But there could be no fight. Galfar would not allow it. This meeting must bear fruit, it must represent a union of these two enemies, a truce that would last, a foundation into which Jessica could bring the Codes.
She could not release them into a world at war.
Then he saw Arclyss. There, at the center of the horde and moving to the front. There could be no doubt. For Arclyss was nothing like the rest.
A towering man, Galfar could see that easily from this range, taller and larger than any normal man yet perfectly formed, of a stature and chiseled features that seemed impossible to be real. A deep, ebon black, riding the largest beast among them, also a deep shade of black; a native creature that was not deformed, gleaming red eyes and powerful snorts in the dust that churned beneath the hundreds of hooves. The beast was easily as big as Erius, if not bigger. Perfectly sized for Arclysses’ own mass.
And as the leader of the Scourge moved further ahead of his pack, closer and closer toward Cheops at the head of the wall of Fist warriors, Galfar hoped he was correct in his belief.
He hoped Arclyss was not truly the monster of legend.
The ebon giant raised a hand and his horde came to a stop behind him; not with the sort of precision of a true army, more like the haphazard action of a group of semi-intelligent creatures. Which was no doubt what they were.
How did Arclyss exist among these ruined shells? He was absolute perfection amid a sea of deformity. More than that, how had the legends existed only of his ferocity, his exploits and his history? How had he remained in shadows; how had description never abounded of his shape? His exquisite beauty?
No doubt, thought Galfar, if they survived this day those stories would be told. The form of Arclyss would soon be known far and wide.
“Hold!” Cheops raised a hand as well, bidding his own men once more to remain. He went on ahead to meet his perceived foe.
“Go,” Galfar urged. Haz hesitated but Erius did not. The great horse knew what Galfar wanted and was more than happy to be a part. He muscled out of line, shoved a few other horses aside and trotted up to the front and onto the plain, catching Cheops. Cheops heard his hooves and turned, a look of anger flashing across his grim countenance. In proximity Galfar could see the strained courage he worked to maintain, heading to confront the Despoiler, and the sudden presence of Galfar nearly sent him into a rage.
“Back!” he snapped out a beefy arm, pointing back to the Fist army, which stood waiting.
But Galfar ignored him, searching the line of Arclysses’ troops, looking for sign of Jessica. She was nowhere to be seen and he began to worry.
“I said back!”
Erius pulled up alongside Cheops and paced him. Galfar could tell Haz wanted to turn, to go back as ordered, but Galfar was in charge, directing him forward. And Erius was on his side.
“You will do as I say old man!” insisted Cheops.
“Hush,” Galfar advised him. “Focus on the task at hand.” The absence of Jessica was increasingly disconcerting. He sought her among the crowd ahead but she was nowhere to be seen. Was she at the rear? Had she remained behind? Was Arclyss evil after all? Why wasn’t she here? Had the dark giant imprisoned her?
Cheops was steaming, but he saw there was nothing he could do. Any more arguing with Galfar would seriously jeopardize his position of power before Arclyss. The enemy was right there, they were about to draw up on each other, and there was no time to lose any more face. He must, painfully, pretend Galfar was part of the proceeding. There was now no other choice.
Galfar smiled to himself.
The dark giant raised a hand in greeting as they closed and stopped. “I am Arclyss.”
Cheops stopped, Galfar beside him. “I am Cheops.”
Only a few paces separated the two powerful men. Their mounts stepped impatiently side to side, settling, and Galfar found himself more and more fascinated by Arclyss, an absolute specimen of what a human could be. His voice was as deep, as rich as the rest of him.
“You have kidnapped our herald,” said Cheops, choosing to open with an accusation. Galfar nearly spoke, nearly insisted the girl had gone willingly and that no one had been kidnapped, but before he could Arclyss responded in a calm voice.
“She is not our herald,” he said, using the same “our”—implying the herald was universal for Arclyss and his minions as well, not just something belonging to the Brotherhood of the Fist. Galfar found this intriguing.
“Nor was she ever,” Arclyss added.
Then he said something else. Something that did not at first register, but as it did was like a breath of sweet air:
“She is our priestess.”
The words echoed in Galfar’s head.
She is our priestess.
And suddenly everything around him had new clarity. The day, all at once, a little brighter; the sky more blue. A sharpness it hadn’t had a moment before.
Of course.
It took him no time at all to process. The gentle breeze blowing in his ears. Other sounds, all around; the breathing of animals; the feel of Eriuses’ wide flanks, stretching his legs; the warmth of the sun on his face.
“What do you mean?” Cheops, however, was confused. He did not see the light so quickly, instead trying to maintain his gruff standoff, his demands. Arclysses’ statement was throwing him.
Galfar was in reverie.
Of course!
Feeling as if beams of joy were shooting through him. How had he not seen it before?
Jessica wasn’t the herald. Not someone predicted by the priestess. She was the priestess. She didn’t realize it at the time and neither did he, but now there it was. A cascading realization, first one sign then another, things Galfar had noticed, all flooding to mind, piecing together the truth of what he should’ve seen all along. His intuition had suggested it but he’d been too quick to dismiss it.
