by Lee M Eason
The path now ran down into the lee of the hills; the view was dominated by a spire of rock almost identical to the one at Aurt. But here there was no sandstone to warm its jagged bulk. Grey granite rose starkly against the brooding sky. The Panids must have wrenched it up from the rock below. A flow of lava had crystallized down its slopes into geometric blocks; stacked in tiers they formed an impractical jumble of massive steps to the summit. There, two towers stabbed at the sky, one higher than the other and between them a great arch gazed out over the island. Its opening flickered weakly as it struggled to gather field energy. Its futile efforts mesmerised him briefly; a beating heart slowly failing. Just then, a ray of light found its way through the heavy cloud and for the first time Naicarn was aware of the carrion birds circling above; scavengers waiting for the beast to die.
He followed the path until he found the entrance to The Field’s Complex. Sheltered from the constant pull and tug of the wind the entrance, if it could be called that, was a solid stone block fused into the rock of the hillside. He stepped forward and touched it, sensing the form fields that had been woven into it. They had eroded with time and he also found signs that they had been tampered with from inside, weakening enormously. He resisted the urge to start work on the entrance and instead returned to the village. He would shelter in the most complete of the ruins, rest and eat, renew his strength, then he would attempt to crack open the block.
It was dark when he woke and unwrapping his cloak from around him, he found the wool damp and the air chill. The small fire he had built barely glowed. Focusing, he encouraged the flames and added more wood. It crackled and spluttered and eventually came to life providing some heat. As he sat warming himself he became aware of ripples in the field. He got up and walked to an empty window looking out across the village, the cold light of the moon barely lit the ground. Here and there Naicarn caught glimpses of movement, insubstantial glowing figures, some appearing for seconds others walking and going about what had been their daily lives, their motion was slow and strangely graceful. He watched as a faint shape slowly made its way up the path, only just discernible as a figure. It faded further as it approached and then was gone, reappearing back down the path to walk the same steps. He returned to the fire making a hot drink to warm the deep chill in his bones and ate a functional meal. This done he left the building and headed back to The Field’s Complex, ignoring the figures as the compelling presence in his head returned.
There was a faint trace of light on the horizon, an indicator of the coming dawn. He finished his study of the block and the complex work designed to keep it sealed. Its original design had included self-renewing elements but these had been destroyed perhaps five years ago so the seal was greatly weakened. He spent much of the day destroying elements of its structure and bit by bit the block lost its protection. Finally, he found the point he needed, a weak spot. Focusing his will, he drew on the field and began to stress the block’s structure. With each second he pushed harder. The stone hummed under his touch and began to vibrate heavily, sending tremors through the ground. He pushed harder. Small stones broke free and tumbled down the hillside. Naicarn stepped back to avoid the debris, committing himself to the task, knowing either he or the block would be broken. The figures in the village flickered out of existence, the local field unable to support them as Naicarn drained it. He focused his will to its fullest extent. The whole hillside rumbled now, along with the ground beneath his feet. Naicarn’s shaking hands lifted, almost pleading with the block to give up. His face was gripped by pain as he was compelled to continue - compelled to push yet harder. The block was beginning to distort as form fields buckled under the huge force he exerted. Large sections of the hillside began to slip and collapse. Cracks opened in the ground. Naicarn began to shake violently, his will overwhelmed by the torrent of field energy. Finally, with a deafening crack, the block split. The ground was raised and the blast swept Naicarn off his feet. The detonation echoed across the island as the defeated hillside slumped on itself. The rumbling faded like distant thunder and in the silence that followed the pale figures flickered back into existence and continued their endless tasks.
Naicarn came to, aware that it was light before he opened his eyes. It was some time before he was able to stand up and when he could, it took him much longer to make his way back to the shelter. With an effort he restarted the fire and searched his pack for food. When he’d eaten he added more wood to the fire and pulling his cloak around him slept.
When he woke again the sun had passed overhead and was sinking behind the hills trailing dusk behind it. Stiffly he forced himself to move and eat. This chore complete, he packed his things and left the crumbling shell. He walked to the entrance, a sense of anticipation growing. On reaching it he didn’t pause. Focusing his will, he reached forward grasping at the air with his hands and pulled violently back. The field responded and the split halves of the block were torn from the hill and flung aside. Detaching his staff from his pack he walked into the gaping hole and began his decent. He knew it was waiting for him and that the way ahead had been cleared.
***
Jenna awoke on the beach; her legs numb from the icy water of the approaching tide. Falteringly she got to her feet. Her mind was leaden, the cuts and bruises on her face and arms didn’t seem to bother her. Weak thoughts tried to surface, her voice shouting from a long way off, too far to notice or to be bothered by. It didn’t matter where she was. She didn’t even know why she was here. She just knew how to move and in which direction. She walked and walked for a long time, staying on the beach knowing only that she was getting closer.
It was dusk when she reached the ruined village, vaguely aware of its shapes and of movement. The change in the ground beneath her feet only just registered as she moved from black sand to stone and then cobble. Her legs kept moving all the time bringing her closer.
