"What are these," Fregak said, pointing to a spot a few yards to their right. Gathered against the side of the root, just outside the dark cavern, was a pile of what appeared to be flat, wood chunks. The impulse to investigate temporarily overriding their need to escape the oppressive setting, the three moved over for a closer inspection. The objects varied slightly in size and shape but were clearly the same species: oblong squares, six to eight inches thick, up to two feet wide and hard outer surface with a dull polish.
"It is light," Triffor said with surprise as he hefted one of the objects with both hands. "Is it hollow inside? A petrified gourd maybe?"
"Let’s find out," Sevorist said, giving Fregak a quick nod. Triffor straitened his arms, spread his legs shoulder width apart and faced Fregak. Fregak inhaled deeply, called the Source to his left fist and with one quick motion, the lingering blue trailer of energy the only evidence of the thrust, punctured a hole into the object. The object broke in half and Triffor laid the separate pieces on the ground before them. The inside was a fibrous webbing of strong integrity. Near where it split, was a ball made from layered leaves, brown and moist. Sevorist tore into the ball and found a dozen smaller, tan balls that look like skinned fruit.
"A seed," Sevorist hypothesized. Before either of his companions could comment, a deep moan escaped from the cavern, shaking the ground and Guardians with an intense vibration.
"Brace your self lads," Sevorist said a second later, pointing down the thin beach in the direction they had just come. A wave of land, a mound of peat rippling across the shoreline, rushed toward them with awesome speed. The three had just enough time to face the onslaught of earth and leap over before it crashed into the wall behind them. They fought to gain their balance as the ground beneath them lurched with aftershock.
"Fregak, put one in Triffor's pack," he commanded, "it is time for us to leave."
Fregak did as he was told, grabbing the closest seed while Triffor emptied most the contents of his pack onto the ground. With the seed securely stowed, the two Guardians turned to follow Sevorist who was already forty yards up the cliff. By shifting propulsive bursts of the Source beneath their feet, the Guardians bounded up the scattered but plentiful burls with amazing speed. Within a few minutes, they had maneuvered over to the center ridge, half way up the summit.
"A few more lunges boys and we'll be there," Sevorist yelled down to his companions, squatting on a volcano shaped burl. Instincts turned his attention from his trailing friends back to the fissure opening now parallel to his position. With greater force than before, the guttural moan reverberated throughout the canyon. From his elevated vantage, he observed an area on the beach, near the center of the fissure, systematically submerged below the water line by some kind of unseen impact. The force jolted the fluid ground with violent force, sending set after set of land waves down both sides of the beach and across the bog.
"Something large comes our way," he said with a calm belying the fear he saw on the faces of his young companions as they came level to his spot. "Double time boys! Don't look back. I will cover the rear. No matter what happens, you must get within range of a Mystic, the knowledge of our expedition is too crucial. Understood?" Both nodded with understanding and without hesitating another second, lunged to their next landing.
Sevorist turned back to see a dense, black smoke seeping from the fissure. Fractured, purple bursts ignited within the smoke, accompanied by a loud, clacking ululation as the Deagron Maker emerged from the bowels of the world.
With one stride, long trailers of the toxic smoke clinging to its form, the creature cleared the fissure opening to stand within the center of the bog. The monster was impossibly huge, too much for the mind to process at once. Out of necessity, Sevorist focused on the gruesome head soaring several hundred feet above his perch. Outside two eye slits sunk deep into the skull, the head was otherwise a fluid bundle of ligneous fibers, partially enclosed by a carapace edged with spiked bony plates. The spikes grew in size and frequency down an oblong shell that ran the full length of the creature's bent back.
As it turned in his direction, dozens of knotted dreadlocks matting the top of its head flailed out and threw a putrid breeze across the cliff. The recessed eyes pulsed bright violet as it peered down at the disturbed cache of seeds, radiating brighter as its gaze traveled back up the root cliff and locked onto Sevorist.
