Crystal Warriors

by William R. Forstchen

  So, what is this? Mark thought, suddenly disappointed. Here he had been all geared up to have the shit half scared out of him by a towering presence who spoke with thees and thous like somebody from the Bible, but there was nothing. Just an empty dais and what was probably a searchlight or something buried in the floor.

  All right then, Mark thought. We'll bow down before the unseen god, make some public intonations of piety, and be on our way. He could only hope his father wouldn't ever hear of this breaking of the First Commandment about false gods.

  Allic came to a stop and extended his hands as a signal to the men behind him.

  Mark looked out of the corner of his eye at Kochanski. The old history student was really getting into this. He realized that for Kochanski this was the stuff of dreams―of ladies dressed in silken robes and warriors fair, of distant lands that most likely never were, but should have been.

  "My father, I have come again to pledge myself and my realm to you," Allic announced, raising his arms.

  He lowered his arms, and turning, looked at Mark and the others.

  "He is here," Allic said evenly. "Jartan now wishes that you announce yourselves."

  Damn, this felt a little ridiculous, Mark thought. Growing up he could never get into all the glorying and praising god stuff of his father's church. In fact, since the day he left his parents' home, he had never again gone to a service. He could remember how his old man had loved it when Grace, his kid sister, would "get the spirit" and start speaking in tongues and calling on Jesus to help her. Mark had found the whole thing rather embarrassing. But he had to do something.

  He stepped up to Allic's side and came to attention. Trying to suppress a grin, he snapped off a salute.

  "Captain Mark Phillips, pilot 306th bombardment group, serial number 15677432, at your service, my lord."

  Ikawa and Kochanski, following Mark's lead, did the same.

  Well, that ought to take care of it. If he ever got back home this would be a hell of a good story to tell the guys―that is, if they ever believed him in the first place.

  "Do you not consider it dangerous to be flippant in the presence of a god?" a voice boomed through the audience chamber.

  Before his terrified eyes Mark saw a fiery form taking shape within the light. The figure swirled in upon itself and with a blinding flash ignited into a pulsing tower of blue-white flame.

  God almighty, what've I done? Mark thought.

  The tower of light whirled like a tornado of flame. "I am not amused by your thoughts," the voice boomed.

  Mark felt his knees turning to jelly. He thought for a moment that he should abase himself before this presence. But that probably wouldn't work, and anyhow, if he was going to get blasted, he'd prefer to face it standing up.

  "I am Jartan, one of the Creators of this world. And you will either obey me or die."

  Gritting his teeth, Mark stared into the coiling fire and waited stoically for damnation.

  "Good, very good," the voice whispered. Mark kept staring straight ahead, not daring to move.

  "My son has told me of you and the others. He claims that despite your faults, you have potential."

  Mark did not respond. At this point it was best to keep his big mouth shut.

  "We'll talk again later," the voice whispered, and the tornado of flame pulsed ever smaller, until the figure in the light flickered out.

  Mark felt a hand on his shoulder, and turning, looked into Allic's eyes.

  "Don't ever press your luck with him," Allic said, his features cold. "Remember, he can sense your very thoughts. It was obvious that at first all three of you had angered him. But he admires courage―he never could stand grovelers―and that was your redemption."

  "I'm sorry," Mark whispered. He could see that this might have turned out badly for Allic if they had too greatly angered Jartan.

  The sound of other voices now echoed around them. Mark felt as though everyone in the room was watching him, which undoubtedly they were.

  "Let's join the others," Allic said. "I've brought you here for a reason. Part is my promise to help you leave after your service, and I dare say, only my father could arrange that. But also to let others know that my strength has been increased by the addition of you and your men. Do your part. But if you should embarrass me..."

  Mark knew better than to inquire about what had been left unsaid. For the first time he was seeing Allic as a cold and, if necessary, hard politician who could call his underlings to account. He had at times suspected that Allic might be a little too free and easygoing with his responsibilities, but not now. Mark felt a new level of respect for Allic, and he nodded, accepting the warning.

  Turning, they walked towards the crowd that filtered in around them, eager to examine the three new wielders of power who had aroused the interest of a god.

  Mark found himself being presented to a dizzying array of princes, sorcerers, healers, warriors, philosophers, and priests. Already he could see how most of them were maneuvering, trying to get a grasp on these new creatures, evaluating whether they could be allies or possibly enemies to be dealt with.

  Several priests cornered Mark, and he had to tread lightly when they quizzed him on the nature of his god. Knowing that Allic was watching, he maneuvered and ducked, and after nearly a quarter-turning had not made a single statement with any real content.

  "Mark." Allic put a hand on his shoulder. "If your worships will forgive me," Allic said smoothly, "there's someone here who insists that I introduce Mark to her at once."

  Allic led him through the crowd to a small knot of people standing in the far corner of the room. Allic broke away from Mark's side and came up to the back of a woman and slipped his arm around her waist.

  The woman slowly turned, placing her hand on Allic's shoulder.

