Sibylla of Earth

by A. D. Baldwin

  Varya unsheathed her sword, and the sound of it was like a razor sliding against a leather strap. Running toward the edge of the stage, she flipped into a forward somersault, landing on her feet and charging at Sibylla like the wind.

  The force of their swings was such that the two quickly fell back.

  "Not bad," Varya said with a raised brow. "Your strength has improved. I'm sure your father must be proud of you. Oh wait, that's right, he's dead."

  Sibylla swung at Varya with the entirety of her strength. But Varya reacted quickly. She dropped to a squat and slashed at Sibylla's legs, trying to sever them at the ankles. But Sibylla leapt into the air just in time, flipping over Varya and swinging her blade in retaliation. The strike grazed the edge of Varya's cheek, and she stumbled back, cupping her face in astonishment.

  Glaring at the blood on her fingers, Varya's eyes quickly filled with anger, and she ripped the sash from her waist and tossed it to the snow.

  “No one’s ever cut me before,” she said in a steady voice. She aimed her blade at Sibylla and bowed. “Enjoy it while you can.”

  This was who Varya was, Sibylla realized. Not the amused ice queen, who found enjoyment in toying with her enemies, but the focused warrior who wanted nothing more than to find an equal in battle.

  Sibylla jumped back as Varya launched into an array of attacks. She was a master swordsman, no doubt the best in the class, perhaps even amongst the Eagles themselves. But Sibylla had been trained by Atra, a murderous assassin who required the supervision of an entire unit of Eagles just to walk down the hallway. She dodged the attacks with grace, returning the blows with strikes of her own.

  "I could've used you!" Varya yelled as she pressed Sibylla against the front of the stage. "We could've been allies! Partners!"

  Sibylla jerked her head to the side as Varya's saber drove straight for her face, plunging into the wooden frame behind her.

  "Some partner you would've been,” Sibylla said, gawking at the sword above her head.

  "You have no idea what I've been trying to do!" Varya yanked her sword from the frame, her eyes filling with more rage. "What I've sacrificed to be here! What I've given up!"

  Sibylla staggered back up the stairs of the stage, causing the politicians and faculty watching in horror to scatter for their safety.

  Unwilling to kill her, Sibylla was at a disadvantage. Her only chance was to tire her out until Sibylla could figure out a way to subdue her.

  Sibylla ducked as Varya swung her sword in a wide arc, the steel blade slashing through one of the long banners behind her. "I was going to change things! I could've ended this war!"

  Sibylla dove to the side and rose to her feet, quickly taking her stance again. "I'd never help you, you crazy bitch!"

  Varya screamed as she charged at Sibylla, knocking the blade from her hand and shouldering her against the back of the stage. Pain streaked up Sibylla's spine as her back was nearly crushed, but the sudden ache was overtaken by the weight of Varya's forearm pressing against her throat.

  Spit flew from Varya's mouth as she leaned into Sibylla's face. "You think I enjoy this?"

  "Don't you?" Sibylla managed through clenched teeth. She kneed Varya in the stomach, then followed it up with a punch to the mouth. But Varya flowed with the strike, spinning around and wheel kicking Sibylla in the face. The blow was excruciating. She fell to the side, crashed against the floor, her eyes blinking as she tried to regain consciousness.

  Varya gripped her by the hair, yanked her up and slammed her against the wall. "I do what's necessary to clear the herd. That's what you don't understand. That's what none of you can see. You have to be willing to do what needs to be done. Even if it means gutting your enemy from the world."

  "What about the woman in the stream?" Sibylla wheezed. "Why’d she deserve to die?"

  "Because she was weak."

  "She was helpless,” Sibylla shot back. “She didn't have a choice."

  "We all have a choice. We either let the world destroy us, or we become the destroyer. There is no good, no evil. Only an open box with no rules."

  "I don't believe that."

  "Well, you'd better. Because you're about to learn it firsthand."