Jessica hadn’t known. She never knew! Of course she didn’t, though maybe by the end of their journey she was starting to get the idea. She’d been just as blank on who she was. But Arclyss … Arclyss must have known it all along, somehow, and when she came to him …
“Does she know?” Galfar injected himself into the conversation. The sound of his voice floated in the open air.
“She has seen the truth of it,” said Arclyss.
“Produce her,” Cheops returned to his insistence. “Bring her to us and we will end this here. We will leave the sight of your city.”
Arclyss shook his powerful head. “She is gone.”
Gone? Galfar began again to worry. Had she not found the Codes? If she was the priestess incarnate, come forward across time to be with them once more, in the form of Jessica … if their priestess was with them …
Freedom should be at hand.
How could she be gone?
“Gone?” he asked it, knowing how his presence in the conversation frustrated Cheops and not caring.
“To free us,” said Arclyss.
Ah. Of course.
“Where?” asked Galfar.
“Through the Gate.”
“What gate?” Cheops wanted to know, jumping back in.
“To the Other Side.” Arclyss seemed supremely confident. “There she will find what she needs. When she does, she will return. It is her own Prophecy she fulfills. There is more yet to be.”
That seemed to be the point of this meeting; Arclysses’ desire to share the incredible news. A way, perhaps, in his way of thinking, to mend fences, to bring them together over a cause that could unite the world. Galfar saw now that he’d been right. Arclyss was an ally; a powerful, almost supernatural ally, leader of a host of monsters, supposed enemy of the world, and even as Galfar realized this he saw Cheops would never see it. The Brotherhood of the Fist were nowhere near ready to accept this truth. Cheops wanted things ever the same, as Galfar feared, no matter what it took to ensure that narrow future. How could he still not see the value of the possibilities that lay before them?
Sadly he did not.
“Show us the gate,” he said, thick red beard blowing in the wind. “We will go for her.”
Arclyss frowned for the first time. He seemed to be seeing, for himself, just how close-minded Cheops was.
“Only she holds the key,” he informed them. “The Gate is closed. It will open when she returns. Until then we wait.”
Galfar watched Cheops from the side, studying his powerful profile.
Not liking the expression that passed across it.
CHAPTER 17: IT BEGINS
The cars were still there. After all this time. The Bok exotics; Ferraris, Lamborghinis. A McLaren. Some of them flipped or smashed. Others untouched. Weathered. Across the yard were the blackened hulks of the two choppers, same as when Jess left them what seemed like forever ago, remains of the battles that took place on that quaint little farm high up the Spanish mountain. Nothing had changed in all that time, not that she could see. From what she now knew the Kel invasion came right after she and Zac left, and from the looks of it no one had been back there since.
Carefully she walked a little out of the woods. Directly ahead was the large barn-like structure, where casks of wine had once been stored, rotting and rusting and long out of use; no doubt a bustle of activity back in the heyday of this little winery. The 1970s version of a micro brewery. Sword in hand she paused to listen, scanning the entire scene.
The transition had been smooth. Nani programmed the harness to perfection. As Jess activated it, expecting at least a little fall, a big step or a lunge forward or backward or something—anything to mark the change in space across the staggering light years of distance—nothing. Back in the Conclave room she tensed, looking at her friends standing expectantly around her, activated the harness, braced herself for the disorienting sense of displacement, ready to tuck and roll and …
Nothing.
Just the usual instant of dizziness after the pop and … she was standing among the trees, erect, same as she had been back in the room. Now somewhere else altogether.
Back on Earth.
The sun was shining. It looked to be about noon. She walked further, cautiously, senses adjusting to new inputs, slightly different gravity, a gentle breeze, smells, the quiet sounds of the trees and fields all around. Shadows of a light overcast drifted across the yard, full glare of the sun slipping in and out behind wispy white clouds, throttling its brilliance.
It was beautiful day.
She made her way closer.
During preps for the transfer she’d looked over maps of the area from Nani’s records, tracing a line from the castle, which Nani could find, to the farm, which was a bit more obscure, using those coordinates to set her transfer position, identifying an area at the far edge of the tree line for Nani to set the arrival. The Bok had been made global figureheads, a new development since Nani and Bianca were here, and as a result it made this venture exponentially more dangerous.
She paused to survey the scene, gearing herself for action. The Bok might’ve returned. On the other hand they might’ve chosen to stay clear of the farm—as so far appeared to be the case; there was no sign of anyone. Jess reviewed what she did know. According to Zac he’d killed all the Bok that were at the castle. Others could have returned, could be back in the area, could even be there in force. Or they might not be there at all. The Kel could be there. The farm could be under observation. Anything was possible.
This was where she must start. The vault beneath the barn held information, binders of information, and as her waking dreams had begun to solidify, memories returning—a sense of the continuum that could no longer be denied—she was slowly piecing together a picture. A certain knowingness of what had been, of what had most likely transpired long ago. The Bok would be holding onto things she left in their trust a thousand years ago. Clues, left by her for her. Things the Bok, her guardians gone bad, would know of.
