February 308
February 27, The Marshes
Seventeen
The clouds above him flashed momentarily. Seconds later, a rolling thunder echoed in the distance. He raised his head and sniffed the cool night air. A drop of rain landed on his cheek. His mouth twitched in pleasure. The rain would wash away the human miasma, oozing from the village below them. At least the smoke from their fires was masking it somewhat.
He caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. Without bothering to turn, he knew it was a Fallen. The beast approached him cautiously, then bumped him playfully with its corona. Ugly scars covered half its head, the result of the terrible explosion in Malekshei. He scratched it above the eyes absentmindedly, his senses tuned into his brothers’ movements through the forest. As a scout, he had arrived first; now he had to wait until everyone had assumed their position.
While they made their way toward the last trees separating them from the village, he caressed the cold metal of the weapon strapped against his thigh. The iron weapons of the First were no match for his brothers’ energy weapons; the weapons humans called, unimaginatively enough, rods.
The wind carried over the half-drunken wedding songs of the villagers, along with more raindrops. Somehow this made the imminent slaughter even more pleasurable. He licked his lips in anticipation.
The wind also carried with it the sweet smell of roasting meat. His stomach growled. His mouth watered. Although his creators had made sure clones could eat anything from raw meat to rotten fruit, he longed for a decent meal. It did not have to be cooked, but it had to be enough for everyone. The charred remains of the forest, burned when Malekshei had fallen, were mostly empty of large prey. Feeding the score of clones and the two dozen Fallen that had survived was not easy.
After the fall of Malekshei, the remnants of their army had regrouped, their ranks decimated. Even his designation had changed. In their limited numbers, he was now Seventeen. He and his brothers had crawled their way through the North, razing village after village. Even without their Iota master, they would fulfil their mission and rid the planet of the human plague, one town at a time. An increasing number of villages were empty, the villagers having fled south and west to safety. The rest, they attacked at night, slaughtering anyone foolish enough to stand in their way. Once the carnage was over, nothing but smoking tinder remained of the former homes and hearths. Anything edible, the clones took with them. It wasn’t as if the villagers’ charred corpses would mind; the dead neither eat nor drink.
The Fallen next to him let out an annoyed growl. It stared at the empty air above the village. The raindrops seemed to slow down as they pressed through an invisible barrier. The beasts’ primitive intelligence often startled him. Could it see the shimmering shield, like he could? Invisible to humans, but not his brothers, it would be there until someone had removed the Argikar—the Old Woman’s wards against Fallen and Whispers. Thankfully, she had only designed them to guard against the Fallen. He and his brothers had found it easy enough to dig them out and destroy them. All they needed to do was watch for any guarded area just outside the village. That is where the Argikar would lay hidden.
He chuckled at the First’s stupidity. Had they simply dug the earth and let it be, his brothers would have to search for days to find them. By placing guards around the devices, all they accomplished was to speed up the inevitable.
A few shadows detached themselves from the trees. The moonlight could not penetrate the pregnant clouds, and his brothers soon vanished into the darkness. Moments later, he heard muffled yelps. That’s my cue.
He slithered closer to his brothers, leaving the beast behind him. It would not approach while the Argikar curse was in place. He was a hundred yards from the fence when the air above them shimmered and glowed momentarily as the barrier dropped. A blinding beam of light shot up into the night air, piercing the clouds. A moment later, it flickered and disappeared, gobbled up by the night’s shadows and the rain. The songs died out, hushed whispers taking their place. A baby wailed. Now!
He let out a loud cry and bolted toward the village. The heavy doors, made out of thick logs, had almost closed as he slipped within the narrow gap still left between them. He found himself on their other side. Two First gaped at him, their jaws open in shock. A dozen more ran toward him. Horns blared. In the distance, people screamed and fled.
Lightning lit up the sky, just as his blade’s hungry flame split the darkness. He pointed at the group heading his way and fired a volley. It exploded under their feet, sending them flying through the air. The rest scurried away, taking cover behind barrels and crates. Only a few brave souls dared attack him.
He ducked under an iron blade and launched himself into a spinning leap toward one of the First, a stout woman with a long ponytail. She lunged to meet him, jabbing her short sword forward. He dodged her thrust and sidestepped, allowing her to push behind him. As she did, he slammed the base of his rod against her skull. Crunch! The woman sprawled on the ground.
A determined-looking First was bolting the door behind him with a thick chain. A hungry light flickered in Seventeen’s eyes. He swirled around and brought the blade down on the man’s hands. They separated from his arms and slid to the ground, releasing the chain. The man screamed, gaping at the blood gushing out of the stumps like his body were rejecting it. Seventeen plunged his fiery blade into the man’s chest, silencing him.
More clones kicked the door open and flooded into the courtyard. Their beasts followed them. A large group of First headed their way, then stopped, uncertain. A Fallen roared in rage. Its cry was picked up by its brethren and the clones. Hungry, red blades cracked alive, one after another. Across them, scabbards spat out iron blades. A mocking scoff burst from Seventeen’s lips. He flicked his weapon, determined not to use missiles as that would only make the coming slaughter less fun.