  Sibylla watched as Varya readied her blade. She was going to ram it through her stomach, impale her to the wall like a trophy. Shifting at the last second, she dodged the tip of Varya's sword by rolling to the side.

  "Learn this!" Sibylla said, punching Varya in the face.

  Varya stumbled back, dazed from the strike, rewarding Sibylla a few seconds to re-arm herself. Sibylla picked up her sword and stood back, ready to fight again.

  The next few moments were a blur as they battled across the stage and onto the field. Blades clashed. Clothes were sliced. It took everything Sibylla knew just to stay alive.

  They fought through the high snow, swinging and stabbing, sprinting to gain ground as one found herself too tired or at a disadvantage to continue, then turning around again to repeat the process. They did this until they reached the Warhawks parked close by.

  Pit crews servicing the Warhawk jets scrambled out of the way as the two women made their way onto the deck.

  "You don't know when to stop!" Varya yelled out. She was gasping for air, the side of her head bleeding from where Sibylla had nicked her.

  "I have no choice," Sibylla wheezed. Her back was still aching from when Varya had crushed it against the wall, yet as tired and beaten as she was, she couldn't give in. “I won’t let you lead them. I won’t let you put them in harm’s way just for your revenge.”

  Varya's eyes shifted to one of the Warhawks that was preparing to depart, and a grin touched her lips. Dashing for the jet’s wing, she yanked herself onto it, glaring down at Sibylla in victory as the jet lifted vertically. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

  Sibylla couldn't let her leave. There was too much at stake. Rushing to catch the jet’s other wing, she tugged herself up, balancing against the hovering movement.

  Varya's grin melted away. "Are you crazy?" she yelled from the other side. It was the first time Sibylla had ever seen fear in the Brunette's eyes. She loved it.

  "Who's weak now?" Sibylla yelled.

  They raced across the wings and met in the center, their swords crashing above the cockpit. The pilot looked up through the glass canopy, his confusion clearly visible through the visor of his helmet.

  In panic, he jerked the controls to the side, and Varya nearly fell from the force of it. On instinct, Sibylla plunged her blade into the wing, and reached for Varya's hand, catching it just in time.

  "You can't get enough of me, can you?" Varya yelled out.

  Smoke lifted from the wing, and the emergency landing signal blared through the cockpit's speakers, warning of a malfunction.

  Sibylla and Varya huddled around the blade as the jet flew out of control, spinning and swerving, drifting over the field as it headed for the stage that was erected in front of the Hall of Remembrance.

  Presenters scrambled for their lives. Recruits spread apart. Even Sergeant Williams and his crew of hardened veterans broke out into a frenzied sprint, tripping over themselves as they rushed to get out of the way.

  The jet rammed through the stage, and its tail whipped against the Hall of Remembrance, ripping out the metal frame of its entrance and exploding the high-glass windows. Pipes busted. Metal bent. Water sprayed from the fire alarm. It was complete havoc.

  The jet slid across the main foyer, crashing into the domed museum, and Sibylla was thrown from the wing. She fell to the ground, skidding off the floor and smashing into something like a column, her hip taking the brunt of the impact.

  As she lifted to her feet, she was met by the sound of silence. Dust wafted around her. Voices screamed in the distance. To her left, the bust of an ex-Eagle stared at her through merciless eyes, his stoic expression still one of judgment.

  Giving it a little nudge, she watched as it fell to the ground and shattered. "Oops."

 
Pushing through the smoke, Sibylla climbed over the rubble of debris surrounding her and moved toward the entrance where the jet lingered in disarray. Sparks erupted from the frame as its circuitry went haywire and a male pilot rose from the cockpit, his eyes widening in fear as he spotted her approaching. "Oh shit!" he screamed, jumping into the debris and scrambling to get away from her.

  Yanking her blade from the wing, she saw that the blade was still good and continued on.

  Through the afternoon light of the cavernous entrance, and through the fall of light snow, Sibylla saw the crowd of bodies coalescing in awed fascination. The high-ranking officials. The military dignitaries. Politicians. Instructors. Fellow recruits. They all stared at her in quiet awe, watching as she stood at the top of the stairs.

