Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  Hjuul chuffs and takes off in a trot.

  “Ye may feel like a god, but yer startin’ to look like crap.”

  We get out of the main street into an alleyway between buildings, and I have to stop.

  “You two go on; get her to Arix and safety. I’ll catch up. I’ve got some healing to do.”

  “You go, doggie,” Pffiferil says. “I ain’t leavin’ him like this.”

  Hjuul growls. It’s not like he’s going to attack Pffif; he just doesn’t want to leave me, either.

  “Go, get her to safety. Then come back for me.”

  Hjuul and I share a moment; he turns and trots off with Ahzna.

  “Get to it,” Pffif says, looking around, expecting an enemy to appear.

  I call for the spiritual cleansing. It’s not pleasant, and I find that I’m blowing dark, greasy-tasting smoke from my lungs.

  “That can’t be good,” Pffiferil says.

  “Working on it,” is all I can think to reply.

  The next round of physical healing is better but not as pleasant as it should be.

  Damn, I have messed myself up.

  I realize that my earpiece is dangling on my shoulder. I check it and stuff it back in my ear.

  “They’re regrouping,” says a voice I don’t recognize.

  “We’ll make our stand at the control tower building,” replies Znuul. “Get there.”

  “This is Mac. What is the situation?”

  “Bad. Outnumbered beyond reason. Ammo is low. Everyone’s exhausted. We’ll take as many with us as we can,” says Znuul. “And that will be a lot.”

  “Karred?”

  “Recovering. Can’t chat now,” says Znuul, cutting off the line.

  Pffiferil doesn’t say anything, but his expression tells me he’s concerned.

  “We have an Alamo situation at the control tower, Pffif.”

  “Can we do anything ’bout it?”

  “I have to try, Pffif.”

  My answer doesn’t sit well with him. He kicks the ground and glares at me.

  “Ye get us killed, ana I’m makin’ ye do cartwheels for a week in that white place.”

  “Yeah. I can’t just run away. Sil’s there. Znuul is there. Karred, Paul, Jex, Kevin …”

  “All right. All right,” he says, reaching into his coat for the flask. “Fer the record, I doubt anyone’s killin’ General Znuul, but the rest … yeah.” He takes a swig and offers the flask to me.

  “Later. Would be nice if we had a gun or something.”

  “Heal yerself some more. I’ll check the bag.”

  Pffiferil unfolds the bag, stretches it out, and goes to searching, headfirst, with only his feet poking out of the bag. A snub-nose revolver gets pitched out. I start on another round of spiritual cleansing.

  Pffif crawls out of the bag with a box of ammo in hand, just as the cleansing spell releases. The cleansing sucks, but he’s got a box of ammo, and that’s good.

  “That don’t look like it felt good.”

  “Hard medicine, Mr. Pffiferil.”

  I scoop up the revolver and hold my hand out for the box of ammo. Immediately, I see the problem; we have a .38 caliber gun and .44 caliber ammo.

  “What? Something’s wrong?”

  “Wrong ammo, Mr. Pffiferil. Thanks for looking.”

  “Bah!”

  He takes to pacing in a circle. I wipe my running nose, noting the color is dark grey. I kneel down to start another round of cleansing.

  “Hey,” Pffif says, “the EB and that other one both had those burnin’ swords. I bet they’re still back there. Them’s some weapons. Want me to go fetch ’em while ye patch up?”

  “Great idea, Pffif,” I say, breaking my chant.

  He’s thinking; that’s good. I’m not sure how much I’m thinking at the moment. I’ve gone from feeling on top of the world to feeling like I’ll be pushing up daisies. I restart the chant.

  Pffif takes off running. I am always amazed at how fast he is.

  The earpiece comes alive with Jex’s voice. “Sniper in position. More of them than I have ammo for.”

  “Confirming,” comes Znuul’s voice. “Wait for us to engage.”

  “Jex, is Sil okay?” I ask over the comm.

  “For now, but our situation is screwed. Totally screwed.”

  “I would say keep chatter down,” comes Karred’s voice, “but I think they know where we are. Silithes says to get to safety.”

