathers, fur-lined, which fell to her waist, with a hood blown back from her head. Pale hair, slight tinge of red to the otherwise flaxen strands, braided and knotted at the nape of her neck. Cool gray eyes, set in a face that was tipped up to the sky, and un
der the cloak, a leather bodice and a thick wool shirt. Leather pants, heavily worn, and boots, and a spear in her hand . . . but also a perfectly modern Vheva semi-automatic in a holster at her hip. The mass of contradictions made his mouth fall open, and Atzmay exchanged a glance with Auzh, who just shook his head, not knowing what to make of the rescue any more than he did, himself. She’s carrying a Judean-made gun. I guess that means she’s not a spirit or djinn or anything else, then . . . . “Ah, thank you for the assistance—”

  “I was in position to assist with the rookery attack. Flight control should have told you that I was there. I plan to have words with your superiors about cross-forces coordination.” Her eyes scanned the sky, and she added, “Here they come.” Indeed, four lindworms were circling above them now, their wings occasionally passing across the cold gray disc that was the sun, mostly shrouded by the overhanging clouds. “You and your fellow pilots have made a dent in their numbers, but they have easy prey in their reach, and you’ve bloodied them, after all. Use your side-arms, but try not to hit me.”

  “Try not to hit you? Where will you be?” Atzmay looked up, just as the woman rose into the air, wind wrapping around her in an invisible curtain. Light blazed out of rune-marks on her skin, and the only thing he could think, in his dazed state, was djinn. No. Something else.

  This time, when the first lindworm dove, the woman met it in mid-air, ascending at the same speed with which the creature descended. Atzmay watched, his pistol in his hands, his neck craned as what could only be described as a dogfight, or some sort of aerial dance, transpired over his head. A second lindworm dropped, and he tried to shout out a warning to the woman, just as its claws latched onto her shoulders. Lighting slammed down from what were surely snow clouds overhead, and hit the creature, which screamed and then fell away, limply, crashing into the ice of the lake not far from them. “Let’s get off the lake,” Auzh said, sharply, and Atzmay agreed, both of them making for the closest shore, placing their feet carefully, while still trying to keep track of the crazy flying woman.

  The two higher lindworms evidently decided that the woman was too tough a target, and the two men trying not to fall through the ice would make tastier and easier targets. One immediately dove for them, and Auzh tackled Atzmay out of the way at the last second. The creature hit the ice so hard, its greater bodyweight and inertia actually cracked the surface, and it fell through, into the dark, cold waters. Harah, Atzmay thought, as he and Auzh crawled and then staggered away from where the creature’s frantic thrashing was tearing the ice further and further apart, and causing cracks to appear under their knees and hands. Harah, harah, harah . . . . Then the last lindworm came in, and caught Auzh with its hindclaws. Atzmay lifted his gun and fired point-blank into the creature’s face, putting out one of the madly-staring yellow eyes . . . and then the flying woman landed on the lindworm’s back, sliding the point of her spear home, between its shoulder blades. It fell to the ground, nearly crushing Auzh, until the woman flew up and then dragged the heavy corpse away, so that Auzh could crawl out. “Oh, god,” Auzh mumbled as he did. “I . . . think my ribs are broken.”

  “Ribs, yes. Skull fracture and concussion, yes. You will live, however.”

  Auzh, already on the ground, sagged. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Invariably. I will heal you, but after I am done fighting.”

  “Wait, what?” Atzmay asked, shivering. His flight suit wasn’t really intended to keep him warm in the snow.

  “There are still five or six more adults up there,” the woman replied. “I need to go clean them up. Here, supply kit. Matches, tinder, space blanket. Make yourself a shelter, gather some wood, and keep your companion warm. I’ll be back for you, and I’ll stay with you till a rescue helicopter or ornithopter is sent.”

  “How do you speak such good Hebrew?” Auzh asked. His bell had clearly been rung, and he was obviously miles behind the conversation.

  “I am married to a Judean.” Her eyes were still fastened to the ledge where the rookery had been.

  “You’re . . . you’re a god-born?” He had to switch to Latin for that term.

  “Valkyrie. Yes.”

  “If they had a god-born ready to hit this place, why send us?” Atzmay asked, sharply.