Upon discovery of the thief, the hunched beast released a jarring bellow that sent a wave of frenetic motion across its thick hide of leather and pith. Throbbing tumors bubbled along the body beset by hundreds of fleshy tendrils twitching with spastic convulsions. The anger exuded from the creature in and of itself was enough to seize a man in mortal fear.
The Deagron lurched toward Sevorist with paralyzing speed and agility, forcing Guardian instincts to the surface and focus on the lethal appendages with what little time remained. A fusion of corded vine and sinew, each of the arms—or legs or tails, it was impossible to discern—protruded from bony bridges securing the back shell to the imbricated plates covering the sides of its torso. "Nine!" he shouted to himself, affirming his quick count of the arms that appeared to work independently of each other yet propelled the creature forward in one, fluid motion.
With a trained eye and mind, conditioned over a lifetime to control his fear, he watched patiently as the creature bore down on his position. As it pulled itself forward, tearing at the soggy ground with rangy claws and flinging huge chunks of muck in its wake, Sevorist ignored the violent commotion and in doing so, he locked onto a strange occurrence that intuition told him could not be a coincidence: the creature took great measures to avoid the strange mounds as it advanced.
He looked up to see Triffor and Fregak nearing the top, assessing soon after that out running it was not an option. He also knew, despite the lead they had, the young Guardians could not either. Knowing he must buy them time, Sevorist turned back to face the future he had already manifested. With a deep, purposeful breath, the legendary Teuton recited the Guardian's prayer: "I love you. Thank you. Please forgive me."
With the last word still passing his lips, he leaped forward moments before the cliff side behind him exploded from the impact of the giant fist, spraying huge chunks and splinters. His body encased by a form fitted shield of the Source, Sevorist mistled his way through the tangle of limbs and tendrils, barely evading the alarmingly dexterous swats. The powerful leap landed him in near the bog's center, clear of the creature’s immediate reach.
There was no effort made to counter attack the beast as it pivoted in pursuit. Instead, using every cell in his being, Sevorist squared his shoulders to the west, braced his legs, extended his arms and called forth the Source. His body recoiled from the devastating bolt of energy unleashed by his outstretched hands. The bolt ripped through the bog, burning a trench five yards wide in its wake. Sevorist grunted with effort as he swept the stream of energy across the bog, annihilating everything in its path.
The creature howled with agony, not from where five of its talons and several tendrils were severed from the Guardian Bolt, but as Sevorist took careful aim at the strange mounds that exploded into a fleshy goo.
Sevorist completed a full turn before the Source came to fizzling halt. He collapsed to his knees in exhaustion but had enough strength to lift his head and survey the havoc he had wreaked in just a few seconds. Satisfied no mound remained, his eyes came to rest on the cache of seeds several hundred yards away. He pulled in what reserves he had left, aimed his open palms toward the pile and fired a missile of Source. A satisfied smile crossed his face a second before an immense shadow from above came crashing down.
"Nooooooo!" screamed Triffor and Fregak as the view switched to the young Guardians watching the scene from high above. The Deagron turned toward the sound and let loose a roar in response that moments later slammed into them with gale force and lethal fetor. Stunned by the loss of their beloved surrogate father, the Guardians clung helplessly to the ivy roots and waited t
o see what the creature would do next.
Satisfied the two Guardians posed no immediate threat, the Deagron turned back to the crater created by the fist that had obliterated Sevorist. The Deagron Maker drew back his tawny limb and drove it back down with the same anger and violence. An uncontrollable whimper escaped from Triffor as the two peered into the pit, the muck from the surrounding bog already oozing back into the cavity, finding no evidence of Sevorist's bodily remains. With the same deceptive speed, the Deagron Maker moved back to the fissure opening and disappeared back into the hollow.
"They are all gone," Triffor said, unconsciously shrugging his pack higher onto his back.
