Awakenings

by C. D. Espeseth

  Kevin held up his hands, the hurt and pain just as evident on the Tawan’s face as it was Matoh’s.

  “The medics had him,” Kevin said, his misery apparent.

  Matoh’s hand wrung through his hair as he felt the void forming within him, the vast chasm of grief that would never be filled if his brother was dead.

  He had just assumed Wayran would be fine. Wayran was always fine, always able to figure out a way to win.

  “Wayran!” The words stuck in his throat, and Matoh found it hard to breathe. He started grabbing people who might have seen Wayran: officers, Captain Miller, medics, but no one had seen his brother.

  “No.” Matoh wrung his hands in torment. He had forgotten to protect Wayran. All those years of Wayran protecting him and Matoh had just forgotten about him, forgotten about his own brother during a battle.

  Matoh sank to his knees and cried. “Not Wayran,” Matoh prayed to Halom, and whatever gods would listen. He would make them listen. Matoh screamed up at the sky, “He didn’t even want to be here! He didn’t want this!” Matoh held his lucky glass pendant and felt the energy building up around him.

  “Matoh, you’re doing it again, you–” Adel reached to put a hand on his shoulder, but it flew back as a giant spark snapped off Matoh’s armour.

  The sky began to rumble once more, and Matoh felt energy filling the air around him.

  The emptiness inside of him grew as sparks sizzled between his fingers and this time Matoh didn’t know if he could control what was coming. It was too big, the loss of his brother too great.

  A man stumbled out from a narrow alley. He was naked and looked around dazed and confused. The figure tripped and fell to the hard ground. Matoh saw the shock of a white line of hair against light brown.

  It was Wayran.

  “Wayran!?” Matoh shouted. He let go of the energy trying to fill the void within him as his heart threatened to beat its way out of his chest.

  Sparks snapped between people making them jerk back but were unharmed, just startled.

  The energy began to disperse, and Matoh felt the grip on his chest lessen.

  If Matoh had eyes for anyone other than his brother, he would have noticed the fear in several people’s eyes. “Someone get me a blanket!” he yelled, and people from both sides of the battle jumped to obey.

  Matoh ran into the alley and caught Wayran before he fell.

  Wayran looked at Matoh blankly, not recognising him. Bright red rings glowed within his irises, and Matoh jerked back, alarmed.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Naira asked, running up with a blanket.

  “I don’t know,” Matoh whispered.

  “Is he injured?” Naira asked.

  Matoh looked Wayran over, but couldn’t see a mark on him. Not a scratch nor even a scar from the nasty wound he had suffered in the riot. Wayran shook his head, and the glowing red rings faded. Recognition finally replaced the panic Matoh had first seen.

  “Matoh?” Wayran asked with disbelief.

  “It’s me. Are you all right?” Matoh asked.

  Wayran looked around as if he were just waking up and then noticed his own nakedness. “Well, I’d be better if Naira gave me that blanket she’s holding.”

  “Here.” Naira averted her eyes and held the blanket out immediately.

  Matoh chuckled and asked, “What happened to you? You’re not injured?”

  Wayran looked down to his bare leg. “Huh. No, looks like I’m fine.” Wayran blinked his eyes in confusion. “The details are a bit fuzzy.” Wayran shook his head softly. “I do remember getting stabbed, though.”

  “Well today is a day for miracles it would seem,” Naira said. “Maybe the high queen healed more than just me.”

  Matoh could think of nothing else to explain it. He had just seen a resurrection, so injuries mysteriously healing did not seem something to comment about. “Doesn’t explain your lack of clothes, but I’m just glad you’re all right.” Matoh put his shoulder under Wayran’s arm to help him up. “Come on, brother. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

  Wayran nodded and leaned in against him. Matoh had never known Wayran to feel so fragile, to take help and support so readily.

  Matoh looked around him, at the people he cared about; Naira, Adel and Wayran. It was then Matoh knew what his role in life was, akin to a clarion call on a crisp spring morning. They need my strength, he thought simply. I am the rock, the steady centre, the unflappable core people need. I am meant to protect those who are vulnerable.

