Halcyon's Wake: Faith

Blood and Sage

I left the plaza with a lot more eyes on me than when I’d first arrived. I can honestly say I now know how Elvis and the Beatles must have felt. And Jacob must have felt it too. Every furry-armed Tunaki and bright-eyed Cytheran wanted to meet or talk to the two actually touched by Amalek himself. And there were a LOT of furry arms and bright eyes in that stadium. Andrex became impatient with our progress and surrounded us with an honor guard of twenty Tunaki warriors that plowed us through the curious like Moses through the Red Sea. Mouse and I had to maintain a brisk jog out of fear of getting run over by our own protectors.

As we crested the top of the stadium stairs, a warrior with greying temples and a wicked scar slashing across his face turned to Andrex. “I smell Drakos, Strategos.”

Andrex never paused in his stately gait, sniffed the breeze heavily, then looked to his right. “Seek,” he barked in a smooth, even tone, and instantly our cocoon of twenty warriors became ten, the entire right flank peeling off in the direction Andrex looked, but filled instantaneously with warriors from the center and rear, maintaining a bubble of protection around our small cadre.

“Eamyuot D’Leh Drakos,” Mouse mumbled, an odd grim light on his face, sucking wind from the brisk pace — when I realized I’d understood him - AND Andrex AND the old warrior with the scar. And they’d all been speaking that odd Aramaic. “Death to the Drakos,” I said, grinning broadly and gasping a little myself. Mouse looked at me like I was a little off. “I understood you, Mouse - and the other Tunaki speaking Aramaic - I couldn’t do that this morning, before the whole thing back there...”

“...Neither could I,” Mouse replied grinning, “We sure as hell ain’t in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

What other ‘gifts’ did Amalek give me with that touch? And what was it gonna cost me?

“It will cost you everything and nothing, man.” Amalek’s voice spoke clearly in my mind as if in response, but I somehow knew that it was merely a reflection of Amalek, and not him directly. Kind of like Siri on my iPhone. Some questions might be answerable from remnants of the ‘touch’, and I guessed Amalek would only answer certain questions - I felt a burning conviction that choice somehow still played a big role in things to come.

We hurried on through the main thoroughfare, stopping only when we arrived at the tables and fire-pit I’d dined at earlier. Mouse took a seat at one of the tables, breathing hard from the jog, and Jacob and I joined him - Jacob filling us a couple of red-stone mugs from a pitcher of water. Viceroy Tarak and Strategos Andrex were embroiled in a rather one-sided, heated conversation. Tarak looked somewhat defiant but also like he wanted to crawl under one of the nearest tables, and Andrex was a volcano well past a much needed eruption. Bits of his tirade made it to our ears in snarled Tunaki tones, “...How can you possibly not know the Eight Burdens?!… the Kilkenor were here yesterday and you mention this now?!… that Topper slew Morthos? What of the bloodstone? Fetch it now!… These Toppers are more Tunaki than you!! …Stone-cursed, wasted fur-bags unfit for breathing!!… do the Kenawak still live? Good, at least the blessed Creator did not let you foul it all up - summon the Kenawak masters with 50 mounts for my guard at Tenegress Prime, and suitable mounts for ten little ones,” Andrex drilled a finger the size of a baseball bat onto the Viceroy’s chest, accentuating each ‘YOU’ with pokes that would have punctured a semi tire, “...Then YOU will return to Channel Plaza and seek out Elder Denwayn - and YOU will beg him to teach YOU all about who YOU really are. Do YOU understand me, Viceroy Tarak?” I felt the last poke from 15 feet away, and heard Tarak grunt under the assault.