Steffor fast-forwarded through the uneventful bulk of Fregak's and Triffor's trek back up the Trunk, resuming at the point where the two were but half a mile below the Razum buttress. With the squat bough dominating the sky above, the two Guardians had delineated a clear trail through the ivy patch and mushroom plateaus that would have them home within a day.
"We made it," Triffor said with solemn pride.
"Not yet," Fregak replied, "we must be close enough to sync with Mystic, let us try again before continuing."
"Agreed."
Seated securely on the cap flat of a broad mushroom with backs leaning against a goliath bark plate, the two Guardians closed their eyes, released their minds and searched for a Mystic. A minute later, the two opened their eyes and in several rapid sequences—eyes moving in combinations of left to right, right to left, up and down, down and up—uploaded their experiences to Draiken, the Mystic who would soon become the first steward of the Forging Tree.
"Welcome home Citizens," Draiken said telepathically. "Concern over your return has intensified over the past few months. There will be much rejoicing over the boon you bring back to your people." A long pause occurred after that to the point both Guardians got back to their feet to resume the last leg in their journey, before Draiken spoke again. "But your mission is not complete."
"Sevorist fell to his death as they neared the end of their journey," Grimlock said in disbelief. Granted, the mystery shrouding Sevorist's death left many to wonder how the seasoned Guardian could have disappeared without Fregak or Triffor being aware. Still, sneak attack from zapture or giaker catching a weary Guardian unprepared was not an unprecedented event and a very plausible explanation.
Silence met the big man's obdurate resistance to this new reality as each experienced a similar transition in light of what they had just seen. The truth, no matter how harsh it may be was a requisite they all believed to be essential for the soul to grow. If given the opportunity, would they go back in time and make different choices, decide to remain ignorant over discovering their belief system is not perfect?
"Those images, of Fregak placing the seed in Triffor's pack, are not new, they were used in the original version," Martna said with a dejected tone. "It explains the origins of the Forging Tree. But we were led to believe the seed was found in the Deagron Fields, near the meteor crash."
"As you just witnessed that was just one of the scenes to be edited." Steffor remained confident in the decision to share these secret events, trusting the revelation would lead to a higher, more poignant truth, providing them the edge they will need to defeat the Deagron Maker. Necessity dictated his actions and he knew he would make the same choice again given the same circumstances.
Why then, can I not shake this perverse feeling that everything I do now and the future will all be for naught?
Steffor ended the feed. There was more to show, details that would help explain the motives behind the cover-up, but the need to do so was no longer relevant to Steffor in light of what he learned the moment Draiken entered the story. The introduction of Draiken triggered an omnipotent ability, one that enabled him to connect the present incarnation of a soul, with those of past lives.
I was Draiken!
The sudden enlightenment sent a frantic wave of insecurity through his being. I convinced the young Guardians to corroborate the edited version of their epic adventure. They wanted to believe Sevorist's sacrifice prevented the Deagrons from ever coming back and agreed the images of the Deagron Maker would create a disruptive panic within the vulnerable society.
'We will grow the scion of our God,' I told them as Draiken, holding the seed before me, 'within the same soil and in doing so, eternally imprison the Deagron Maker and prevent it from ever spawning those abominations again.’ They did not understand how I held this to be true, any more than I do now, but as it has been the case with every Citizen since, they wanted to believe. The alternative was too much to bear.
If I knew the birth of the Forging Tree would halt the Deagrons, did I also, deep inside, know that I would one day in the far future transform it and in doing so, once again release the Deagron Maker into the world?
Confounded by the provoking question, the answer that soon formulated was even more troubling. None of this should have happened, yet somehow I knew it would.
Chapter 18
Stalling was not prepared for the oppressive presence filling the room. The moment he cleared the sanitization room and stepped into the mainframe chamber, the mysterious energy assaulted and registered on every sense. By the time he reached the center of the room to stand next to Jennifer, tears were inexplicably running down his face. He turned to face his friend, hoping she would subserve the unexpected veneration with some type of scientific explanation, and was startled to see the stolid scientist suffering from the same affliction.
