Star Angel: Prophecy
Page 32
“Part of me always imagined Horus becoming a legend,” he went on. “Not just the latest man to carry a legendary name, but a new instance of a legendary figure. A new Horus. Then, as I got older, as I spent time as an Astake and then a Kazerai, I saw the way the Dominion used us. The destruction they demanded. Before I met you, before I came through and we found each other and all this began my goal was to change that. To become something better; to do great for the people of our world. The whole world. To turn things around, I think. I wanted the name Horus to go down in history as a force for change. I truly thought I would make my mark.” He looked away into the distance. “I may still,” he smiled; a weary, contended smile.
She watched him, this powerful man of hers. Friends. Allies. Co-conspirators in the epic. Fellow, ageless souls, cohorts across time. Their names did not make them. No marriage could strengthen their union. No ceremony under man or God could make greater their bond. They were one because they chose to be one. Nothing else could sanctify that. And here they were, standing in an open field on modern Earth, smack in the middle of the end of times, poised to rescue the future, as they’d once tried to do a thousand years ago, and this time …
“More and more I feel like I remember,” Zac was looking into the distance, eyes shifting ever further away. Gazing into the depths of time or space, or both, or something else altogether unfathomable. Of a sudden he felt that distance—she saw it—acutely, and he snapped to the present.
He looked down into her upturned face and held her closer. The bills of their hats nearly touched.
“Us,” he clarified. “The past.” He was grasping for understanding. “More and more I’ve been getting a sense of us. I feel our motivation. What we were. What we did.
“But why is it now imperative you risk your life? Alone? For something that may already be lost? Why can’t we do this together?”
He searched her eyes, working toward something.
She swallowed.
She could never let it happen.
“Our future will be dark for a long time to come,” she switched back to her voice. “A thousand years ago I foretold a Golden Age. This is it. In my own prophecy I’m the one to bring it. And the time is now. I don’t know anything that happens next, all I know is I’m on the path, the one I envisioned. I made it, I’ve arrived, I’m here and I have to move forward. Everything that’s happened so far has been a result of what I predicted.
“I can’t run from it, Zac.”
He was silent. Unspoken questions; doubts. He wanted to ask if she could see the outcome of what lay ahead, she could see it in his eyes, these parallel missions they were both about to undertake, but he knew she couldn’t. It was all a blackness, almost like an enforced blindness to what would be—and she wondered; did she know but just wouldn’t let herself see? Was she protecting herself from knowing something terrible?
No matter any of that she did know this: the new age would happen, the ones fighting it would be swept aside and the future she saw would come to pass. In her heart she knew that much. But the uncertainty of everything else surrounding that greater truth, who would be in that future, whether her or Zac or others she loved … she had no more certainty of that than at any other time.
Leaving her as scared as ever.
“I’m scared,” she said it. “But I’ve got to do this. With everything I know, with everything I’ve become …” Deeply she inhaled, firm against the rising terror. “I’m doing it,” she stated, more emphatic than was needed, but this was the time to be clear. “I’m not waiting for permission. I know what needs to be done. I know what’s right, and I’m doing it. I have to do what’s right, Zac, no matter how scared it makes me, no matter how much it worries you.”
She could feel the raw determination.
But he eased before the power of her decision.
“I get it,” he said. “I do. You have my full support and you know that. I’m just trying to understand. It makes no sense to me. Why you have to be the one to do this. Why it has to be you.”
“Zac …”
He put a hand to her cheek, looking into her eyes and quieting her protest.
“I tell you this only because I need you to know how I feel. I’m not fighting you. Not anymore. Know that.
“And what I need you to know more than anything is that I trust you. Forever and in all things. If this is your choice, if this is truly your choice, I trust you.”
The breeze blew gently across the field. The sun shone. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance.
She looked deep into his eyes.
He nodded. “I know.”
She hugged him. Turned her head to the side against his chest and hugged him harder. He pressed his chin atop her hat, against her head, hugging her back.
“I love you,” he said softly, and she felt his voice as much as heard it.
“I love you,” she whispered back.
“No matter where you are,” he said, “no matter where this takes you, no matter where it takes me, you’re never alone. Know that.”
She sniffed.
And she felt the hot tears rolling down her cheeks.
CHAPTER 25: HERETICS
Eldron mulled his latest conversation with Voltan. He sat alone in his tac room, just off the bridge, piecing together his thoughts on where this larger scenario had veered. What started as an invasion and a bid for empire seemed to be shifting toward a bid for a coup. Eldron was starting to nurture his own ideas. It was no secret Voltan wanted the Tremarch mantle. It was also no secret most in the chain of command felt he deserved it. Cee Ranok had made a popular move long ago, and through clever manipulation attained that seat and had been running the Kel empire since. Now Voltan’s designs were once again becoming manifest, and Eldron found himself in the odd position of being a sounding board for the Praetor. Not yet full confidant, but it nearly amounted to that.