“Stone Clear, Strategos - it shall be done as you say,” he wheezed, scurrying off and still looking a whole lot more proud than I would have under that kind of drumming. Dude was gonna have a bruise the size of Montana across his chest, and no doubt his ego was on the receiving end of a marathon gang-bang at a nympho convention - that didn’t look to let up any time soon. Party’s over, boys and girls - Mom and Dad got home a little early - and I’m thinking they’re pretty pissed about how you took care of the house. Guess I really shouldn’t judge - it wasn’t as if humanity had actually stuck to its supposed original dictates, either. Whatever those may have been. What was the old joke? “Jesus is coming soon - and boy is he pissed.” The Eight Burdens must be similar to our own Ten Commandments, a list of thou shalt’s and shalt not’s - and there were eight Tunaki clans. Maybe each clan bore one of these burdens?

In two strides Andrex was at our table giving me a VERY hard look. “You and I, Topper Zack - we will not be friends, I think - I cannot be friends with those who would steal from me - and you have stolen a treasure I prize above most.” I choked a little on the water I was sipping on - my normally quick-witted tongue tangled in an inexplicable knot. Andrex broke into laughter and slapped me on the back hard enough to rattle my teeth. “I walk in a distant place for eons and the first two Toppers I meet are more ferocious than any Tunaki Warrior. Mighty Mouse slays a Drakos bare-handed, and Zack Dalton singlehandedly slays Morthos, the most hated spawn of Abaddon even in my own time. THAT is what you have stolen from me, Topper Zack. Vengeance.” Tunaki humor and camaraderie would definitely take a little getting used to. My ears were still ringing.

Eight of the ten warriors who peeled off after the Drakos scent approached the tables, the scarred and wizened older warrior holding a hand out to Andrex with four of the odd, matte-black die in his sandpaper palm. “Four fell easily, Strategos - all wearing Cytheran faces. One in Tunaki face has fled deeper into the city, but Curtz and Taka will slay it in short order.” Andrex plucked the die from the warrior’s palm, and motioned for a female Tunaki to approach. “Well done, Brizzock. We ride Kenawak today, old friend - summon scouts for a troop-level foray from Tenegress Prime - pick your best, Brizzock, there are Kilkenor craving death. But this Topper Zack Dalton…” Andrex nodded his oversized Chewbacca head at me, “...has made our job much easier. He slew Morthos with a single stroke yesterday.” Brizzock arched his one good eyebrow in genuine surprise, the scar running across half his face paling slightly. He nodded to me in an almost reverent bow, then slammed an iron fist across his chest in salute, along with all the other gathered warriors. “Those who steal from us cannot be our friends, Strategos - I hope this Topper knows that.” Brizzock’s voice was sandpaper over rough gravel, and his grin brought to mind a scary, fuzzy clown. Tunaki humor definitely was an acquired taste.

****************************

Mouse filled me in on korakom, Tunaki sage maidens, and told me about his adventures and misfortunes on Luna Base as we trotted along to Tenegress Prime, which was just a fancy name for the gateway to our place on Earth. Jacob told us each colony had three Tenegress gateway’s bridging the Tunaki and Human planes: the Prime, Alpha and Omega access points. The colonies were not just below the surface of the planet, they were beside our own plane - sharing the planet with us, but within a dimension just slightly out of sync with our own. That’s how they seemingly stayed beyond our awareness all these eons.

I was trying to focus on teaching Mouse how to properly mount a very spirited Cytheran thoroughbred, but kept getting distracted by the massive Tunaki warhorses - Kenawak - impressive, all-white beasts standing at least 25 hands; powerful chests, tightly braided manes with long, pearlescent hair flowing around their cannons and fetlocks. They were almost too pretty to be warhorses, in my opinion - a sentiment seemingly shared by Strategos Andrex. Many of the Tunaki were shearing the silken hair from the Kenawak’s legs with diamond-bladed daggers I could’ve used as a short sword, shaking their heads in disbelief at the too-pretty beasts.

“It is a wonder Abaddon does not already rule with such fools left as stewards of Earth… stone-cursed, fluffy show pony’s...” Andrex grumbled, more to himself than anyone else, deftly shaving the downy hair from the rear leg of his mount. The Kenawak Master was a frantic Cytheran who couldn’t seem to quit waving his hands, and almost passed out when the warriors began shearing the soft hair from the massive beast’s legs, screaming they were ruining his greatest investment. One look from Andrex sent him scurrying back to the stables in barely muffled sobs.