  That’s not going to happen. But I’m not going to announce it.

  “Tell her I love her.”

  “Tell her that for me, too,” comes Jex’s voice.

  “Enough with all this love talk, people,” Znuul’s says. “We need some hate and anger here. They are coming to end us. We will end them.”

  “Twenty-one .50 caliber Dzemond rounds, twenty-one dead Dzemond,” Jex replies.

  “Screw them,” comes a man’s voice I don’t recognize. “They are dying. All of them.”

  I’m with Znuul. That’s the attitude I want to hear.

  “Make sure Greg gets out of here, Mac,” Znuul says. “The world will need him.”

  Pffiferil returns with two swords, handing me the larger one.

  “I’m taking the evil bitch’s sword. It’s smaller, better for me.”

  I examine it, and it seems obvious that the sword is triggered with a thumb switch.

  I push the switch up which extends a thin rod. I flip it over and “boosh!” There’s a burning plasma sword, just ready to mess anything up I choose to whack with it. I mourn for Yayne and then curse myself for dropping his hilt. I feel guilty.

  “So how do the durned things work?” Pffiferil asks.

  I show him how mine works. He figures his out quickly.

  “See, we got’s weapons now. We really gonna charge headlong into that?”

  “Not charge. More like creep around and remove some heads whenever possible. We’ll do what we can.”

  “Likin’ that plan better than charging in with a rawr!”

  We take off toward the main terminal and flight tower, trying to be as stealthy as we can. After no more than a block or two, I have to stop again.

  “Wait.”

  Pffiferil turns to me, “Yeah, you look like crap. Do it.”

  I take to a knee and begin the incantations. I don’t like how it feels or the fact that my efforts are yielding lesser results each time. But the spells are doing something. I just need to stay up long enough to get my friends out of harm’s way. The cleanse and healing goes quickly. We pick up and get running again toward the tower.

  We get to a green area, and I am not happy with what I see. The tower is under siege from two directions. I do smile at the occasional flying Dzemond that I see jerk and fall to the ground.

  That has to be Jex’s sniper work.

  The odds are wrong, so many on wing from both sides, pounding the tower building with their weapons. There are just as many on the ground doing the same. I try to calculate how best to enter this fray. There is no good equation.

  Then I see something across the way, a twinkling. That twinkling turns to a light, and that light opens like a tulip. I see blips of things stream out, tiny things. Then I realize, it’s pixie-fairies. It’s a host of pixie-fairies. There are streams of silver dust as they come to size.

  Then the arrows start flying.

  More tulips open and others run through. Elves with swords, leprechauns with hammers, and other things I can’t recognize.

  That little shit Winx, he did it.

  I laugh-cough at the thought of Jex having to pay him back.

  We angle around the green space. I note one of the red, smaller nonwinged, fast Dzemond soldiers pacing the ground. Looking to my side, I don’t see Pffif. I look back out to the courtyard and see the fallen, split-in-half shape of that guarding Dzemond. Pffiferil works fast.

  I stumble into the green space and get a good look at the tower courtyard area. Znuul is there, his hands outstretched. Dzemond rou
nds crash into invisible shields he holds before him. Karred stands behind his cover, screaming curses and unleashing magic upon the forces before them.

  To my surprise little tulips of light begin to open. More tulips open, and a group of Sylvan elves proceed through. These elves are not carrying swords but are clad in hooded robes and carrying staves. One with a staff decorated with a pointed crystal atop it proceeds through. He moves forward boldly, away from the others and plants his staff in the ground.

  He pulls his hood back, and I gasp. He is the very image of Grey Lightbringer.

  Znuul sees him too, and his face goes blank.

  This doppelgänger looks at Znuul and nods.

  Znuul immediately turns and puts his hands over Karred’s eyes, and ducks her down protectively.

  The image of Grey proclaims in his voice, “Lux Volcanan!”

  There is a projection of light, and it is damn bright. I guard my eyes for a moment.

  I look up after the spell is cast, and the Dzemond foes are in disarray. More tulips open, more fairies, more elves, more things I have no idea of what they are streaming through.