Much had been revealed.
Most recently, following a few uncomfortable discussions of the Prophecy—a thing for which Eldron held no real aversion but, frustratingly, felt the usual degree of discomfort even thinking of, much less talking about (that discomfort ingrained by the force of Cee Ranok’s decrees under her One God movement, now firmly entrenched in the minds of all Kel, complete with its brutal punishments)—following those discussions Eldron managed to determine two things.
One of them surprising, the other less so.
The surprise was that Voltan was a believer. At least inasmuch as the Praetor was curious at the relationship of current events to those ancient predictions. There was just too much coincidence. The great Voltan hadn’t said so directly, being careful with his words, but with enough discussion the conclusion was easy enough to draw. Voltan believed in the Prophecy. That, in itself, was a shock.
What was less surprising was that Voltan was using the fervor of the Prophecy’s adherents to fuel ... something. Simple dissent? A more organized revolt? Confusion to aide with an eventual coup?
Eldron couldn’t be sure, but Voltan was making carefully constructed moves with elements of the Prophecy at their core. Most recently it seemed he’d leaked—though, again, the Praetor did not say this directly, nor would Eldron expect him to—word that the herald was among them. The herald, predicted by the Prophecy, was among them even now, setting
in motion events that would lead to their salvation. In fact, much of everything that had happened till then, according to Voltan’s carefully planted assertions, was a direct result of actions taken by her. The time of prosperity promised by the priestess so long ago must, therefore, be at hand.
The so-called Golden Age.
Beyond mere religious hyperbole, such a rumor could be effective if spread. Even among the soldiers of their armies. Eldron knew the speculation that began following events in the American city of Boise, for example, where his team peeled back something quite beyond normal. The very house that was the supposed dwelling of the herald herself.
Interesting how such rumors took seed and grew.
All it took were whispers, and these sorts of things had a tendency to spread. Under the best of conditions it would be difficult to pin anything directly to Voltan. Voltan merely added his own fuel to a fire that was already burning. Again, a bold stratagem.
Word was Cee Ranok intended to return to Kel. Her goal was to make a statement; to hold a ceremony on the Kel homeworld and parade key human captives before the populace. It was her own way of galvanizing the home front.
All of this, the breeding of dissent, bids for power …
As far as Eldron was concerned this operation had morphed well beyond a simple invasion and conquest.
**
It was war.
More than that. For Galfar the fear of what it threatened had become amplified.
“They can’t breach it, can they?” Haz wondered, nerves in his voice. He stood with Galfar in the cavernous gate room, at his father’s side, looking with him on the ancient ring gate.
When parley failed and it was clear there would be war and Arclyss returned, gearing his armies for the defense of the Necrops, the great pharaoh chose to show Galfar the gate, deep in the heart of the city, hidden beneath the streets. The one used by the priestess. It was a piece of arcane technology, of that there could be no doubt, and Galfar found himself in awe of its ancient purpose.
“Let us hope not,” Galfar said to Haz, grave. “If it is destroyed, all will be lost.”
The Fist were brutes. Galfar had always seen them as such, but mostly there had been nothing their clumsy strength could harm. They hid themselves away in fortresses, throughout the land, tribes of them, fighting the Scourge where they found it but mostly keeping themselves busy with endless demands for tribute and thanks for their protection. Mostly they were harmless.
Not so anymore.
Now their brutishness was a direct threat, to something so precious, so key … And that threat was right outside the city waiting to charge in. If they got past Arclyss and his warriors, if they discovered this gate—Galfar ran his gaze around the entire perimeter of the beautiful device, The Way—there was no telling what the Fist would do. If they chose to destroy it, and it was quite likely they would, to remove its threat to their way of life—the whole point of this declaration of war—all would be lost. Their priestess, Jessica, who went through to find the Codes, the very thing that would lead them from the darkness into the Golden Age, would have no way back.
No more hope for the future.
And so Galfar’s fear had been driven to new heights. It wasn’t just the prospect of war. War was war, and though it had been a long time since one of such scale was taken up, war had never been much of anything to worry over.
Now, quite suddenly, it was.
**
“HA!” Jess snapped her arm straight and watched the air warble as it streaked from her palm, hitting a stone outcropping with a crack! of sharp impact. The solid rock was her current focus and she’d been hammering at it, growing more exhausted with each effort. She’d snapped trees, brought down branches, knocked things over, otherwise exercising this increasing power, but breaking the gray-hard slate, the most power she’d yet exerted, had become her new objective.
She wound up another.
