by Chris Fox
A river of white flowed into the staff, and once more the golden energy gathered over the crowd. Wave after wave of power, of hope, and devotion, and pure life, all poured into Ikadra. The Spellship itself began to shake, and light poured from the walls of the amphitheater, channeled not only from the ship, but from the world below.
Nara could feel the immense pool of magic on the planet gathering, and watched with awe as a beam of pure snowy white shot from the tip of the tree, into the Spellship, carrying with it not just the magic of Shaya, but that of all the people who believed that Voria would save them.
The sum of those energies was focused through the Caretakers, and directly into Ikadra. The gem began to glow, a brilliant sapphire star that was at once painful to look upon and impossible to look away from.
A peal like thunder crashed through the room, and a small crack spiderwebbed down one side of Ikadra’s gem. As wave after wave of power slammed into the staff the crack widened, millimeter by millimeter. Nara clutched her hands to her mouth, and didn’t stop the tear that trickled down her cheek. “Goddess no, please don’t let this happen. It’s my fault.”
Killing Voria had seemed like the perfect solution to the problem created by Talifax, but now the cost was clear. The spell hadn’t been designed to be used this way, and as powerful as Ikadra was even he couldn’t handle the amount of magic required to become a god.
The crack spread another millimeter.
47
Innerspace
Aran’s plan started to unravel the very moment the combat began. The Ternus ranks held their place, but not in the manner he expected. The newer Inuran ships were placed in the rear, behind the Wyrm Hunter, and the mismatched warships that had survived Krox’s attack on their capital.
When the first rank of star elementals reached firing range the Ternus vessels opened up. The front ranks unleashed gauss cannons firing hunks of depleted uranium, backed by a smattering of nuclear missiles. They peppered the Ifrit, detonating spectacularly…to no effect. The Ifrit and the larger star elementals continued forward, seemingly unaffected by the conventional weaponry.
The black ships added nothing, lingering silently behind their technologically equipped brethren.
The star elementals didn’t fire any sort of spell. They didn’t need to. In essence, they were the spell. The living flame swarmed the closest Ternus battleship, the Resolute, each smaller Ifrit slamming into the hull in an explosion of incandescent debris.
In seconds the entire aft side of the ship was leaking atmosphere, and Aran winced as he saw tiny figures jettisoned into the unforgiving vacuum. A moment later the battleship detonated, bringing mercy to those unfortunate souls.
Only then did the wedge-shaped ships respond. They glided silently closer, and unleashed the unnatural black tendrils they’d used back at Xal. The instant each beam touch an Ifrit, its color changed. The Ifrit grew smaller, while the beam’s color brightened to match the creature it was consuming. It happened swiftly, but each Ifrit disappeared in a puff, and the bolts reversed course and flew unerringly back to the black ships. They delivered their payload, and the hulls of those ships lightened to a deep, angry orange.
Three of the ships converged on the largest star elemental, itself larger than any vessel in system. Within seconds it shrank to a fraction of its original size, then disappeared in a similar puff.
“My gods,” Rhea whispered, “They’re…eating them.”
Three more conventional Ternus ships exploded in quick succession. The only ship in the vanguard to survive the initial volley was the Wyrm Hunter, but smoke poured from a tremendous hole in the stern as she limped away from the line, toward the distant safety of the Shayan shield.
The wedge-shaped ships fired another volley of tendrils, and another. They devoured clouds of the smaller Ifrit but it was clear that no matter how many they killed their lines were going to buckle.
“Crewes, fleet wide. Fall back to the shield. Order Kerr to bring up the rear with the new Inuran ships.” Aran tapped a void sigil on the silver ring, then the gold. Power rippled from his chest, rolling into the spelldrive and accelerating the ship.
They zipped toward the rear lines, and Aran took a few moments to study Krox with the ship’s senses. The god seemed completely preoccupied by its assault on the shield. It raised a titanic arm, then brought it down with the force of a falling star. The shield rippled around it, the magic dimming considerably, then springing back, though thinner than before.