He bolted forward, aiming at a woman with a long spear. He struck as she was raising her weapon in defense, slashing at her with a vicious cut of his rod. She deflected his blade just in time, her spear splitting in half. The force of the strike knocked her back. With a spin, she jumped back, putting a few yards between them. She threw away the broken handle and pulled a short sword from a scabbard around her waist. He came at her again, this time with an overhead swing. She ducked and blocked the strike, twisted beneath his blade and came around. His own momentum made him stagger behind her. Before he could regain his balance, she plunged her sword into his ribs.
The iron pierced his flesh and skidded across the bones, leaving a gushing wound. He hollered, not so much in pain as fury. Rage filled him. He rained blow upon blow at her as quickly as his strong muscles would allow. She blocked his attacks, despair growing in her eyes. He beat her back a half dozen feet, then her foot caught in a hole rapidly filling with rainwater. She fell on her back, hitting the ground hard. The sword was knocked from her hands. With a roar, he plunged his blade into her chest and shoved it upward, splitting her torso in half. Blood splattered everywhere.
Her death tasted good as he paused to catch his breath. Behind the dead woman, something stirred. His gaze caught on a throng of children hiding behind some crates, their young eyes filled with terror. That’s why she fought so furiously. To protect their brood. He smirked. It mattered little. The Fallen would make a meal out of them soon enough. His heart swelled with triumph and he raised his arms in the air, crying out in the ecstasy of battle. The children’s eyes widened as the white light from a lightning bolt revealed the demonic tattoos covering his body.
From behind them, another woman emerged. She pushed the young ones behind her. He studied her with interest. She was the age when human bodies started melting like wax statues. Blobs of fat had gathered around her hips, forcing her to lean forward. The way she limped toward him reminded him of an elderly hen. The effect was exacerbated both by her large wattle, like an unturned rooster comb, and by the way the terrified children huddled behind her like chicks seeking safet
y. He cocked an eyebrow when she pulled a dagger from her belt. This should be fun!
Her gaze caught on something behind him, and sudden joy replaced the resigned determination in her eyes. He swung around, suddenly mindful of the sound of galloping horses. A blue flame licked his torso and burst beside him, missing him by less than an inch. The explosion threw him into the air. He screamed in pain as a piece of wood impaled his ribs, not far from the wound the First warrior had inflicted.
Riders wielding blue flames crashed through the torn gates. Sheimleks! They have Sheimleks! The Old Woman’s weapons were more than a match for his rod. Where did they come from?
The newcomers attacked the rear of the invaders. He hollered in fury and agony as he tore the shrapnel from his flesh. Even as it dealt with the pain, his warrior mind evaluated the situation. Caught between the villagers and the new threat, his brothers paused, swiftly assessing the changing circumstances. Fallen and clones screamed in rage. Flee, my brothers!
He measured the distance between him and the gate. With a bolt, he shot through it, ducking to avoid blue bursts of energy. An explosion threw him to the ground. He landed head-first into a pool of muddy water. Blood gushed from his wounds. He paused to dip a finger into his flesh, flinching at the burning shot of pain. He crawled to the trees, taking care to stay low as shots of blue light exploded all around him.
The last thing he heard as he disappeared back into the forest was the hen-woman’s cackle. He ground his teeth in fury. This isn’t over.
Anthea
Gella
In her dream, Gella was darting through the ruins of Ephia. Shadowy figures chased her, creatures whose mere presence paralyzed her with fear. Drenching rain was pouring over her as she bolted through a barely lit street, the only illumination breaking the darkness of the night provided by blinding streaks of lightning.
She could hear David close by, feel his presence. Then, his scream echoed as the creatures caught up with him, and he was no more. She hated herself for not going back to help him, but her legs refused to stop running.
When a broken column caught her foot, she let out a cry and stumbled to the ground. The column rolled onto her leg, pinning her down. She struggled in vain to break free, writhing under the marble.
A man’s sinister silhouette showed up behind her. Her hand grasped her knife. A boot crashed her fingers and she screamed in pain. The earth opened up and roots pulled her into the ground, into a living grave. Breathing became increasingly hard. The figure stood and guffawed, watching her desperate struggle. Lightning lit up his gleeful face, and she woke up, panting.
Teo.
She pulled a strand of hair from her forehead, wet with sweat, and waited for her pounding heart to slow down. Thunder crashed outside. A loud thud against the window startled her, causing her whole body to twitch. It’s just a branch, she chastised herself. Get a grip on yourself.
Once her breathing returned to normal, she swiveled herself on the bed and let her feet touch the chilly wooden floor. She leaned her head against her palms for a few moments, then headed to the bathroom. Her rank entitled her to a house downtown, but she preferred to sleep in the barracks. Having spent all her life alongside the men and women under her command, she found it hard to sleep in an empty room, let alone a whole house. Perhaps if I were with David…
She chased the thought away and stepped into the shower—the one indulgence she had insisted on. The water soon turned scalding hot. She let it wash away the nightmare.
When she turned off the tap and shrugged into her robe, her mind had cleared. A discreet knock on the door startled her. She glanced outside. It’s still dark. She opened the door a crack to find Sol’s aide waiting outside.