Àlo seemed pleased to see me, and wasn’t a bit skittish in the presence of the strange Kenawak’s that dwarfed him, nor did he shy away from the Tunaki warriors who patted him affectionately, staring curiously at his purple eyes. We all mounted and rode through a veil of shimmering crystal in the cavern wall and the very next moment were on the Arizona plain, a sheer wall of black rock at our backs, shaking off the chill of passage just outside the stony landscape of the resort at Enchantment. The experience was like those first seconds walking into a department store on a really hot day in Phoenix. One second you’re outside sweating balls, the next you’re awash in a blast of welcome, frozen air.

I shook off a tingle of chill and pointed distant Thunder Mountain out to Andrex, and the group picked their way eastward through the rocky terrain. When we reached flatter ground, twenty warriors galloped off ahead of us in a wide arc, staying about a quarter mile ahead and abreast, wooly Tunaki heads scanning the horizon, sensitive noses seeking out any Drakos or Kilkenor on the breeze. Andrex rode to the far left on a Kenawak stallion that didn’t look as pretty as the others; downright ugly as a matter of fact, but it seemed to somewhat placate the grumpy warrior - just a tad. The Tunaki sage-maiden Angelicas rode beside him on a much smaller Kenawak mare, the last beast still replete with flowing fetlocks; her eyes were closed and she swayed as she examined each of the korakom Brizzock had claimed earlier. Jacob, myself and Mouse took up the center, with Brizzock riding close to Mouse’s right. A solid line of mounted Tunaki took up the rear - I really couldn’t imagine a safer place to be in the whole world. When these guys had your back, you could sure breathe a little easier.

Evidence of the previous day’s deluge was all but gone. Puddles of gooey Liland filled up hollow spaces here and there, but the rain had washed the vast majority of the vital, purple dust away. I hoped Smokey’s stockpiling proved wise.

“Mighty Mouse,” rumbled Brizzock like a voice from the heavens, “I hope you do not deem me impolite, for I would never tell anyone who has slain a Drakos barehanded how to fight - but we will soon face Kilkenor - and they do not die as easily by hand alone.” The warrior eased his mount a little closer to Mouse, a tractor trailer merging lanes beside a Cooper Mini, and handed down a claymore-like broadsword in a beautifully finished scabbard of patinated silver. Delicate runes of turquoise embellished the locket and chape, and Mouse, jaws wide open, definitely had his Geek-meter fully pegged. If I didn’t already have a very cool sword I would’ve been quite jealous, really, and I hadn’t even seen the blade yet. I bit back my curiosity, instead whistling approval, and Mouse beamed like a proud, new parent. One of the smartest men ever to attend MIT and he was as giddy about sharp, shiny objects as I was. You gotta love a buddy.

“Brizzock, this is simply too much - way more than I can accept…”

Brizzock grunted a harumph, “Just quench its thirst for Drakos and Kilkenor blood, Mighty Mouse. Our debt is to the Creator - not one another,” adding solemnly and with a stern one-eyed gaze,”May you live long enough to never love using this, little brother. Stone keep you.” He nodded, then guided his mount forward to the right flank line with his fellow warriors.

Mouse thanked him as he rode off, then focused his attention on the blade, flashing me a wolfish grin. “I’d like to see you try and spin me ’til I puke with this in my hands, asshole.” Jacob laughed and I patted the hilt of my own sword, “Oh don’t you worry, Minnie Mouse, we’ll dance - you can bet on it. Just remember that a keyboard and some fancy code won’t get you out of this mess. And I don’t plan on hugging and kissing your neck anytime soon to give you such an easy target, pal. No way.” Mouse guffawed with a gleam in his eye.

“Bring it on, Zack - you just tell me where I need to stand and defend myself - should you happen to fall off that horse.” I laughed along with both of them. It was damn good to have Mouse back. Mighty or not.