He didn’t know much about the magic powering the shield, but he couldn’t imagine it holding out for very much longer.
“Sir, I know we aren’t turning tail and running,” Crewes said, catching his attention. “What’s your plan?”
“Doesn’t matter how many Ifrit we kill. It won’t change the tide of the battle,” Aran explained as he continued to fly. “We’ve got to stop Krox. Someone has to attack the god directly, and keep it from beating on that shield until we can get Voria up.”
Aran guided the ship low, and circled wide so as to stay out of Krox’s field of view. He didn’t know if the god needed eyes, but figured it couldn’t hurt.
“This is foolhardy,” Rhea protested. “If we attack that thing we’re debris. Much as I hate to say it, live to fight another day. This world is lost.”
“Nah, it ain’t going down like that.” Crewes gave Rhea a frown. “We don’t leave our own. Our people are down there. My ma is down there. We stand and fight.”
“And die, if we have to. But we do it smart.” Aran seized control of the conversation once more. “Crewes, you picked up dream. Can you make the ship invisible like Nara did?”
“I don’t think so.” Crewes studied the slowly rotating rings. “I mean I see how to give the ship the magic, but have no idea how to get it to do what we want.”
“Illusion cannot be cast with dream alone,” Rhea said. She folded her arms and gave Crewes a long suffering look. “You’d need access to air as well.”
“I can supply that,” Aran pointed out. He tapped the air sigil on all three rings, then waited for Crewes to do the same with dream. “Let’s just hope this ship is advanced enough to figure out what to do with the magic.”
The magic poured out of him in an azure torrent, into the ship, and once he reached critical mass he ordered the vessel to make them invisible. He was gambling that the ship, like Ikadra, could repeat previous spells that had been cast through it.
A moment later they flickered out of view, disappearing against the void. It had actually worked. He wasn’t used to things going their way, not so easily. “Okay, Rhea, I want you to relieve Crewes.”
“Sir?” Crewes said, raising a dark eyebrow.
“Trust me, Sergeant. Rhea?”
Crewes ducked out of the matrix, and Rhea slid gracefully into the seat he’d vacated. She deftly tapped all three air sigils, then repeated all three spirit. “I’m prepped and ready.”
“Good. We’re going to need everything you have put into spell wards.” Aran focused on flying the ship, and he guided her in a low, tight arc that took them up and around the god’s outstretched arms. He corkscrewed closer to the face, then brought them up around around to gain room to pick up speed.
It wasn’t until that instant that it finally occurred to him what he was doing. He stared down at an elder god, a being so powerful it defied understanding. A being that was making short work of their planet’s defenses.
A being that was too powerful to even bother with the small ships in the system. A being that was, quite simply, too big to notice them. A slow grin grew as he stared down at the titanic god, his star-studded body twisting as more blows rained down on the failing shield.
“Uh, sir?” Crewes’s voice had gone up a half octave. “What the depths are you doing?”
“We lack the magic to fight back, right?” Aran poured void into the drive, and began his dive toward the elder god’s face. “Well, Krox has got plenty, so we’re going to go take a couple pieces.
Rhea, Bord, now’s the time. I want your best wards in place. We need to be able to survive the inside of a god.”
Bord went up on tiptoe and tapped the life sigil on the bronze ring, then the silver, then gold. “Yes, sir. You’re a crazy fooker, but if we pull this off everyone will know who we are.”
Rhea’s hands also flew across her matrix, and her magical strength quickly joined Bord’s. The entire hull began to glow a brilliant white, the light increasing as they gained momentum. They rocketed past the fringes of the battle, gradually descending toward the god’s throat at an angle that kept them in a blind spot.
“If this doesn’t work,” Aran said, glancing around the bridge, “you have my sincere apologies. Better luck in the next life.”
He poured a fresh wave of power into the ship, and they streaked toward Krox’s throat, the hazy skin comprised of multilayered cosmic dust, kilometers thick. The Talon plunged into the god like a divine bullet fired from a god-sized rifle. Aran braced himself, but forced himself to watch as they impacted.