“HA!” Both hands this time, heels of her palms together and cupped, channeling like never before; the surge of it rippled her spine and torqued the very bones of her arms, or so it seemed, and a true ball of electricity—an actual little blue ball—appeared and coned into a jet that extended in a flash from her hands, gone as quick as it formed, and the air popped around it with static, aimed straight at the boulder.
CRACK!
Yes!
The rock didn’t break, per se, but a jagged line shot right down its face, gray dust popping from the splintered stone, and she rushed with the result.
Now that was power.
She eased her stance to catch her breath. Wielding the energy took stamina, almost as if she exerted a real, physical effort, and one of her goals, in addition to practicing the controlling and amplifying the force, was to learn to direct it more easily. So far it was wearing her out.
She stood with her hands on her hips, taking deep breaths. The rock outcropping poked through a mossy embankment, dark gray like all the rocks in that area, surrounded by vegetation; the greens of spring having given way to lush summer foliage. Tall, leafy trees dappled the sunlight of a gorgeous afternoon. All in all it was another beautiful, Scottish day, lovely out there in the deep woods.
Before she’d fully caught her breath she made herself keep moving, took up another stance and …
HA! tried that one without sound. The blast warped the air as had the last, but without as much force. Until then all her practice, back on Hamonhept, with Galfar and any other time she’d truly unleashed, had been directed with the added emphasis of her voice. Like a karate chop with a kee-yah!, she’d been focusing the mysterious energy using body movement, voice and intention as one. Now to remove the vocal element. She needed refinement. Especially if she was going to face the Bok alone.
She’d spoken briefly with Fang and he was looking at how he could help conceal her passage in. To some greater or lesser degree he would definitely be able to help get her into the heart of the Bok headquarters, but no matter what he came up with he could only do so much. Everything else would have to come from her. She would be the one on the ground, trying to get past listening ears and all else. Until the final confrontation stealth and her powers would be equally important. Fang knew nothing of her powers, of course. No one did. And as such he, along with the rest, doubted what exactly she hoped to accomplish, even with their help, but they had so much at stake and she’d already proven herself worthy enough; it didn’t hurt them to try to speed her along by cutting a few feeds.
In short, they had little to lose. Even if they thought there was no way she could actually succeed.
And so she needed to refine. Refine, refine, refine. She had to be able to use her powers quietly, as they were the only thing that would get her through the ordeal.
She set herself.
HA! The voice was still there, in a sense—she couldn’t get totally away from it—but it was internalized. No sound from her mouth, and she tried it again to see if she could remove all sound. Not even a grunt.
HA! the wall of power shot out, crackles of blue arcs this time and a cloud of rock dust blew off the boulder. Strong as the other one, only this time mostly silent.
Good.
Once she was fighting the Bok—and she had no illusion that there would not be a fight; in fact she expected there to be a big one, her versus them—once in the fight the gloves were off. She would yell, she would scream, she would do anything and everything and whatever it took to unleash with all she had and absolutely hammer them to submission. She would use her sword—she’d also been practicing with that—in conjunction with the force of her powers, her hands, her feet—her teeth, if needed—everything she could bring to bear.
Absently she flexed her fists, staring at her handiwork. Memories had continued to rise, recently almost by the hour, floating to her awareness; recollections of what was. What had been. The Bok had betrayed her a thousand years ago, of that she was now certain, and Aesha’s death had been no simple misfortune. Events involving her char
ges were tied to it, and the hand of the Bok became increasingly clear.
She ground her jaw quietly. In some ways she could not wait for this meeting. Until that moment of confrontation, however, she must use her power to infiltrate. Silent death. And so she turned her efforts to that.
HA! no sound at all that time and she splintered another small trunk. The area around her was littered with damaged trees, broken and toppled giants.
It looked like a small war zone.
She unsheathed her sword and held it ready. She’d worn the armor for this training session and brought the sword, telling everyone she was going to find a place to do some practicing. Other than Zac no one had any idea what “practicing” might involve. They assumed the sword, of course. Maybe she meant to throw some punches or do a little jogging. No one really asked, and so everyone was just letting the interesting little yellow-eyed girl do her thing, not asking too many questions. Now here she was, out in the deep woods, no more looking over her shoulder or wondering if she’d be seen, and it was time to go for it.
This might be her last chance.
She found her center; balanced herself, tip of the sword pointed ahead, knees bent and circling an imaginary opponent; a guard, or a lookout. Someone she had to silence. She swung and parried, cutting with sharp whips that whistled the air, watching her form, adjusting; then released her grip on the sword with one hand, using that free hand to direct a blast.
HA! One down. HA! Another.
HA!
Another.
Silent death.
She sprinted across the clearing and resheathed the sword while in motion, expertly, practicing that action too. She needed to be able to draw it and put it away equally well, with speed and precision, freeing her hands when needed, wielding the blade instantly in the face of attack.