  How scared of them she'd once been, how frightened they’d made her. She wanted to tell them all to go to hell, but as she watched them huddling before her, she realized with some satisfaction that they were now scared of her. And that was enough.

  At the center of it all, Varya was lying on her back, her porcelain face smeared with blood, her shoulder bleeding from where Sibylla had cut her. She looked exhausted. But Sibylla needed to end this.

  Aiming her sword at the Brunette, she yelled out. "Round two, bitch!"

  Varya grinned as she rose to her feet, accepting the challenge with the rise of her own sword.

  The crowd split apart as Sibylla strode down the stairs, her blade never wavering from its target.

  Taking a moment, the two women stared at each other in silence, their chests rising and falling as their lungs fought to refuel themselves.

  It was then, as they prepared to do battle once more, that the sound of thunder crackled through the sky and a hail of fire began falling from the Heavens.

  Lowering her blade, Sibylla stared at the sky in confusion.

  “The Russians?” she asked.

  Varya’s eyes narrowed, as she examined the objects. “Those aren’t Russians.”

  Something was ripping the sky apart, flooding it with an array of black dots that brought with it terrible streaks of fire. They fell at an incredible rate, brightening the snow-padded sky like burning arrows. More and more they came, until the sky was nothing but a blurring madness of dark metal and swirling flame.

  Sibylla had never seen a Drop-pod invasion before. She'd been warned of it—the sea of flames caused by an influx of foreign objects tearing through the atmosphere. But she'd never been able to fully comprehend the nightmare of it. That was…until now.

  "My God…," she whispered.

  38

  A Farewell to Arms

  The crowd broke apart in a wild frenzy as people raced for their lives. Soldiers scrambled for the armory, while high-ranking officials were swept away by their security details, escorted to the airfield, where a fleet of transport carriers were waiting to take them away.

  Instructor Williams strode through the chaos with determined focus. He issued out orders. Organized evacuations. Everything that a man of his caliber was supposed to do.

  When he was done, he called for the new recruits to circle around him and drop to a knee. He was going to knight them, Sibylla knew, induct them into the order of the Eagles.

  Taking a sword from one of the recruits, he began to recite the Oath of Servitude, his gaze shifting to Sibylla when he reached the part about loyalty.

  He wanted her to join them, she knew, to take the oath and give herself wholly to the Eagles. But she didn’t want that. Not anymore. Instead she looked away, turning her attention to the airfield in the distance, where a handful of jets were readying to lift off.

  Sheathing her sword, Sibylla set off into the crowd shouldering her way through the frenzied chaos. She bumped into a finely dressed woman, then shoved past a politician in a gray suit. Behind her, a voice called out her name, “Sib!”

  Sibylla stopped, turned around and saw Anais running to catch up.

  “I have to talk to you,” Anais said, panting.

  “I’m sorry,” Sibylla replied. “But there’s no time!” She set off into the crowd once more, leaping over a line of chairs that were still upright. Up ahead, through the rush of people, she spotted the Warhawk jet still sitting by itself, the one Murdock had left for her.

  “You don’t understand.”

  Sibylla looked over her shoulder and discovered that Anais was keeping pace with her. “Look,” Sibylla said mid-stride. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the Russians are here.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to explain,” Anais said. “These aren’t the Russians.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course, they are.”

  “No,” Anais said, catching Sibylla by the arm and pulling her to a halt. “They’re not.”

  Sibylla looked at the woman, suddenly noticing how bad she looked. Her hair was out of place. The space beneath her green eyes were bruised. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. “Look, if this is about Tayshaun—”

  “Listen to me!” Anais said, her grip tightening around Sibylla’s wrist. “I hacked the file. Dallas wasn’t destroyed by Muslim terrorists. It was destroyed by something else, something...” Anais’s gaze lifted to the war-torn sky, her eyes filling with a daze as she looked to the hundreds—no—thousands of drop pods falling overhead. There were so many. “…from off world.”