They slammed into the wall of dust, which rolled around them in a furious storm as they pierced the outer layer of the god. The wards surrounding the ship began to unravel, layer after layer stripped away as they punctured the hide of a god.
“Can’t keep this up…forever,” Bord managed through gritted teeth. Waves of brilliant white poured from him into the deck, but each one was weaker than the previous.
Rhea fought a similar battle opposite him, immense amounts of spirit and water pouring from her in twin torrents. She gripped the arms of the matrix’s command couch, and loosed a wordless yell as still more magic rolled into the Talon.
Those pulls grew weaker and weaker. Finally, she slumped against her chair and the flows slowed to a trickle, then stopped.
Bord roared a cry of defiance that mimicked Rhea’s, and a final wave of brilliance spilled into the deck. The Talon shook, and the hull gave an ominous groan.
Then, as suddenly as the turbulence had begun, it was over. The Talon burst through Krox’s skin and into…eternity.
An entire universe of galaxies spun out in all directions, impossibly vast. They stretched into the distance, their seemingly haphazard layout a perfect mirror of whatever movements Krox made outside. His body formed the bounds of this universe, which seemed to function much like their own, but in miniature.
Back on the ship Aran was aware of Crewes hurrying to Rhea, then bending to place two fingers against her throat. “She’s breathing, at least. What the depths do we do now, sir?”
“It’s all part of the plan, Sergeant. Maybe not a good plan, but it’s what I got. Kez, get Rhea strapped into the couch against the wall. Crewes, you’re replacing her. We’re effectively trapped in the middle of a massive maze, but when we were at the Skull, Xal changed me. Now I think I know why. He’s made me into a sort of a hound, with exactly the kind of senses I need to find concentrations of magic.”
Aran reached out with the senses Xal had provided. He could feel bits of void scattered throughout Krox, and had no trouble locating the largest piece. A vast reservoir of void magic pooled somewhere in the god’s waist, obscured by a dense green nebula. It was easily powerful enough to represent the magic Krox had siphoned from Xal’s heart.
But it wasn’t the only thing he sensed. There were massive concentrations of fire and spirit, and lesser concentrations of every aspect. Aran could, theoretically at least, take whatever he wanted.
He accelerated toward the pulsing void energy in the distance. “Let’s see what happens if we start ripping out internal organs.”
48
Rest in Pieces
The Wyrm Hunter’s hull gave a tortured screech directly over Davidson’s head. A rip appeared and atmosphere rushed out, even as the temperature dropped sharply. A thick steel beam sheered loose from the ceiling, and crashed into the far side of the bridge.
Davidson seized the stabilizing ring, but his temple still slammed into the matrix’s bronze ring. He saw stars, but gritted his teeth and regained his balance. He sucked in a deep breath and yelled over the rushing wind, “Status report!”
There was no answer. Davidson looked around the Wyrm Hunter’s bridge and his heart went cold. Rickard’s body lay slumped over the stabilizing ring in her matrix, and the third matrix had been crushed, along with its occupant. Davidson couldn’t even remember the kid’s name—one of the spies the governor had sent along.
“How the depths am I going to get out of this?” Davidson forced several deep breaths, and considered his options.
He couldn’t control the scry-screen as he lacked fire, but it still showed Shaya and the safety of the shield. That safety lay something like four thousand kilometers away, which normally wouldn’t be an issue. Unfortunately, with Rickard down they had no engines.
Davidson’s water magic wasn’t of much use, though he did take a moment to conjure a ball of ice to cover the rent in the hull. The rushing of air slowed, enough that Davidson felt comfortable sprinting off the bridge.
His teeth chattered as he ran down the corridor, passing frightened techs as he approached the main hangar. Thankfully, the hit they’d taken was on the aft side of the ship, or they’d have been in real trouble.
“Sir?” a Marine called as Davidson entered the hangar.