  “What is it?” Naira asked, seeing the look on his face.

  Matoh’s thoughts had struck a chord of truth within him. They needed his strength, and he would give it to them. He would be the anchor in the storm for all those who needed it, and Matoh knew it was something he could do. “Nothing.” He smiled back at Naira. “I’m just happy we’re all right.”

  It was the first time that he could remember himself feeling completely at peace with who he was. He was no longer trying to be a Syklan.

  He already was one, like his mother before him.

  The night sky boomed in recognition of his ascension, and Matoh felt himself resonate with its energy, with its strength.

  A strength which he would use to protect those he loved.

  Matoh smiled, for he had found his path, and he would walk it proudly.

  48 - The Narrows

  The neuro-mapping virus has proven successful in nearly all of the smaller sample population. A small number of the test subjects, however, have shown some dramatic mutations which seem likely to be a result of synergies between the virus and the other mutagenic agents already introduced into the test population of site A. Further tests are required, and the NREs have identified a suitable population for test site B across the Barnier Strait.

  - Journal of Robert Mannford, Day 302 Year 18

  Jonah

  The Narrows, Aluvik

  “What a shit-storm this is!” Branson yelled beside Jonah as balls of burning pitch flew from the walls above the water on both sides of the narrow inlet.

  The giant arcing bridge somehow spanning the entire width of the inlet looked like the top half of a grinning monster about to swallow them. Its long teeth were strange white stone pillars supporting the bridge high up into the air. The mast of a warship could sail right under the damn thing.

  “Looks like they’ve had plenty of practice dealing with assaults from the water.” Jonah assessed the walls on both sides of the waterway. The Narrows, as the local people called this city, was like a giant fortress by the water. High walls lined the entire expanse of the rocky island where the blocky castle stood like a squatting giant. The whole city looked functional rather than pretty like it was veteran brawler who had seen a hundred fights, taken the scars from each and kept standing and coming back for more.

  “Easy now, Bamu!” Sheba said beside the giant yamuuk. It banged its thick horns against the boat’s side as they waited for the order to disembark. Jonah’s grenado launcher swivelled to the shoreline, and he depressed the buttons on the handle.

  Thwump, thwump, thwump. Three projectiles arced towards the archers preparing flaming arrows atop the walls to their left.

  Explosions of fire and smoke blossomed on the wall and amid the enemy archers as the grenados went off.

  Fin’s steam-powered crossbow hissed beside them as the big man pressurised the recurved arms of the weapon. He loaded another bolt and aimed up onto the bridge to pick a target nearly four-hundred paces away.

  “They were ready for us this time. No surprise marches and quick assaults before they could get ready any more. These people know we are here and we are sailing straight into a kill zone!” Jonah yelled over the mayhem of the battle raging around them. He couldn’t imagine how the fleet hadn’t seen this. They were penned in from three sides, walls on both sides of the waterway and that damn towering bridge in the middle.

  All the four of them could do was bob out in the open and try not to get sunk. All that it
would take was one of those arrows or rocks to puncture the boiler on their wagon, and they would all be meeting their ancestors in the afterlife. The oarsmen waited for a signal from the captain, but to Jonah, it felt like they were sitting ducks.

  Another burning ball of pitch flew past, and a gout of steam and water spewed into the air beside the boat. A narrow miss.

  “Damn it, we’re going to be swimming pretty soon!” Fin growled. He stood on the other side of Branson, who hadn’t let Fin get within arm’s reach of Jonah ever since the inn.

  “Swimming if we’re lucky, we’ll be a spray of bloody pulp more likely if those damn rocks get any closer.” Branson pointed to the catapults lined up on the massive bridge above them. “Where is my damn foot-bow when you need it. I’d rather be killing my back and legs tossing something back instead of waiting to get picked off!”

  “Forward, forward!” the captain roared in an attempt to relocate before the catapult which had sent that last shot could adjust.

  The drummer beat out a frantic rhythm for the oarsmen, and all they could do was watch.