"It's him," she sniveled, rubbing the back of her hand across puffy eyes and snuffling nose as she nodded toward Muzar. Stalling turned to face Muzar, naked but for snug white boxer-briefs, raised face level from the submerged bay centered between the three computer towers. He was lying upward at an eighty-degree angle, securely placed in a wide, foam fitted bed framed by the same black, biometric material used to create the mainframe's conical walls.
Who is this stranger? Stalling thought as he struggled to look directly at his unconscious childhood friend. "We have surpassed our wildest expectations! Who could resist the benevolent force emanating from this creature?" Stalling said to no one, to everything.
Jennifer rubbed his back and shared in his joyful tears for several moments before the pragmatic side gained control. "The math remains consistent, the program will kill him if we allow it to finish. We must awaken him, now."
"I have reviewed Janison's patch and believe it will enable us to save him with all his knowledge intact," Stalling replied. "We will start the procedure the second he and Antone arrive. They are only minutes behind."
"Then what? Will it all be over? Did he grow enough, despite not finishing? How crucial are those final moments?" Jennifer asked, echoing the questions all of them have asked since discovering the problem.
"It will have had to be enough," Stalling said, surprised by the resolve of his words. Addressing Muzar, Stalling said, "You have done more than any of us could have hoped old friend," impulsively grabbing the others hand.
"Yes, yes he has," Jennifer added, placing her face directly in front of Muzar's, gently brushing her lips across his.
The show of affection surprised but did not shock Stalling. Lorissa was right. All this time, Jennifer has been near the one person she cared for most. How that came to be, he could only guess, for the two had never met until Muzar arrived in this place ten years ago and that time was brief.
Granted, Jennifer was responsible for preparing Muzar both mentally and physically for his journey but he found it hard to imagine the two of them forging any kind of meaningful relationship over those few days. No, Stalling concluded, the bond between them must have materialized while Muzar was gone over the years as Jennifer studied his life from afar. Or, Stalling thought with a fond smile, their bond spans over many lifetimes prior to this one. Either way, the love he saw on Jennifer's face was real, not a simple infatuation. This much he was certain. What was not clear, a thought he was sure must be running through her mi
nd, was if Muzar felt the same.
Confident the answers to which, and so much more, would soon to be revealed with Muzar’s return, all the sacrifices his friend had made rushed to the surface of Stalling’s stirred consciousness. Before I ever approached Muzar with my outlandish proposal, he had already sacrificed more than any of us could imagine. With vivid detail, Stalling recalled the crucial juncture in their relationship that took place over a decade ago.
The dank place chosen for their reunion was one of the many, naturally formed pockets found within the ancient limestone caverns of Blacadoma. Free of security cameras, the small space remained hidden from the world at large and, more importantly for Muzar and his allies, from his relentless antagonists. If not for the painstaking hours invested by the team Stalling had assembled to dissect every recorded movement Muzar made, he too would have never found the hidden cavern.
It was complete conjecture on their part that the cave even existed. The only form of hard evidence they had to go by was the recorded time lapse that occurred on more than one occasion when either Muzar and or some of his minions traveled the otherwise nondescript stretch of hallway. "From what we can tell by the blueprints and intel we acquired, the entire network of light fixtures down that hall has not worked for years. There must be a hidden room or passage," the elated team finally reported one day after months of fruitless search.
Time was pressing on many fronts and Stalling knew it was time to take a calculated risk. He went with his gut and started drilling. Ten months and the death of one crewman later, they completed the long shaft and, after several course adjustments that added another six weeks to the project, finally gained entry into the tiny cavern. It took another five weeks of patiently waiting for one of Muzar's people to enter the room—using the secret hideaway to escape the hot pursuit of several Ecifrican inmates—and consequently coordinate with Stalling's agent a meeting with Muzar.
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