“Morning, General,” the elderly woman said, a guilty look on her face. “Sorry about the time.”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” she mumbled and swiveled the door open, waving her inside.
The woman shook her head. “That’s all right, General. Sol wants to see you. I’ll just wait here.”
Hiding her surprise, Gella nodded and shut the door. As she sniffed her pants to see if they were clean enough to wear, she tried to contain her curiosity. Does Sol have news of David? She scolded herself. You’re not some love-struck teenager. Stop that!
Frustrated, she yanked the door open and stormed outside. “Let’s go.”
She expected to be taken to the Town Hall, but half an hour later, they arrived at Sol’s house. The aide guided her up the stairs and through a long corridor, then knocked on a door near the far end. She stepped aside to let Gella in without waiting for a response. “Sol’s inside.”
Sol. From the affection in the woman’s tone, you would never guess Sol was one of the most powerful people in the West. One of the things that impressed her about Anthea was how even the lowest commoner would speak up to the highest-ranking official. Richard Walker’s legacy, still alive after three centuries.
Gella moved past Sol’s aide and found herself inside a small dining room. Sol was sitting behind a round table. She had a spoon inside a bowl of dried nuts drenched in milk. Her other hand was holding a lit e-lib. She seemed lost in reading. Her long hair hung loose, instead of being tied into the usual tight bun or long braid. This highlighted the streaks of gray that ran through the once sun-kissed hair.
Gella felt like she was invading a private moment. She had never seen Sol so unguarded. Her feet froze for a moment at the entrance. So, this is the person behind the politician.
Sol raised her eyes as if just noticing her and motioned for Gella to join her. “I apologize for the ungodly hour,” she said after swallowing. “My days seem to be getting ever longer and my nights shorter.”
“It’s all right,” Gella said. She tiptoed into the room, still feeling she was interrupting something, and pulled a chair opposite Sol. “I wasn’t sleeping either.” She watched as Sol dunked her spoon into the bowl. They hadn’t met in a while. Dark bags hung under Sol’s eyes, while crow’s feet stretched from the sides of her eyes.
Sol crunched her bite before looking up at Gella. “Where are my manners? May I offer you something?”
Gella waved away the invitation. “Thank you, I’m fine.”
Sol wiped her mouth with a white napkin. “In that case, let me get to the point. Satori tells me the training is progressing nicely.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sol smirked. “Ma’am.” She rolled the word in her mouth like sour candy. “You’re a good soldier, aren’t you, Gella?”
Gella frowned. “Ma’am?”
Sol lifted her spoon in the air. “No, no, it’s all right. That’s what I need. A good soldier.”
Gella shifted her weight on her seat. “We’ve covered everything I know,” she said, avoiding Sol’s intense stare. “They’re as ready as they’ll ever be. That is, until we have some more information on Altman’s intentions.”
“That’s why I wanted to see you.” Sol’s eyes might have looked tired, but her gaze was razor-sharp. “I need someone to be my messenger.”
“Scorpio?” The thought of returning home made Gella’s breath quicken. On one hand she would welcome the opportunity to go back; on the other, she wasn’t sure how people would react to her after last time. Cleo had many friends. None of them would be happy to see Gella.
“The Capital,” Sol said simply and lifted her glass.
Gella’s breath caught. “Altman? He’ll kill me on the spot.”
Sol took a slow sip. “I know that you’re wanted there, but even Altman wouldn’t dare touch a messenger.”
A nervous chuckle broke through Gella’s lips. “Where have I heard that before?” The bitter words escaped her mouth before she had a chance to stop them.
Sol lowered her glass and placed it back on the table in a deliberate manner. “I know. And you don’t have to go. But you’re perfect for the job.”
Gella straightened her uniform, embarrassment washing over her. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Please, explain the miss
ion.”
“As far as anyone knows, the mission, as you call it, is a last-ditch attempt for peace.” She rubbed her eyes with the base of her palms, as if suddenly realizing how early it was. “But what I really need is someone to tell me how far Teo’s preparations have progressed. What are we facing? And the most important question: where will they land?”
Gella’s forehead creased. Why me? “Surely you have people who can answer that?”
“You mean, spies?” Sol picked up her e-lib again and tapped it, before throwing it onto the table. Endless lists with names and numbers scrolled on the screen. “Too many, it seems. Everyone’s selling information, for the right price. Only problem is, estimates vary from a month to years. The size of the army, the number of ships… everything’s vague. Contradictory. It’s a mess.” She took a breath and leaned back on her chair, fixing her piercing gaze on Gella. “What I need are facts. Surely you have people you can trust at the Capital?”
Do I? Names went through her mind. Could she trust any of them after everything that had happened? “You want me to find spies for you?”
“I want you to ask your friends what’s going on,” Sol said, a hint of impatience in her voice. “Not everyone likes Altman, for sure.”
Gella let out a dry chuckle. “That’s an understatement.” She turned serious again and leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. “But no one will offer me intelligence knowing it will be used against them. You have to understand, the only friends I have are professional soldiers. They’re the ones who’ll be killed if they pass on information that can be used against the Capital.”
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