  “See! There!” Jonah pointed.

  A burning Kutsal ship had come up alongside the western wall, and Jonah could see teams of sappers jumping into the buckets of shipboard catapults. The restraining lines were cut, and the sappers sailed up into the air with grappling claws strapped to their hands and feet. The team hit the wall hard, and at least four of them couldn’t get purchase. They fell screaming into the water, but nearly a dozen had dug in and were already scrabbling up the walls.

  The burning ship from which the sappers had been launched suddenly shattered as a massive stone came hurtling down from the bridge. The giant spume of water fell back down to the waves, and the ship was gone. Three of the sappers were yanked off the wall as their retrieval lines dragged them down with the ship. The rest had thankfully cut their lines free in time.

  Jonah watched then closed his eyes, knowing what was going to happen next.

  A half-dozen flickering lights danced in the sapper’s hands as they held onto the wall, yet they had nowhere to go.

  “For the Empire,” Jonah mouthed the words he knew the sappers were yelling as they watched their fuses dwindle. The loyalty to the Empire was religious in some soldiers. He had to make sure they saw things his way if they got the chance to enact the plan he, Fin and Branson had concocted. If not, things would go south real quick.

  He felt the thump of the sapper’s munitions down to his bones as they detonated and a portion of the western wall ripped itself apart sending rocks and dust soaring into the air.

  “Through the breach!” the captain of their ship yelled. “Double time on the oars! Double time! Steam wagon ready for disembarkation. I want grenados covering that breach all the way, Shi.”

  “Yessir,” Jonah called and swung the weapon through the horizontal to aim it at the new hole in the wall.

  Branson ran to the right side of the compression tank as Sheba did the same on the left. They unwound two hoses and clipped them onto nozzles on either side and then connected the other ends to mounted grappling winches at the front of their boats.

  “Fin, Jonah, you two had better be sighting fast with those monstrosities – as soon as Shebs and me fire these winches and the enemy clocks what’s going on, every archer up on those walls will be targeting us. The oarsmen are going to be sitting ducks. It’s going to be close quarter fighting on the other side of that wall, so we use all the ammo we have,” Branson talked them through the operation as they felt the pull of the oars grow faster and faster.

  Jonah felt at his side, reassuring himself that his trump card was still in its sheath.

  An arrow slammed into the side of the boat inches from his leg.

  Jonah kicked off the side and swivelled the launcher to the portion of the wall he had seen the shot come from.

  Thwump, thwump, thwump, thwump. The grenado launcher arched a volley of explosive balls towards the wall, and a percussive wave of detonations and fire lit the top of the wall where the enemy archers had been.

  “Fire the winches!” the captain of their boat ordered.

  Branson and Sheba fired in unison, and twin metal spears with jagged-toothed blades shot forth with a hiss of compressed air from their launching tubes.

  Sheba’s grappling spears dug into the wall with the wound steel cable trailing after it, but Branson’s ricocheted.

  “Damn it!” Branson cursed, frantically grabbed the recoiling crank. Sheba locked hers and pulled the lever to engage the steam-powered gear system. Her winch began to pull the boat forward but swung the boat around at an angle.

  “Why in the hell did they mount two grappling hooks on this thing! Couldn’t the bloody engineers figure out a way to just use one!” Branson yelled.

  “Lucky they didn’t!” Fin hollered back as he sighted through the telescopic lens on the top of his weapon. “If they had and it was yours we’d be stuck with nothing!” The twin canisters on the recurve arms of Fin’s crossbow hissed as he pressed the trigger and another wicked-sized metal bolt shot from the massive weapon. “I really like this thing, by the way. That guy was a good five hundred paces away. I think he was an officer.”

  “Shut your bloody traps and keep shooting!” Sheba yelled at them as she ducked under the wagon to lunge underneath and over to Branson’s side. She grabbed the recoil crank beside Branson and helped him winch the other grapple back in.

  The boat pitched sideways as Sheba’s grapple gears engaged and the steel cable attached to her winch snapped taut.