  Sibylla didn’t understand what she was talking about. And quite frankly didn’t care. Her priorities were closer to home, a last responsibility she needed to fulfill, and she wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. “I’m sorry,” Sibylla said, pulling her arm away, “but I have to go.”

  Sibylla felt the weight of Anais’s gaze as she turned around, rushing toward the airfield that was brisling with pit crews. They loaded pilots into jets, inspected their missile carriages, returning the ordnance and ammunition that had been removed for the graduation ceremony.

  As she hurried onto the field, she shouldered her way through the frantic mess, hurrying toward the single jet with frightening urgency. It wouldn’t be long until the pit crews noticed the empty jet. Afterwards, it wouldn’t be long before it would be commandeered by one of the pilots rushing across the deck.

  When she reached it, her path was blocked by one of the pit crew members. “And where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’m an Eagle,” Sibylla quickly answered.

  The man gawked at her soggy sweatshirt covered in dust and blood, his lips twisting in disgust. “Is this some kind of a joke.”

  With no time to argue, Sibylla unsheathed her sword and held it to the man’s neck. “I’m getting in this jet whether you like it or not.”

  “Wow,” the man said, his eyes widening in amazement as he quickly backed away. “Maybe you are an Eagle after all.”

  Sibylla raced up the ladder into the cockpit.

  “Sib!”

  Sibylla looked and saw Anais standing below. “What are you doing?”

  “I have to check on someone.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t get into that right now.”

  Anais’s face crinkled with confusion. “Well, take me with you then. I can help.”

  Sibylla stared at Anais, moved by the woman’s selflessness. There was many things Sibylla regretted about her time at the Nest. Meeting Anais wasn’t one of them. “I’m sure you could,” Sibylla said, offering the redhead a rueful smile. “But I can’t ask you to do that. Go with the other Eagles. And take care of yourself.”

  Anais crossed her arms against her chest, honoring Sibylla with the sign of the Eagle and Sibylla nodded.

  “Good luck!” Anais yelled.

  Sibylla strapped herself into the cockpit, then activated the systems of the jet. Target reticules filled her screen, and the computer’s voice came on line. “Destination?”

  “El Paso.”

  39

  A Red Dawn

  Sibylla raced under a hail of metal and fire, traveling at Mach 4—the jet's top speed. She wante
d to get home as soon as possible. There was still so much that she had to do. Her only hope was that she still had time.

  Up ahead, an army of clouds was swirling into a menacing current, raging into a violent mouth of blackness that threatened to eclipse the entire landscape. While more and more drop pods fell through the air, sprouting from the sky like diseased spores, showering the most populated areas of the city.

  The pods were strange. They were swathed in something like shadow, a black fluid that leaked off the pyramidal shapes, like sludge, as they roared through the sky, revealing structures that looked more like decrepit ziggurats rather than traditional drop pods.

  Sibylla banked to the left as one nearly tore off her wing. The sudden movement caused her to swerve, and she sank dangerously close into the city, where a pair of buildings nearly scraped the belly of her jet.

  She knew this part of town, knew it like the back of her hand. It was the East side of El Paso, north of the freeway. Once a bustling section, it was now a glimpse of hell.

  Plumes of smoke lifted from fiery buildings, while men and women dressed in suits and skirts, stumbled out into the open street, screaming for help as they ran for safety.

  The ziggurats were everywhere. They landed with deafening thuds, crashing into the streets below, where they rose like ancient temples, towering over the frightened onlookers like demigods.

  From their bases, streams of large figures donned in gray armor galloped out in a wild frenzy, leaping over cars, sprinting through streets, spreading out amongst the nearby homes and businesses that had been unlucky enough to be close by.

  Sibylla tried to get a better look at them, but they were always too far away to see, too concealed by the smoke to get a clear picture of them. It was madness.

  The Warhawk jerked as something pierced it from underneath, and the sudden lack of power was instant. Alarms went off, and the cockpit lit up with flashing red lights.