***
The small boat rose and dipped alarmingly on the waves as Lewen struggled to steer it. The shore was only just discernible in the fading light of dusk. Aaron lay shivering uncontrollably in the prow, occasionally racked by spasms. Lewen’s face was awash with anxiety, desperate to land the ship and get Aaron near a fire.
Aaron had jumped them repeatedly, continuing even when Lewen had asked and then all but begged him to rest. He’d refused, threatening to leave him behind. With no choice Lewen could only watch the toll Aaron’s efforts took with each jump. He’d used the energy in the copper devices they’d stolen from Kellim’s pack to get half way across The White Sea. These spent he’d resorted to his own will again, each time forcing himself to move them further and each time empting his stomach, until only bile burnt his throat and his body succumbed to increasingly violently tremors. The final transport had brought them in sight of the coast. Now his face was ash white, his eyes had glazed over and he was contorted with convulsions, mumbling and wailing incoherently. Lewen feared for Aaron’s life and fighting the waves and tide rowed with all his strength.
The swell of a wave brought them careering onto the beach, Lewen having to grip the sides of the boat to stop himself from being thrown out. The oars slammed forward and then broke free spinning into the foam. Soaked, he managed to scramble out of the boat and grabbing hold of the prow willed his shaking arms into effort. The icy foam crashed over him, nearly sweeping him off his feet but somehow he managed to drag the boat far enough onto the beach. He hung over its side, exhausted and dripping. Catching his breath, he looked to Aaron but couldn’t see any signs of movement, panicking he scrambled into the boat.
“Aaron, Aaron!” He shook him gently at first and then harshly, lifting him up so that he could see his face properly. His lips were blue. He felt at his neck but couldn’t find a pulse. Clutching hold of his shirt and coat he dragged him out of the little boat and laid him on the beach, face down trying to force any water out of his lungs and then turned him over, listening for a heartbeat. Still not finding one he desperately pumped at the centre of Aaron’s ch
est and then pinched his nose and angled his head back before forcing air into his lungs. He continued pumping over and over, fear gripping him more and more as he worked without effect. Again Lewen paused to check for some sign of life. Nothing. Again. Nothing. Again and again he tried but it wasn’t working. Desperation overtook him and tears streamed down his face. Finally, realising his efforts were futile, he broke down.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobbed clutching at his friend as if somehow he could pull him back. Finally, he lifted him, hugging him in his arms, rocking him as he wept. Then there was a hand on his shoulder, in sudden fear he wrenched free of its grip and scrambled to the side.
“Kellim,” he choked not fully believing his eyes.
Kellim didn’t speak but turned his attention to Aaron. Kneeling down he placed a hand gently on the young man’s chest and cupped his other behind Aaron’s head. Kellim closed his eyes and began to concentrate. Lewen watched, unable to move as a faint glow began to form around Aaron. Delicate tendrils of light curled and peeled out of the darkness and the crash of the waves faded into the distance. Kellim was speaking but Lewen couldn’t understand the words and the more he listened the more he heard other voices, faint but all around him. He looked about but saw no one. He dropped to his knees wiping his hands across his eyes. At last Kellim leant forward and whispered in Aaron’s ear. Almost immediately the young man choked and coughed and then breathed a long aching gasp. He clutched at Kellim, his eyes wide and confused. Kellim held him down and spoke again, Aaron struggled less and eventually fell asleep, colour slowly returning to his face.
Kellim sat up wearily, turning to look at Lewen, who had started to sob with relief.
“He’s back with us,” he reassured, “but needs warmth. We will find what we need in Russon. “Quickly, we must hurry.”
Lewen nodded, helping Kellim carry Aaron.
As they hurried Lewen noticed for the first time the old man’s clothes, skin and hair were scorched in places. For once he looked his age, tired and warn. “What happened to you?”
“I arrived at the coast, north of High Holt, to be met by The Fire of The Ground. She knew where I would appear and when. I transported straight into her range. We fought and eventually I was able to overcome her. Jenna arrived but I was unable to prevent her from transporting here. I followed but became aware of your plight and was forced to come to your aid.”
They struggled up the beach and into the town. Kellim headed directly to the most complete of the buildings and hurriedly used the remains of a fire. Taking a dry blanket from his backpack he quickly got Aaron out of his wet clothes and wrapped him in it. “I must go now. And you, well I would rather you stayed here but I fear you will follow me no matter what.” Lewen looked over at Aaron and then back to Kellim. He didn’t have to answer. Kellim got to his feet with an effort. “Very well then, the fire will keep Aaron company. I’ve done all I can. How much of him will awaken I can’t tell.”
Kellim would have preferred to rest but knew Jenna was some way ahead. He assumed she was headed for The Field’s Complex and would attempt to gain access. He focused and the two of them transported.
***
The shout had gone out. Men and Talents rushed to their places lining the full length of the Hand. Carrick and Gwen stood with Gattick, Kara, the fortress Commander and his staff, looking into the far distance at the ominous cloudbank that approached. Some distance behind them the newly formed but small Amarian air navy held position with orders only to engage as a last resort. With few powder weapons they would have little real effect.