  Mark went numb as her dark blue eyes bore into him. Her raven hair flowed over her shoulders, covering her full breasts. The sheer blue silk of her gown clung to every curve of her long slender body.

  The faintest of smiles crossed her lips and she drew closer, Allic still by her side. Mark coolly held her gaze, struggling to suppress the instinct to activate his defensive crystal.

  "Yes, you are as I remember you, young flyer," she said softly.

  "Mark Phillips, may I present Storm."

  Mark looked at Allic with a tug of jealousy. Never had he met a woman like Storm, yet she triggered a defensive wariness in him.

  "Oh, we've already met. Haven't we, Captain Phillips?"

  He had seen that look before, but never with such a frank openness of invited pleasure. He looked suddenly at Allic. It must be obvious to everyone, especially to his lord prince, how this woman was looking at him.

  Allic stared at Storm, then at Mark, threw back his head and started to laugh.

  "Ah, my poor friend, too much has already happened to you today. Don't worry though, I'm on your side with this particular issue, and I have to say that I almost feel sorry for you." He pulled Storm closer with a playful hug.

  "She's my sister, Mark."

  Mark couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, and a smile crossed his face.

  "Would that be on your father's or your mother's side?" Kochanski asked, coming up to join the conversation.

  "Why, on our father's side," Storm said evenly, still looking straight into Mark's eyes.

  "Then you are the daughter of a god," Kochanski said quietly.

  "But of course," she replied, holding Mark with her gaze.

  Oh no, Mark thought, struggling to keep his features calm.

  She stepped even closer, her warm fragrance washing over him; she smiled at his obvious discomfort.

  "Does my being the daughter of a god intimidate you, Captain Phillips?" she asked, her gaze still fixed on him.

  "Well, ah, no, not exactly," he tied, struggling not to lower his eyes for a quick look at her cleavage. The low cut of her imperial-style dress made it rather difficult to ignore.

  Damn, the last thing he needed
was for Jartan's daughter to think that he was checking her out―then the shit would really hit the fan. But try as he would, human nature won out and he sneaked a quick look downward.

  Christ, what a body,

  "Well, do you like the way I look?"

  Mark could feel the blood rushing to his face. The women back home would never have been so damn direct.

  All right then, Mark thought, if she wanted to be that way about it... "Yes I do. You're a knockout."

  "I take it that is one of your outlander terms meaning that you like the appearance of my breasts."

  Storm smiled at how her response caught him off guard, and slipping her arm around his, led him off to a quiet corner of the reception hall.

  "Allic's told me about your customs regarding women. Sounds rather restrictive to me. Gives no credit to a woman to make her own choices."

  He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Damn, she was beautiful. Her long black hair swayed softly with her every step, complementing the feline grace of her body.

  But this was the daughter of a god, he kept reminding himself. He knew what the hell his Baptist dad would say about this theological question. Damn, screwing around with a goddess―-even the thought was blasphemous!

  Together they slipped into the quiet shadows of an archway leading into a side corridor.

  "Would I be too forward," Storm whispered, drawing closer, "if I said that I found you very appealing?"

  "Ah―not at all," he said woodenly. Was she propositioning him?

  "You seem very nervous."

  "It's just that this type of thing doesn't happen to me every day," Mark said. "I mean, I almost get fried by a god and later the most beautiful woman I've ever seen is telling me how appealing I am. Now, don't get me wrong, your highness, but..."

  "Storm, just call me Storm."

  "All right then, Storm. It's just that I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by all of this."

  Then he found himself throwing all caution to the wind. "Two months ago I was a flyer. I was fighting in a war and I knew that we were right in what we were doing. I knew, damn it... I knew how things worked, and why things were the way they were."

  "And now all of this. I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. The whole world is turned upside down. I came from a place where all this stuff you attribute to the Essence was nothing more than fairy tales. According to the way the game was played in my old neighborhood, I should have died back in that crummy temple. Who knows, maybe I really am dead, I still think that at times―"

  She looked at him as though he were talking a foreign language, but he didn't even notice. His frustrations at last were coming out.

  "Then I meet this incredibly beautiful woman in a lightning storm that she claimed was hers, and two days later I find out she's the daughter of a god and I think she has the hots for me. Are you following me?"

  "I think so."

  "Look, Storm, you are really attractive, but I just don't know how I can handle another complication."

  "Does that mean you're not interested in making joy with me?"

  Be careful here, Mark thought. This girl could fry him if she got pissed off.

  "No, I wasn't saying that at all," he replied cautiously. His eyes wandered again, and his pulse quickened.

  She drew closer, pressing him against the wall. Her body seemed to melt against his.

  She held his gaze with an unblinking stare that seemed to look deep inside him. His body reacted to her with a vigor that made him lightheaded.

  She smiled, closed her eyes and kissed him. He responded with intensity, and held the embrace for what seemed an eternity―or a moment.

  At last she drew back, her face flushed, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

  "I was right about you," she whispered. "I have felt your presence since you first came to Haven and I could feel your affinity through your dreams and our encounter in my storm." They gazed at each other for a moment and she nodded.

