Into the Storm

by Scott Marcy

  “Just to the plateau on the other side,” Lyra said. “It’s safe enough. The journey to Razûl is another ten miles between two mountains. I figured we would give it a quick look around and then leave. Once we are back on the flats, we can go north and arrive at Junction City before the caravan arrives.”

  “I’d like to turn around now,” Kaylin said. “This place gives me the tintilas (Elvish for the shivers or trembling fear).”

  “No. We keep riding. Don’t let your imagination run away with you.” Lyra kept her eyes fixed on the light ahead of her and pushed away dark thoughts. However, their angst returned with greater strength. Something or someone was watching them.

  When they passed from shadow to light, leaving behind the cave, everyone felt better. Flat Mountain, like Nose Mountain before it, was well named. Its flat, featureless surface allowed one to see across its breadth. Lyra pulled back on her reins and then dismounted. “Now we can turn around,” she said as she stretched.

  A thunderous explosion above their heads made them wince. A brilliant ball of light appeared overhead, and they shielded their eyes with their hands. It throbbed and growled as if alive and filled with rage. “What is it?” Alex shouted.

  “It’s a dimensional gate,” Lyra shouted.

  A capsule dropped out of the dimensional portal, and the parachute deployed. A moment later, the portal disappeared, leaving behind a cloudless blue sky. The capsule drifted with the wind and floated toward the northwestern side of Flat Top Mountain. They mounted their horses and galloped toward it.

  The hatch slid up, and then the president exited the craft. Using his hand as a visor, Jack watched the riders gallop toward him. The sunlight glinted on their armor — all heavily armed and all female. For a few seconds, he wondered if he landed in the middle of a renaissance festival. Then he looked up and saw the twin moons. He searched his surroundings for the familiar, and finding none, he, studied the mountains. How he arrived in the mountains mystified him; Air Force One flew over the Atlantic.

  The riders stopped and then dismounted. When Lyra strode toward him, he took a step back. “Mr. President, Israel Kahn sent us to rescue you. Are you injured?”

  “What? Um … no,” he said examining his body. “I’m fine. Israel sent you?”

  “Yes sir,” Lyra replied.

  “I’m Alex Dubois. I voted for you in the last election. It’s funny how we both wound up here on Eden.” She cleared her throat and crossed her arms. “I’ve undergone a few changes since I left Earth.”

  “We need to be away from here before nightfall and head for Refuge,” Lyra said. “You’re people are there waiting for you.”

  Jack saw the blinking red light of his transponder beacon. “I think I should stay here. Rescue aircraft are probably on their way to this location.”

  Lyra was about to rebuff him when Alex stepped in front of her. “Mr. President, this is Eden — it has two moons, a ringed planet as a neighbor, and monsters. If we stay here after dark, they will kill us. Now, we have to go.” She removed a letter from her saddlebags. “He told me to give this to you if we found you.”

  Jack opened the letter and read it twice. “I wish I stayed with my law practice in New York.” He grabbed a survival pack from the capsule, and referring to his suit, he said, “I’m not exactly dressed for a ride.”

  Lyra mounted her horse and held out her hand. “We need to ride. I want to get as much distance between Razûl and us.” The president put on the survival backpack and took her hand. She helped him mount her horse and sit behind her. She jabbed her spurs and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  They rode for the passage as if someone chased them. However, when they were halfway across Flat Top Mountain, a daemia army exited the dark cave. Drums beating, a forest of pikes glinting in the sunlight, swords beating on shields, the daemia army shouted obscenities and marched toward them. Lyra stared at them in confusion. Where did they come from? There was no one on the flats, and there was no place in the cave passageway to hide an army. However, the army marched toward them, ready to engage a battalion. Lyra turned her horse about and galloped up the road to Razûl.

  Chapter 9

  Jack gripped Lyra’s hips as the daemia Ta’rak riders chased them up the road to Razûl. The carnivorous reptiles stabbed fear into the hearts of the horses and caused them to gallop in a wild dash for life. He held onto her for dear life, his hands clutching the cool metal of her cuirass, his suit jacket and necktie flapping behind him. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw the impossible. Daemia — horned monsters having eight beady eyes and gnashing teeth, clad in rusty armor and brandishing blood-stained machetes — pursued them. Their fierce visage triggered some primal instinct, but he doubted his eyes, wondering if he was having a nightmare. Only hours ago, he traveled aboard Air Force One, staff to service him, guards to protect him, and the leader of the free world. Now he fled from certain death.

  Grass and gray sand dotted the surface of the slate pavers, the abandoned road wound around the side of a mountain. Jack made the mistake of looking over the edge. They skirted the edge of a sheer drop, and the Flume River rushed through a canyon in white foam furry. It plunged down a series of waterfalls, throwing up spray. Water washed over sections of the road and swept over the other side, plunging a hundred meters onto jagged rocks.

  They galloped through the spray and raced for the pass. A peculiar twinge pricked Jack’s mind: something was wrong. When the Ta’raks charged through the water, their footfalls caused no splashes, and the spray flowed through both rider and mount. As they entered the tunnel, their pursuers became translucent and then faded into the shadows. However, they exited the tunnel before Jack could get Lyra’s attention.