Àlo began to nicker and prance, ears twitching nervously, the other horses shying away from the fidgety Paint. “Somethings up,” I said, clenching my knees into Àlo’s flanks — just in case — no way in hell was I gonna fly out of this saddle, especially after what Mouse just said.

The report of a rifle cracked through the air, followed by a quick volley of staccato small-arms fire - very close by. I felt for Beth, and terror and alarm punched into my chest. I wanted to shout a warning - but the Tunaki were already spurring their massive Kenawak’s forward, weapons at hand in a silent flash. Àlo strove to match them as best he could. In my mind I screamed out to Beth “We are almost there - hang on. Don’t shoot the fuzzy ones! They’re the good guys!!” I put as much force behind the thought as I could muster, or think I did, I was grunting more like I was constipated rather than trying to convey a sense of extreme urgency and calm.

Rifle fire continued as we crossed the ridge, but no rounds whizzed by our heads. Whoever was on the business end of the rifle must’ve known what they were doing. I kept repeating the warning in my head over and over when clear as a bell I heard Beth in my mind - “Enough, okay? I got it - big, fuzzy guys on giant white horses are friendlies - just hurry - we don’t have a lot of ammo.” I recoiled at the clarity and brevity of the contact, mumbled a muted “okay”, then drew my sword, for the first time wishing it was a .45 or .9 mil instead. Unfortunately, ‘Saber mounted calvary techniques’ hadn’t been a course at the academy for about a hundred years - but thank God for rich buddies that suckered me into playing polo. If I was gonna get killed, at least I’d look like I half-ass knew what I was doing.

Mouse shot off behind Brizzock looking like a seasoned jockey on derby day, his new blade bared — appearing to be handled quite capably, to my surprise and relief.

I focused on the cave entrance, a hundred yards up a scree and boulder-strewn path that switched lazily up the steep slope. Kilkenor blocked the entire path, massive black scorpion tails facing us as they clambered up through the rocks, yet to encounter the first of the quickly approaching and silent Tunaki warriors.

“Eamyuot D’Leh Kilkenor!!” roared Andrex as the first of his warriors plowed through the rear of the unholy beasts. Their trunks were of equal size to the Kenawak, powerful rear legs of a draft horse, front paws of an agile lion, appearing even larger with their massive scorpion tails curled skyward. Boiled leather armor covered massive chests rivaling Andrex in stature, with muscular arms gripping long, jagged blades of dirty bronze in clawed hands. Dreadlocked manes of black, orange and muddy tans framed hideous faces - ‘Eddie’ from the Iron Maiden album covers came to mind - albeit with the teeth of a saber toothed tiger and a winged body designed by Dr. Moreau on acid.

With each crack of the rifle I saw a Kilkenor stumble - about once every five seconds - with another clambering over it as if it were simply part of the terrain to overcome. One leapt to the air with a powerful beat of wings that must have spanned twenty feet or more - then crumpled in a heap as the rifle wielders continued to find their targets.

Tunaki blades decimated the Kilkenor line with ease, no hint of a pause as they plowed madly into the now-alerted creatures. The beasts closest to the cave never faltered, trudging upward as those around them continued to fall. Others closer to the Tunaki assault turned soulless eyes and feral grins to the new threat. I completely severed the tail of the Kilkenor Àlo picked out just as it was beginning to turn towards me, my liland blade sizzling through it’s blackened telson with fluid ease - Jacob cleanly relieving its head from its shoulders as he followed along closely behind. I urged Àlo along, the rest of the ascent a blur of crackling Kilkenor blood singing from my blade amidst screams, guttural howls and rifle fire.

I don’t recall dismounting, but soon found myself standing over a badly bleeding Beth at the cave’s entrance - the sticky blue blood of at least half a dozen Kilkenor I’d waded through and killed covering me. In mere moments or a lifetime I was holding her, desperately calling for help and vainly trying to stop the blood pouring out of her with every weakening heart beat, the red flow painting a grisly channel through the blue kilkenor blood pooling beneath us.