  I stagger ahead toward the image of Grey. My breathing is hard and wet. I have to clear my eyes of the mucus. He appears to be directing the mages and other Fae.

  “Grey,” I rasp.

  He turns toward me.

  His eyes go wide, and he runs toward me.

  I think I hear him say, “Arthur!”

  I fall. But it’s not so bad, those Chinese sure make the most comfortable pavement, ever.

  Chapter 70

  White. Damn. Everything is white. Except those three black cocoon-looking things over there. The fibers of these shaking cocoons appear to extend into and connect to the endless white. It’s really strange.

  Then it dawns on me. I’m dead.

  Again.

  I feel Hjuul first. He appears and comes to nuzzle me. I pet him. Petting him feels really good, I think because it feels really good to him.

  I feel Sheyliene next. There is confusion, then realization.

  Her hand sets on my shoulder and she says, “Well, I guess we get to move on now.”

  I sense Pffiferil. He walks around in front of me.

  “I’ll wait a bit until I start ye’ on the cartwheels.”

  His wink lets me know he’s joking.

  I feel Vets appear. “My wielder, I fear we have died,” she says.

  “Stupid Vetisghar,” says Arix, “We are his wielder now. Arthur, kill that leprechaun.”

  I try to sweep Pffif’s legs, but he’s too fast.

  “No, Arthur! Don’t kill Pffiferil,” yells Sheyliene.

  I no longer feel the need to kill Pffiferil.

  “Oh, this is going to be fun,” says Arix. I can feel his amusement at my core.

  Sheyliene pulls her bow and starts launching arrows into him. Arix is not worried; he is warded. I sense all of them so soundly, except for Vets who just stands there in her armor, blank of any feelings.

  Arix casts a spell, and I cringe at the feeling of Sheyliene of being immolated.

  Hjuul grabs Arix’s leg and tries to tear it off. Wards won’t let him. Pffiferil dives in with his dagger. Nothing happens. Arix smiles at me.

  “Doesn’t your hand look so tasty, Arthur? Eat it.”

  Oh man, it does. I have to try some of that.

  “Don’t eat your hand,” yells out Pffiferil.

  I’m not eating my hand. No way.

  Arix is still struggling with Hjuul and Pffif. I sense his pain as Hjuul’s teeth break his ward.

  Vets’ sword swings out, and I don’t feel Arix’s presence anymore as his head rolls from his shoulder.

  “Ye waited long enough,” Pffif says.

  “He had to be vulnerable,” Vets replies.

  “He’s going to be back,” says Sheyliene, “Just like I’m back.”

  The world shakes violently. We all look at each other.

  I say it first, “What was that?”

  “No idea,” says Pffif.

  We look over at the black cocoons. They are vibrating like nobody’s business, shaking the fabric of this place.

  I feel Arix return.

  “Well, former master Arthur, where were we?”

  I am afraid.

  The world shakes violently again, then implodes around me.

  Chapter 71

  Minn-Faks Moon Satellite Outpost, Helterezen Realm

  The Shiggeraut witch carefully disarmed the traps to the entry of her subterranean home. The hunt in the sewer channels was successful today. After entering, she secures the door and re-arms the traps. She places the bag of various fungi and mushrooms on a table, followed by her catch of four plump sewer rats.

  She shakes her thorax, more of a nervous habit than anything, and removes the harness with her hunting knives and harvesting tools from around her chest. She casually walks to the wall with the peg to hold the harness. She raises one of her four legs that was bitten by one of the rats and examines the wound.

  Superficial.

  She reaches for some healing salve she brewed up and rubs some on the wound. The nasty little bugger bit her on the flesh, just to the side of her leg’s chitinous protection.

  Turning around, she considers the lonely shack-like abode that is her home. She dismisses these thoughts and turns to one of her distilleries, pouring herself a cup of water.

  “Neerinu, you do not have to be so lonely,” a soothing voice says from behind her.

  She freezes. Nobody could have come in before her. Nobody could have come through that door. Neerinu turns quickly, her blade-like second set of arms ready to attack.