  Lyra pulled back on the reins and stopped her horse. She spun it around and gaped at the way behind her. Massive green doors, stained with rust, blocked their path, and rust fused the hinges into a solid mass — sealed for over a hundred years.

  “We were tricked,” Jack said. “None of it was real.”

  “It can’t be. They were after us,” Lyra said.

  They dismounted, and she approached the gate. However, rust fused the hinged doors together, and the mechanism, which released the pins around the frame, failed long ago. She touched the door to make sure it was real, and orange iron oxide covered her hand. She hit it with her fist, and the solid barrier hurt her hand. “How did we ride through it?”

  “Stand back,” Sterling said and formed a ball with her hands. A seed of energy sparked to life and grew stronger until it blazed white-hot. She released it, and the ball flew at the barrier and hit it with a powerful explosion. When the flames died away, twisted metal rimmed a hole the size of a serving platter. Their smiles and cheers came to an abrupt stop. The metal untwisted and covered the gap, sealing into a solid structure.

  Sterling felt the metal door, and it was cold. Even the rust returned. “If you could do that again, one of us might slip through the hole. She could go get help.”

  “No one is going to come here to help,” Kaylin said. “This place is cursed.”

  “So Mr. President, are you enjoying your stay on Eden?” Alex asked.

  “None of this is possible,” Jack whispered. When his hand brushed his jacket pocket, it bumped the flat, rectangular form of his phone. He retrieved it from his pocket and checked for a signal — it had three bars. It rang and played a familiar tune: “I will survive,” the ring tone set for his deceased wife, Gloria. He touched the answer icon and held it to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Honey, I’m running late for the fundraiser … where is that place? Oh yes, Mobley, Kansas. I hope the endangered animals appreciate everything I’m doing for them.”

  “Gloria, don’t go to the fundraiser. You’re in danger. Do you hear me? Get out of there!” he shouted.

  “I’m sorry honey. Your voice is breaking up. I see a billboard for a Factory Outlet Mall. Randy, pull off so I can buy a new dress. Honey, I’ll meet you in Denver for the vic
tory celebration. Honey, do you hear me?”

  “Gloria,” he shouted. “Get out of there!” He cursed while trying to redial, but the phone lost the signal. “You can’t do this to me. Work, you piece of junk.” The phone went black and smoked.

  “You got a call, from Earth?” asked Alex. “That’s one hell of a long distance charge.”

  He shook the phone and thumped the glass; “I need to call her back.”

  “I’m sorry, but it never should have worked in the first place,” she replied.

  He covered his face with his left hand and prayed for a miracle. However, the phone remained dark and smoldered. He screamed in rage and hurled it at a boulder beside the road, smashing it into pieces. A powerful thirst for whiskey seized him, but he was lost in the wilderness without a drink in sight.

  “I remember: you lost your wife. Was that her?” Alex asked.

  “Yes,” he said, deflated and appearing much older. “She died in a terrorist attack three years, two months, and twenty-one days ago — my life was never the same. You never know what you’ve got until is gone, and then it’s too late.” He looked them in the eye and asked, “What is this place?”

  “Good question,” Lyra replied. “Let’s find out.” She mounted her horse and extended her hand. Jack hesitated a moment and rubbed his face. He then took her hand and mounted the horse. As they rode, his thoughts lingered on Gloria and the emptiness within. Life, death, nothing mattered.

  Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Alex ride up beside them. She asked, “So, I guess the press will go crazy with this story: the President is transported to another world.”

  “The White House seldom tells the true story.” Jack raised an eyebrow and gave Alex a sideways glance. “They’ll cover it up the same way they did to all the other disappearances. Search parties will find wreckage, and the White House will release a plausible explanation: probably that Air Force One crashed and sank into the Marianas Trench.”

  “This has happened before?” asked Alex, her face flushed.

  “Oh yes, many times,” Jack replied, sorrow pressing down upon him, “but don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”

  “So who killed President Kennedy?” Alex asked. Jack ignored her and focused on the city. “I understand. Some secrets are better left in the dark.”

  A wonderland spread out before them. The lost city of Razûl lay around the pinnacle at the bottom of a basin. The sleeping caldera maintained the climate of the entire valley at a comfortable temperature, and the rhunite caused crops to grow year round. The winding road passed through a cornfield, and the corn plants towered above a mounted rider, and the ears grew longer than a man’s forearm. When the corn ended, wheat began. Fields white for the harvest waved like the ocean, and in the distance, they saw green fields filled with produce. A pumpkin grew larger than a compact car; yellow squash was half the size of a man, and tomatoes were larger than basketballs.

  Jack knew a trap when he saw one, and the beautiful valley reminded him of a Sarracenia plant. Its intoxicating aroma and beauty seduced flies into its mouth, but after it descended the long tube and tasted the narcotic nectar, the fly found it impossible to leave, killed within a beautiful prison.