  “I could not handle fifty of the beasts on my own. I do not think there is anyone that skilled, powerful, and lucky in the entire universe.” Her tone was dry. “I will be back. Stay warm, and safe.” She flung herself back up into the sky.

  Atzmay looked up at Auzh, whose arm was slung over his shoulder. “Crazy,” he said.

  “The whole world’s gone crazy. But if the crazy saves your life, what are you going to do, but say thank you?” Auzh frowned as Atzmay helped him to a tree, and unfolded the space blanket so Auzh would have someplace to sit, beside the cold, wet snow. Watched as the pilot started snapping off branches sticky with pine sap from the trees around them with which to start a low fire. “You catch her name?”

  “No. Damn it. We can ask later. Assuming she survives. Your emergency transponder working at all?”

  “I . . . think so. Yes.” JDF attached transponders to both each pilot’s belt, and to the ejection seats, to make recovery efforts that much easier.

  Atzmay got the fire going, and dragged branches over to the tree where Auzh was huddling, leaning them against a low-hanging, horizontal branch over his co-pilot’s head. “Breaks the wind a little, at least,” he said.

  True to her word, the strange woman returned, but this time, her flight was nowhere near as stable and steady. She was covered in black blood from the lindworms, the white feathers of her cloak stained and sprayed with it . . . and with red. Her left arm and cheek bore claw marks, and her left leg had a deep bite in the calf, just above her boot, which dripped red into the snow, rimming every footstep. She had to lean on her spear as she shuffled out on the surface of the lake, and simply stood over the bodies of the lindworms there. Staring at the lifeless forms for a long moment, before kneeling and putting a hand to one of the massive heads.

  Then she turned and limped back towards them, finally leaning wearily against the bole of the pine tree just beside Auzh, whom Atzmay had been trying to keep from losing consciousness. Hypothermia wasn’t a joke, especially with a concussion. Auzh opened his eyes, and looked at her. Shivering, he told her, “You don’t look so good.”

  “I told you I could not handle fifty of them at once. Six was, perhaps, ambitious of me.” Her tone was rueful, and tired. “They are fast, and I am used to working with a team, not alone.”

  Auzh shook his head, and reached over. Tugged on the white cloak. “Should get a better uniform, lady. White doesn’t show up against the snow, I’ll grant you, but I don’t envy you the dry-cleaning bill.”

  “Have to wear it. It’s a Tiwesdæg.” The words sounded nonsensical. What did the day of the week have to do with anything?

  She reached down and put a hand on Auzh’s shoulder. “You will feel quite better in a moment. After I take your wounds.” White light poured from her again, and Auzh gasped, his dark eyes going wide, and sprang to his feet.

  Atzmay tried to stop him, but just gaped as his co-pilot moved around, freely. “Are you sure you should be doing that?”

  “I feel fine. No cough from the blood in my chest, no pain in the ribs or head—”

  “Magic?”

  “I . . . well, yes, what do you think it was, candy-floss?”

  The god-born woman coughed, once, and slowly slid to the ground. Unconscious.

  Both men stopped talking. Turned, and looked at her, and Auzh shook his head, and carefully, cautiously, moved her fully onto the space blanket, and wrapped her in it. “I kind of wish she’d left me with my wounds,” Auzh said, quietly.

  “Because now you won’t get a combat decoration for being wounded?” Atzmay scoffed.

  “No. Because I’d rather have dealt with it myself, than seen her collapse. You really think if any of those things come back, we’ll be a
ble to hold them off on our own?”

  Atzmay winced. “We’ve got guns, and the chopper should be here soon. I’m going to try the radio again.”

  Ianuarius 2, 1971 AC

  She healed, but only so quickly. The chopper back from the mountainside felt like every other helicopter; she detested being enclosed in the mechanical deathtrap, but the subtle vibration, sensation of gliding through the air, and only the faintest of swaying as the wind pushed them, was also . . . disturbingly close to how she imagined being in the womb must feel. And thus, in spite of the pain of the skull fracture and healing ribs she’d taken from the Judean pilot, the lung damage, and her own aching, poisoned cuts and bites, she fell asleep as soon as the medics stopped poking and prodding her. Awakening when it was time to disembark, and refusing to allow them to carry her out on a litter, she called her spear to her and hobbled down the steps under her own power, pulling her hood up and over her face before she went to go have a few words with a very senior centurion about why the pilots hadn’t been briefed about her part in the mission.