A teardrop bead of sweat trickled down the bridge of my nose, and the world went silent around me save for the the rapid thrumming of my pulse. Dust motes of liland stood suspended in front of my face, and the drop of perspiration that fell from my nose remained motionless just below my mouth, suspended in free-fall as if I were back on the space station. I tried to move my neck, but felt like I was kneeling in a cocoon of partially-set concrete.

I panicked and tried to will my limbs - anything - into motion, but only my eyes and innards seemed unaffected by whatever gripped me, and Beth remained lifelessly still in my arms. The din of battle was gone, figures around me frozen in time and clueless to their predicament. Hiro was in mid-stride rushing towards me to help with Beth, looking like a Samurai version of the Heismann Trophy, but his eyes were fixed and unmoving with no hint of panic or recognition.. Movement to my right caught my attention, but no amount of will would free me from the unnatural grip surrounding me.

Purposeful, unhurried and heavy steps sounded across the cave floor, the confident stride of something huge - and new panic surged within me as whatever it was moved closer, and I tried to shout, scream - anything - but remained completely immobilized.

The long strides drew closer, peppered with an intermittent SNAP like a brass weight tumbling on a glass table top between heavy footfalls. A cane? I felt the pressure of an immense hand on my back, but was so frozen not even my skin could crawl, although internally I was struggling against the invisible bonds with every fiber of my being, and felt the touch searing through my clothing and deep into my skin.

The unseen figure leaned in close behind me and stage-whispered in my ear with a deep, resonant voice of poisoned honey, “You picked the wrong team, Zack.” I felt hot breath burning upon my ear and neck from above me, and caught a heady waft of what I can only describe as rotting peppermint and Polo cologne- which in spite of current circumstance seemed weird as hell.

Abaddon! It had to be. A thousand jibes came to mind and I wanted to hurl them and slash with my sword at the bastard - but a dark wave roiled over my spirit - a grim and horrifying antithesis to Amalek’s gilded touch. The rapture, joy and hope of Amalek was swept away by a putrid roll of despondence and misery. The vile miasma emanated from Abaddon’s heavy hand and nauseated me to my very bones.

The contents of my stomach surged upward involuntarily as if to escape the darkness invading my core and splattered Hiro’s frozen form, my very soul shrieking in abject horror.

I stiffened as tendrils of darkness lashed at me like razored spider webs, for the slightest moment thankful the unnatural binding kept my face passive and the bastard couldn’t see the painful truth in my eyes. He soaked up my remembered pains like a desiccated vampire chomping on a hemophiliac fat chick, and my mind shamefully held droves of bitter fruit for him to harvest and gnaw on, and it just wouldn’t stop. A host of rabid and barbed mealworms were tunneling through the very marrow of my bones… over and over and over in a chittering feast of painful darkness.

Beth began to rise slowly from my arms, adding loss to the horror ripping through me. I tried shouting at the top of my lungs - tried vainly to will everything into motion again and again - but only heard the soft cackle of Abaddon and the sluggish thrumming of a pulse I prayed would just end.

Beth floated away towards the cave entrance, heavy drops of blood splashing across the red rock, each one a cacophony of sound in the unnatural silence, and tears ran down my motionless face.

“I want you to get used to this feeling, dog. I promise you it will be all you ever feel again.”

A surge of viscous hate drowned out the misery engulfing me, threatening my consciousness with its ferocity. Abaddon’t footfalls faded towards the cave entrance, and I stretched my eyes as far as they would go in an effort to catch even a glimpse of him, but the darkness and pain clouded any chance I might have. Tears clouded my peripheral vision, and all I managed to glimpse was a dark figure unhurriedly leaving the cave, the footfalls and snap of the cane a dirge to accompany the evil permeating my being.

And then I was alone with silent rage and whatever power that kept me fixed to the blood-covered cave floor, mentally screaming for Beth with whatever semblance of sanity I still held.