  He searched the surrounding mountains for a way of escape, but they were tall as the Alps, impassable even for the hardiest of souls. He searched for threats, but white snow rippled around gray rock hid any danger from their eyes. However, a threat grew within him; malevolence and death surrounded them. Although brilliant sunshine warmed the valley, a shadow loomed over the land, and it grew darker as they approached the city.

  When Kaylin stopped to admire the crops, Lyra said, “We need to keep moving.” For a moment, she and Jack locked eyes and shared their unspoken fears. “We don’t stop until we reach Razûl.”

  The shadows grew long upon the land, and the 10-meter walls loomed before them. Scars and scorch marks marred the outer walls, and all about the ground lay siege ramps: burned, broken, and rusted. Between these ruins, ripped pennants and shattered wooden shields littered the bare ground. The corpse of an old man — lying on his back, skin ashen, eyes glazed, face gnarled, lips gone, teeth exposed, mouth agape, face toward the sky, and a basket still strapped to his back — clutching splintered wooden fragments. Jack wondered: where are the city authorities? Why would they leave a corpse unburied outside the city wall?

  Two story homes, made of fieldstones and seasoned wooden beams, lined the main street. Two barefoot children huddled beneath a blanket, their heads covered and bodies motionless. They sat in a dark doorway, away from the warmth of the sun. “Hello, is your mother home?” asked Kaylin, but the children never moved. A shiver ran through Jack, and primal instinct awakened within him.

  When Kaylin dismounted, his senses screamed it was a mistake. He reached out and parted his lips to speak but faltered, settling back and waiting. She knows what she is doing? They’re just children. It will be fine, he thought; he hoped. Kaylin approached the children. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She reached out and lifted the hood to uncover their faces. Eyeless sockets, shriveled faces, and twisted bodies, the corpses collapsed to the ground at her feet. She jumped backward and drew her weapon.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Jack’s heart beat in his throat, and he looked about the archway for threats. “Why is everyone dead?”

  “I don’t know,” Lyra said. “We can’t turn back, and it’s too dangerous to stay here. We need to keep moving.”

  As they continued their journey, Jack’s thoughts shifted to survival. How could he live amongst people that would leave dead children unburied? When they entered a circular marketplace, it appeared that some great battle took place. The corpses of slain men — throats cut, disemboweled, stabbed through the heart, and half consumed by beasts — lay all about the round, cobblestone plaza.

  At a brothel, the doors opened to a second-floor balcony swung in the wind, slapping the doorframe, and the withered corpse of a buxom woman lounged in a recliner. Kaylin whispered, “Everyone’s dead.” As if to make her point, a dead man lay in a stable, and a flask of poison clutched in his right hand. A mother lay with a baby in her arms, face down upon the street, both withered as if long dead, the breeze moving the hem of her dress. Through the display window of a silver shop, a merchant lay face down upon a counter, his arms draped over the sides, yellowed papers scattered on the floor.

  The street weaved through the vast city, and corpses, some very old and some new, filled every part of it. When they exited the poor neighborhood, the rank smells dissipated, and the perfume of budding fruit trees hung in the air. Clean cobblestone streets, sparkling water jetting and splashing in a fountain, scrubbed behind the ears homes, freshly painted with white shutters, the upscale district contrasted the previous district.

  Across the way, beyond the flowerbeds and trees, a crowd of corpses lay in a heap before a stage. Men in chains lay upon the platforms, the corpse of the auctioneer a short ways away. Upon the next stage, a shriveled corpse of a slave girl, still clad in a black leather thong, hung from a pole, suspended by manacles and chains.

  “What happened?” Jack whispered. “Everyone is dead.” The girls wanted to provide him with a rational explanation, but they had none to offer. How could an entire city die?

  They traveled along the main thoroughfare toward the castle. Hanging above the streets and in front of the brothels, the withered corpses of scantily clad women still stood lay tall slave cages. Black satin thongs cleaved to their wrinkled hips, and sparkling silver halter-tops displayed their withered breasts. Their eyeless sockets looked upon a street crowded with corpses.

  Wealthy mine owners lay tangled in the arms of beggars, and a slave girl, half devoured flesh in her mouth, lay atop a dead man with part of his throat ripped away. Diamonds twinkled in a jewelry case. The door to a jewelry store lay open and unattended, the guard crumpled up in the doorway, his hand still clutching a club. Bracelets, ne
cklaces, wedding rings, and stickpins lay unattended. Their horses struggled to find footing, so they dismounted and led the animals through the tangled bodies.

  Slate walkways weaved among grassy lawns, flowerbeds, and fruit trees. However, white as if painted, broad and straight, the road traveled through the gardens that ended at the castle doors. The castle towered above the various districts, and a great tower offered a commanding view of the entire kingdom. Implacable walls, bulwarks, and spires appeared bleached white and reflected the midday sun. Blue roofs capped the buildings, and pennants caught up in the ever-present wind flapped atop towering spires. The magical castle looked down upon the cursed city, and upon high upon its wall, a black shadow viewed them with malevolent contemplation.