“Get the men into crash stations,” Davidson roared without slowing. They didn’t have near enough escape pods for everyone, and none of the Marines wanted to leave when their brothers would be staying behind.
Davidson sprinted toward the tanks at the far side of the hangar, but knew in his heart he would never make it.
The starboard wall began to radiate heat, pleasant warmth at first, but that warmth quickly became lethal heat. The wall glowed white hot, and the Marines nearest it began to scream. They ran from it, their skin erupting into flame. Those closest were consumed when the wall buckled, and living flame poured into the hangar.
Davidson forced himself to focus on his tank. He leaned into a sprint, arms pumping furiously as he crossed the hangar. Heat washed over him in waves, scalding his arms, even through the uniform. Fifty meters. Forty.
The screams behind Davidson stopped, and he gritted his teeth as his uniform was cooked away. He reached desperately for magic he barely understood, much less wanted, and begged it to save him.
Water bubbled up around him, a cool balm that insulated him from the immense heat. It poured from his chest, pulse after pulse, and it kept the heat at bay. Or it made the pain tolerable at least. He’d still suffered second-degree burns, or worse. He thanked any god listening for the adrenaline masking the pain.
Davidson leapt over an ammo crate that tumbled past him, and the hull began to cant at a sharp angle as the hangar started to come apart. The oxygen around him burned away, and he saw spots as he fought to breathe.
He stumbled the last few feet, then in a fit of life-saving fury he vaulted atop the tank and rolled into the access port atop the turret. Davidson darted down the ladder, and tugged the hatch closed behind him. It sealed automatically, and he inhaled a thick, wonderful breath.
The tank hummed to life without any input from him, as if sensing his need. Davidson darted over to the command chair, and sat gingerly. Agony flared in both legs where the skin had cooked away, and he ended up in a half crouch over the seat, too damaged to risk sitting again.
Davidson flipped on the external camera, and instinctively seized the command sticks so hard his knuckles went white. The tank tumbled end over end, sprayed into the sky over Shaya through the flaming remains of the Hunter’s starboard side.
The battleship left flaming contrails in its wake as it plummeted toward the shield, leaking debris. He couldn’t hear the keel’s tortured shriek as the vessel came apart, but Davidson’s brain supplied it.
The Hunter detonated spectacularly a moment later, and the star elemental that had killed her flitted away to seek another victim. The ship that had survived a hundred battles and saved entire worlds fina
lly succumbed to battle, and it broke his heart.
Davidson tumbled end over end, away from the shield. He hurriedly buckled himself in, and forced himself to sit, despite the pain. The agony was bad enough that he wrestled the medical pack from the wall. He fought the spin, eventually pulling loose the syringe.
He jammed it into his leg, and squeezed a rush of warmth into his thigh as the morphine spread. Davidson screamed, and his vision went blurry from tears. The tank continued to tumble, and he reminded himself that if he didn’t get past this…he was dead.
Davidson grabbed another syringe, and jammed it into the other leg. He blacked out, but only for a moment. He pushed away the vertigo and tightened the straps around him. The tank had been built to survive re-entry. Unfortunately, he’d been hurled away from the shield, into the portion of the moon that had no atmosphere.
There was nothing to slow his descent as the tank spun toward the unforgiving ground. Davidson closed his eyes and prayed for the best. He kept time with his heartbeat, and had nearly reached two hundred when he was slammed into his restraints so hard his shoulder broke.
Davidson screamed, the pain keeping him from going unconscious. All motion ceased, but his body still thought it was spinning, and he fought the vertigo. The tank had crashed, but he was still alive. He struggled to focus, but kept drifting in and out of consciousness.
In the distance he heard hissing. He closed his eyes, and rested his head against the seat rest. “We’re leaking O2. How’s that for a bullshit ending? I survived the crash, and skipped going down with the ship, and I’m going to die anyway.” He thought of the Hunter, and didn’t bother to fight the tears. “I’m sorry, girl. I should have stayed with you.”
He folded his arms across his chest and gave into unconsciousness. At least there wouldn’t be any pain.
49