The Bok, of course, would be under pressure from the Kel. Jess was confident the only reason the Bok were in power at all was that the aliens had, somehow, made the connection. Somehow—and she was certain this was how it happened—Lorenzo managed to reach the Kel and sell out the Bok’s incredible past. Jess was sure Lorenzo had a deeper agenda. He wouldn’t give them everything right away; he would need something as leverage. But, eventually, everything in his bank of information would have to be spent. When that happened … the Kel would no longer be simple warmongers. They would have the power to rule in ways not seen for eons.
She sidestepped a little in the grass; inhaled a deeper pull of the crisp mountain air.
Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. Same troubling world-view she’d been adjusting to since the gate room with Arclyss. The continuum of her existence assaulted her in moments like this. Adjusting to being someone with that span of action—adjusting to having that span of action, that insight ... What she knew, with a certainty, what burned in her most strongly, was that the Kel were no different now than they had been back then. Dangerous conquerors with an appetite for war. She herself had been Kel. A rare exception to that rule. Her goal, Aesha’s goal, had been freedom for all. That was not, however, a Kel ideal. And so now, same as then, the Codex Amkradus must be shielded.
Would she have a chance this time to finish what she started?
She headed on across the lawn, reached the front of the big barn-like structure and paused, looking further around the length of the large property. Something was missing. Something else that should’ve been in that snapshot of destruction.
Bodies.
There should’ve been bodies. Rotting, decomposing corpses; dozens of dead commandoes. But there were none. No one had apparently looted the cars or the choppers or even bothered to move them, everything was left as it was, and so she expected the bodies to be there as well. After all, even in the midst of war, even after an alien invasion, there would’ve been opportunists. People finding their way up there to take what they could. The farm was remote, yes, but it seemed so odd that everything was untouched from that dramatic day and night. But it was. Nothing had been moved.
Except the bodies.
Now she looked further afield; found the large mound in the distance where Zac buried the Bok, and there, near it, were a few smaller mounds. Ones that hadn’t been there when they left.
Someone must’ve buried the commandoes.
Her sword was up, raised and before her in both hands, ears twigged and listening, eyes sharp, darting across every inch of terrain. Someone had been up here, but not anyone who cared about cars or choppers or anything of obvious value. Someone who cared enough to bury the dead.
Was the vault still open? With Zac she’d reviewed hardly any of the Bok secrets contained in that buried room, rifling through what they found until she got what she needed at the time to proceed, but from what she glimpsed she knew the first clues she sought would be somewhere inside. Not the final piece of the puzzle. She would have to extort that directly from the Bok. But herein would lie the beginning of the path.
She gripped and regripped the sword, holding it high.
Around the corner of the barn she peered in. Inside the large interior was untouched, the same old equipment she remembered, covered in dust and a few cobwebs, unused in forever, same old giant casks, rusted things hanging on the walls. She paused at the edge to look back toward the main house, and as she scrutinized the windows for any activity …
Felt a pang of loss.
It was unwelcome, and suddenly her very practical purpose for being there was bowled over by the emotional significance. This was where she and Zac found their first moment together. Their first real moment. Right there, through that second floor window, and suddenly the little farm held such meaning, such importance that she experienced a fierce wave of longing. That same urge she’d felt then, right there that magical night, to sweep away the rest of existence and just be with Zac. To grow old and live happily ever after. It was a replay of the feelings that crushed her that fateful day, when the fairytale wa
s coming to an end and the painful self-admission that had to be faced—that it was a fairytale—made itself known, and as the book closed on that wonderful once-upon-a-time the story was over and she was right back in the real world and the real world was ugly and filled with pain.
The absence of Zac squeezed her, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. It was a powerful reaction, quite unexpected in the midst of the incredible tension of being alone and vulnerable facing the dangerous unknown, and as the strength of it became unreal she leaned against the edge of the barn, pinched her eyes closed and found her calm. There was no way she was going to let herself freak out at this stage of the game.
Forcibly she turned from those memories, opened her eyes and directed her steps into the large building, back along the edge, putting her mind firmly on her purpose. Zac was alive and they would connect. He survived. The bitterness of their chaotic lives would not weigh her down.
They would find their moment again.
At the long hall in the rear of the building she waited, all of it just as she remembered, straining into the silence.
The archives in the vault down the stairs at the end of the hall were hard copies, as she recalled, no electronics or computers, and so she wouldn’t likely need to hack anything. Nani had equipped her with a device that could connect to any Earth computer, allowing her access if it came to that, giving her a way to crack the variety of operating systems common on her world. She had the plasma torch if the vault had been re-sealed and she needed to cut her way in.
She took a few more cautious steps. Somehow she’d seen the vast, impossible sequence of events unfolding that would lead to this instant, yet in that same vision specific events had no place. She had no detailed eye on what would happen next, or even if she would live through the next five minutes.
Star Angel: Prophecy Page 20