“It’s definitely slowed,” Kara concluded after a final check.
“What are they hiding?” Carrick asked squinting at the mass.
“Ships. Could he have ships hidden in that?” Gwen asked.
“It would be a good way to get close enough and draw out ours. If they’ve slowed they may be wondering why ours haven’t come out to investigate,” Gattick added.
The fort commander was looking through a large telescope mounted on a tripod. “I can’t make anything out and I don’t want to announce we have long-range artillery without a good reason. Is there anything you can do Chancellor to get a look in there or shift some of that cloud?”
“If the wind could be persuaded to help?” Gattick suggested looking at Carrick and Gwen.
“It’s worth a try,” Carrick shrugged.
“If we draw heat out of the surrounding area and focus it into the ground we should create enough of a thermal to pull cold air in behind it,” Gwen explained to the Commander.
“I’m sure Ma’am you know exactly what that means and with the deepest respect I was lost after - it’s worth a try,” the Commander straightened, a slight smile on his face.
Gwen cleared her throat. “I assume that’s polite for get on with it,” she said dryly.
“I like this man more every day,” Kara said and winked at him.
It was the commander’s turn to clear his throat.
Several other Talents were called over and the idea was quickly explained. Focusing their will each concentrated, at first nothing happened and the Commander looked expectantly ahead at the closing bank of cloud and then back to the Talents.
“Patience Commander, you did want them to be in range,” Gattick said without breaking his focus.
A faint breeze stirred the air and then a rush of wind swept over them. The cloudbank billowed and stirred before being swept up and back, revealing the prows of at least forty ships. “Let’s bloody his nose,” the Commander said and then turned, shouting “At the ready!” The call rippled down the line and military ballista and trebuchet crews poised ready for action. The Commander signalled again and the air was filled with the grind and whir of mechanisms. Huge levers sprung into motion as the trebuchet flung their loads into the air. Normally used as siege engines it was hoped their accuracy and power would provide a good defence against sky ships. At the same time giant ballista sent six-foot lances slicing at the enemy hulls. The air was filled with noise as teams of men and women launched wave upon wave of artillery. A cloud of rock, wood and iron struck out.
Shouts went up and reloading began as the first wave hit the ships. Wood shattered; sails ripped and folded their mast severed. Guide and steering fins exploded. Several ships began to plummet to the ground others lost control, swinging heavily sideways into craft near them. Chaos broke out amongst the Ildran armada. There were explosions as powder weapons went off hitting their own ships. Some were able to fire ahead sending iron spheres screaming through the air toward The Hand. Out of range they hammered into the desert floor.
The second wave of artillery hit the ships. Teams and machines worked hard to ready the next. The onslaught was devastating and those ships that could began to alter course in an attempt to escape. More were shattered and began falling to the ground, spraying wood in all directions. The desert floor was a mass of fires and ship carcasses. Several craft pressed desperately forward, trying to reach their original objective, powder weapons firing, their iron projectiles striking ever closer.
“They mustn’t reach us, our ships will be forced to engage overhead and we’d take the brunt of the fall out,” the Commander was shouting above the noise.
“Then they won’t!” Gwen answered. She reached out to those Talents able to copy and focused her will. “Wait she muttered,” watching the ships advance. They’d stopped firing, saving their ammunition. One of the ships suddenly erupted in a mass of splintered wood, struck by a huge block, at this range the trebuchet were devastating. Falling men could be seen, their screams drowned by the noise of artillery.
“Wait,” she repeated sensing the Talent’s anxiety. The ships drew closer. The Commander looked to Gwen and then back as the gap closed. There was a detonation and a billow of smoke. The sphere arced through the sky. They heard the howl of its path an instant before a section of wall erupted. Men and women ran for cover. They were in range.
“Now,” Gwen whisp
ered her eyes snapping open. Down the line others followed. She brought her arms back, artillery roaring overhead, and then swept them forward. The air rippled, racing forward, growing, building into a boiling distortion. The first of it struck the ships like a great wave. Some were swept off course, some rode over it, their prows rising alarmingly and then dipping only to be hit by artillery. Keels broke under its power. Vessels were swept and buffeted, rolling back and sideways as the wave hit. The broken Ildran armada fell from the sky, shaking the ground and blinding the air with great clouds of dust.
The Commander gave the call and the artillery gradually ceased in a wave that spread along The Hand. The dust slowly settled, revealing the full extent of the destruction. Before them black smoke billowed into the sky. Distant and closer explosions cracked the air as fires found powder stores. The cries of men and women could be heard and some movement could be seen in amongst the wreckage. There was a shout from the wall as an Ildran soldier climbed a jagged prow. He stood defiantly shouting curses at the Amarians and beating his fist on his chest. The tirade went on for some time until an arrow felled him.
“Find out who that was and have them flogged, “the Commander snapped at one of his aides. “Caution the man’s captain. I’ll not have insubordination,” he added in irritation.
“You ok?” Carrick asked Gwen as she wiped her forehead.
“A rest and I’ll be fine.”