  She sees a glowing presence, floating above the floor, tendrils of light extending from it. It is amorphous with any true form obscured by the light emitted from this being’s very presence.

  “Syrxifym,” she mutters.

  “Yes. We hear your cries, Neerinu. We know your pain, your loneliness. It saddens us. We come with a gift for you, should you wish it.”

  “I will not give up my self,” Neerinu says. “Self is all. That is the true law.”

  “And yet you longed for young. Young to hold, to love. To be loved. You still do.”

  “I paid my price for that heresy. I was young and stupid.”

  “A terrible price to pay. Administered so horribly, so cruelly. It saddened us. It turned you from the way. You need not be alone anymore, Neerinu.”

  “Deceivers. I will not fall for your lies.”

  The glowing face appears to smile.

  “Your heart has hardened much, Neerinu. But we still see the flicker in you. We offer you that which you thought you could never have. A child.”

  “I have no ovaries; those were burned away.”

  “You will not require them.”

  “What kind of foul magic would you cast upon me?”

  “Not foul, beautiful. A child of your flesh. But not of your flesh. A child that will love you, unconditionally. And you, a child to love unconditionally. Your loneliness ends, and you return to the path.”

  Neerinu begins to shake. Her four normally sturdy legs feeling like rubber.

  “Why would you torment me with such promises, Syrxifym?”

  “Would you want this gift?”

  Neerinu’s mind spins. Memories of her as a younger Shiggeraut awaiting the age where she could breed so she could be surrounded with loving hatchlings instead of the cruel family she was born into. The fantasies of running away, her dreams come flooding back to her.

  “Yes. I would. What is the price? There is always a price.”

  “The price is four-fold and not negotiable, sweet Neerinu. First, you must love this child with all your heart. Second, you must teach love to this child. Third, you must protect this child. Lastly, you must name her Rydooth.”

  Chapter 72

  Shenyang Provence, Taoxian Airport, two weeks after the pre-emptive strike.

  “We protest. The weapons and technology belong
to the People’s Republic of China. They are on our soil; they are ours.”

  “We have been through this before,” Frederick Reigner says.

  “You wish to raise our wrath? You are only here because we allow it. Should we choose to retaliate, this world would be no more,” says Xang Jiuang, the Chinese official assigned to the post-conflict cleanup.

  “Shut up. You are a meaningless mouthpiece only here for political expediency,” Ahtsag Znuul says.

  Xang stands to face his accuser. “It is you who are meaningless. Do you dare challenge our authority? I am tired of all these politics, this is Chinese ground and under Chinese control. All weapons and technology will be turned over to us.”

  “That will not happen,” says Frederick. “All such things will become the property of The Protectorate and will be distributed, unilaterally, at such time we see fit.”

  “I can have this base under my control with only a phone call,” spits back Xang.

  “Enough,” shouts Ahtsag Znuul from the end of the table punctuating it by slamming his hand down on the table. “You will do nothing. The world waits to eliminate your country after the assault you allowed upon it. Millions have died. Millions. Worldwide.”

  “The world would never do such a thing. To attack the People’s Republic of China is to invite death.”

  The Elvin ambassador of T’uel Faeden laughs.

  Xang looks at him with accusation in his eyes, “Do not laugh.”

  “Why should we care? If you exterminate all life from this planet, then the Fae have less to concern ourselves with, no? You are … well … what you are. Please, kill yourselves.”

  “They are short-sighted, aren’t they?” Ahtsag Znuul says.

  The Fae representative turns to Ahtsag Znuul.

  “I can’t believe I actually agree with you.”

  Xang stands and slams his hand on the table.

  “This is not a negotiation. We have numbers and weapons. You cannot hope to stand against us. Instead, give us what is ours and stand with us.”

  “Says the politicians that sought to rule the world,” Ahtsag Znuul replies. “I say silence yourself and know your place in subservience.”

  “You are only one. We are many,” Xang says. “Millions and millions ready to fight. Nuclear silos ready to fire. How do you threaten us?”