  "I think we should return to the gathering," she said, but it was obvious to Mark what she'd prefer to do. His common sense was glad that her reasoning was overcoming desire, but he was still frustrated. In spite of his fear, he wanted this woman.

  "After all, they'll already be talking about my leading you away as I did."

  "I'd think around here someone in your position could pretty much do as they please."

  "Hardly!" she said, laughing. "Don't you have a little game called politics on your world?"

  "So, it's that way here too."

  "! wanted to stake out my claim to you right up front," she said evenly, as though the passion of the last minute had never occurred.

  "After all, you outlanders are a prime interest around here. Not only has your arrival significantly shifted the southern power bloc in my brother's favor, but we've got the guilds who want to get new ideas and products from you, the priests who either want to try you as heretics or investigate any new truths your society might have developed, et cetera, et cetera. Besides, I dare say half the women in the court would be more than happy to make joy with you, if only to experience an offworlder."

  Mark couldn't help but feel a conflicting emotion of excitement at the prospect, mingled with anger at the thought of being considered only a morsel for bored court ladies. He looked at Storm and wondered if that was all that he represented to her as well.

  "Ah, I can see by your expression what you're thinking of me," she said, drawing her arm through his.

  She forced him to look into her eyes.

  "Believe me, Mark Phillips, my interest in you is far from casual. Don't take our different standards and apply them to your values. I'm interested in you, and I plan to find out what you really are."

  Storm smiled, and Mark could sense the genuineness of her words. He smiled in return.

  "Anyhow," she said softly, "I wanted to get to you first, before anyone else caught your attention."

  Storm led him down the corridor and back to the brightly lit audience chamber. Mark noticed that more than one head was turned in his direction, and a low murmur filled the room at their reappearance.

  "So, now you've laid your claim to me publicly, is that it?" Mark said, not with anger but as a statement of fact.

  "Of course! Though more than one of the lovelies out there will try and get to you, as a challenge to me."

  "Just a word of caution, if Allic hasn't already given it to you. Watch everything you say or do. Each person here has their own game. Some of the people in this room would gladly kill their opponents if given but half the chance."

  "I'd think with a god and demigods like you around, that would be kind of hard."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, where I come from, our god has a tendency to severely punish any people who do wrong, or at least those who don't follow what he thinks is right and wrong."

  "Rather narrowminded of him," Storm replied.

  Mark couldn't help but chuckle. "Doesn't Jartan punish wrongdoers?"

  "Occasionally, when somebody really crosses him, but he isn't the only god, and blasting someone might create political problems."

  "Politics among gods?" Mark asked incredulously.

  "Of course. Don't your gods engage in the game?"

  "There's only one all-powerful god in our world."

  "Sounds rather boring to me."

  "I've never taken it up with him," Mark replied, trying to keep a straight face. "He isn't noted for his sense of humor."

  "I can't understand this god of yours. How can a god have unlimited powers? Wouldn't unlimited powers create unlimited boredom for their wielder? Our gods placed part of their powers into this world, creating it, generating the forces so that life can flourish, and perhaps surpass them. With that comes a certain randomness, which is the focus of existence. For, if everything were preordained, if everything were controlled, nothing would be left but infinite boredom."

  "Jartan has power, as do I, and even as do you. But your power is indepen
dent, and not even Jartan can foresee all that you might do or become. If it were otherwise, he would have gone mad eons ago."

  "In other words, there really is free will," Mark stated.

  She looked at him uncertainly.

  "Never mind. You're saying I might already have enemies here."

  "You're vassal to Allic; you've been linked with me. Need I say more?"

  As they came back to Allic's group, she was hailed by an older lady across the way, who waved her over.

  "Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, but rest assured, Mark Phillips, I'll be looking for you when we have time to be alone."

  She gave his hand a playful squeeze and turned away. For the moment he was alone, and he looked around for a familiar face.

  Kochanski was nowhere to be found. He noticed Ikawa off in a far corner, drink in hand. Suddenly feeling somewhat isolated, he started across the room towards the Japanese officer, who looked over the shoulder of the woman he was talking to and noted Mark's approach.

  With a bow and gesture in Mark's direction, Ikawa broke off his conversation and joined Mark.

  The look they exchanged was communication enough, and they quickly went to a table set in a quiet corner.

  "I noticed you disappearing with that woman," Ikawa said, smiling. "Half the people here noticed it, and the other half was told within seconds."

  "She certainly came on strong. By the way, she's Allic's sister."

  "Ah, that explains why he was laughing when you wandered away."

  "What about that number you were talking to?"

  "She also came on very strong."

  "Yeah, they all do around here." Mark chuckled ruefully. "By the way, where's Kochanski?"

  "Oh, you missed that little stir. Right after you stepped out with your new friend, I saw two women in blue robes leading him out of the room. Allic said he had been singled out for a significant honor."

  "What's that?" Mark asked.

  "Just that Jartan summoned him for a private audience. Seems like quite a high honor."