  “Got it!” Branson yelled as he reloaded the steel grappling spear into the firing tube of the winch. His second shot found its mark, and within seconds the boat had straightened out and was being pulled towards the wall.

  “Oarsmen secure oars!” the captain ordered, and a dozen oars lifted in unison and were secured along the side of the gunwales.

  “Prepare to land!” the captain shouted, and the oarsmen all checked their weapons. Sheba scrambled up to her yamuuk’s side then into the driver’s seat of the steam-wagon. Branson followed suit.

  Jonah held the firing button on the grenado launcher, peppering the opening ahead of them with fire and death.

  The boat pitched upwards, and Bamu gave an alarmed grunt as they hit the stony shore, but the steam-powered winches proved true, and their once aquatic vessel was hauled across the shore and onto land.

  “Go, go, go!” the captain yelled, and the front of the boat fell forward to become the landing ramp.

  “Yaw, yaw!” Sheba roared and snapped the reins against Bamu’s thick neck.

  The yamuuk lunged forward with such force that those on the wagon fell backwards.

  The oarsmen, now soldiers, fanned out to either side of the lumbering beast as its massive head swung back and forth.

  Jonah fired another three shots from his launcher before the ammo tube went THWOOP and ejected itself from the slot in the side of the weapon. He had no time to reload, so he jumped down from his seat.

  Fin saw him jump and gave him a slight nod that he was ready.

  Great, Jonah thought, now all we have to do is survive being the first through the breach and capture a strongly fortified enemy stronghold without the support of our ground forces. Easy.

  This was it.

  Jonah’s heart hammered in his chest.

  Something hissed through the air just overhead, and someone screamed in pain behind him.

  Bamu roared as he smashed an enemy soldier who had tried to hack at the yamuuk’s head with an axe, caving the man’s chest in with a whip of his head to the side. The thick horns swept the man away as if he had been a doll.

  And then they were through to the other side.

  “Shields! Shields! Form up!” the commander’s voice broke off as something sizzled to their right. Five soldiers, including the commander, flew backwards as a huge hammer crackling with electric energy blew them away.

  “SYKLAN!” a new voice yelled, and it held
the terror they had all grown to know at the sound of that word.

  Bamu roared, and suddenly Jonah saw the source of the yamuuk’s terror.

  A giant of a man clad in metal swung a warhammer through the air. The strange globes on his shoulders flashed white and as the hammer struck against a shield. The very air seemed to snap with lightning. The man holding the shield in front of Jonah was flung backwards and slammed against the wall behind them. The Syklan yelled, and the air around him suddenly went cold. The globes on his shoulders pulsed with light once again and the hammer spun round for another attack.

  “Get back!” Jonah yelled. His hand went to his side, his heart pounded, but then his fingers found the strange white metal of the spear. The men he yelled at didn’t respond quick enough. The giant’s hammer swung round, and they both seemed to explode from where they had stood. Half of a metal shield sliced through two rows of people behind them.

  He was probably going to die, but this was the moment they needed. Gods, Jonah thought, that is the biggest man I’ve ever seen.

  It was then that another metal-clad warrior rounded the corner at the top of the street. This one was a woman, shorter and faster, wielding two glowing red-hot swords.

  Fin aimed and fired the crossbow bolt at this new threat. The compressed air canisters hissed as the recurve arms of the crossbow snapped forward. The bolt that could have skewered two yamuuk in the same shot ricochetted off the angled breastplate of the knight as she twisted and bent backwards somehow anticipating the shot.

  “Shit,” Fin and Branson said beside him in unison.

  “Almost had her,” Fin said, trying to push the repressurise valve on the crossbow. “Damn it, empty. I’m not hooked up to the compressor.” Fin checked his pressurised airline and saw it had been severed. “Nothing for it.”

  Fin pivoted on his heel and swung the crossbow in a wide circle and hurled it at the giant Syklan’s head.

  It hit, and they all had the satisfaction of seeing the huge man stumble back a step. Two Kutsal soldiers jumped forward. One scored a hit on the giant’s leg, but their advantage lasted only a moment.