The tide of unmaking, p.36
The Tide of Unmaking, page 36
part #3 of Berinfell Prophesies Series
The last five minutes seemed to be the worst. It was like the hands of that gigantic tower clock had stopped moving. Caerfasz couldn’t stand it. Then, at last, a viable excuse arrived. A military helicopter had been spotted, racing in from the east. At its current speed and heading, it would likely plow right into the invisible, hovering squadron. Premature discovery was not acceptable. Nor was signaling the whole squadron to move out of the helicopter’s way. Caerfasz wouldn’t let that happen.
So, at two minutes to midnight, Caerfasz lifted the war horn from his chest and winded it. The sonorous, moaning horn was an eerie cry in the night. And the entire invisible squadron, six-hundred Warflies strong, surged forward to carry out their mission. Caerfasz drove his mount into a dive. He saw the crowd below, thousands of unsuspecting humans, milling about at the base of the London Eye. Perhaps, they were waiting for their chance to ride. What a shame.
Caerfasz pulled up suddenly and cracked two, tear-shaped arc bombs together. They flared to life, and Caerfasz let them fall. The bombs kindled brighter and brighter, a searing blue to an intensifying white just as they struck the concrete foundation beneath the Eye. The arc bombs shrieked when they exploded, followed by blinding light and a thunderous report. A shockwave rippled out into the crowds. A wave of screams answered.
Then came the groan.
The steel A-frame legs of the Eye had been superheated by the initial blasts. They groaned against the tension created by the six backstay cables holding the great wheel in place. But the blasts hadn’t been enough.
Caerfasz had already circled back. This time, he dropped three separate bomb pairs. One after another, they crashed down and exploded. Anyone on the ground who hadn’t been flash incinerated by the first two bombs, disappeared now in successive walls of white fire. The steel glowed like it had come fresh from a forge. Then it buckled.
The backstay cables went suddenly slack as the A-frame bent backward, and the wheel crashed in upon itself. The cable spokes ripped from their hub and slashed the nearby Jubilee Gardens and the Film Museum across the road. Passenger capsules slammed into the concrete, exploding. Some snapped off and flew into the Thames River.
The London Eye was no longer recognizable as a wheel. Amidst the fire, there was only a gigantic skeleton of twisted steel. Sirens sounded from every area of the city. The rest of Caerfasz’s squadron had been busy as well.
The Tower of London had been obliterated, and Elizabeth Tower would never tick past two minutes to midnight because it now lay in ruins. Yes, this mission is satisfying, Caerfasz thought.
“Terror,” Asp had said. “I want you to create terror.”
Niloth Fel, nephew of the former High Councillor Grundin Fel, sat atop a red Warspider downslope from Shanhaiguan Pass in China’s Hebei Province. These deadly beasts were normally reserved for Drefids, but Fel had so distinguished himself among the Gwar that he had been awarded this steed. Unlike his more diplomatic uncle, Niloth had seen very little point in negotiations. When the leadership of the Taladrim and the Saer hesitated to support Asp, Niloth had advocated the wholesale annihilation of each race. And when Asp needed to eliminate great numbers of these beings to make a point, he had turned to Niloth to see that it was done.
And so, Niloth sat upon his red Warspider, an invisible general with invisible legions behind him, and waited for the signal.
WHOOSH. A single red skyrocket surged into the heavens. Scores of tourists, strolling along the Great Wall or climbing the Zhendong Tower, watched it go up. Some gasped. Many cheered. It was all part of the experience, and they reveled in it. After all, it was a popular saying among the Chinese that, “He who has never been to the Great Wall is not a true man.”
Leaving a trail of orange sparks behind it, the rocket raced ever higher until, FOOM! One thunderous clap of power, and the Shanhaiguan Pass was bathed in red light.
Niloth Fel grinned, lifted his war horn, and loosed a fearsome call. A strange hush traveled rapidly from the tower down the length of the wall. If his engineers had done their job correctly, Nilhoth knew the silence was very much temporary. Any moment now, he thought.
There! The first flash of an arc stone charge, at the base of the wall beneath the Zhendong Tower. It blazed to life, brighter and brighter, until Niloth couldn’t stare at it any longer. Then, it detonated.
Twenty-three-hundred year old stone sprayed into the sky. Screams rang out from the tower as the foundation trembled. The second arc stone charge had been activated by the first. It exploded, and the tower foundered. It crumbled as it fell, collapsing in a cloud of fire, smoke and dust.
The third charge went off, and another section of the Great Wall erupted. The chain reaction had begun. Niloth watched with a mixture of fascination and pride as charge after charge exploded. To the far west, there were bright flashes, and Niloth knew his comrades had begun their assault as well. As per Asp’s orders, Niloth and other teams all across China were systematically destroying the Great Wall of China. It would be a blow to their national pride. And it would send a signal to the Chinese and the world that their enemy was immense and well-armed. Any foe who could simultaneously obliterate fifty-five-hundred miles of ancient stonework, was a force to be reckoned with.
Niloth winded his war horn once more. It was time for the Warspiders to move in…to pick off the survivors and answer any military response the Chinese might offer. Niloth laughed to himself. As if they could offer any real resistance.
Had Niloth known that the nation to his east had just been incinerated by a force of destruction not even Asp could compare with, perhaps he would have thought better of scorning the Chinese resistance at all.
35: The Collector
“HE HAS RETURNED,” THE DREFID at the console said. “Just as you said he would, my Lord.”
“Are you certain, Zirile?” Asp asked. His long cloak rippled and, in a blink, the Drefid ruler stood by the bank of computer monitors. This field setup wasn’t as elaborate or as powerful as his Canadian encampment deep in the mountainside, but it at least gave Asp a bird’s eye view of his other theatre of war. And in this particular case, it gave him a lead on the elusive pet project he was so eager to capture.
Zirile smiled wickedly. “Your word is certain, Lord Asp,” he said. “But I know better than to speak theories to you. According to the digital recorder, he first arrived yesterday morning. See here in this first segment.”
Zirile’s long fingernail moved slowly on the optical pad, causing the still-moving image to zoom. “You see,” he said. “Right here. He’s on the front steps. Now he turns. There!” He tapped a button, and the image froze.
Asp leaned closer, eerie blue light from the monitor illuminating his skullish face. “The size and frame are correct. The color of his flesh…could be Lyrian.”
“Is Lyrian,” Zirile said, his fingers flying across the keyboard like spiders’ legs. “I took the liberty of looking up photographs from Jett’s time on Earth. It seems he was rather the local hero. Many, many photographs in the news. I scanned those into the facial recognition software I modified and…see for yourself, my Lord. A perfect match.”
“Lord Hamandar Nightwing,” Asp said. “Welcome back to the world of the living.”
“If there was any doubt,” Zirile said, “you can see how his parents fawn all over him when they open the door.”
“There is no doubt, Zirile,” Asp said. “You have done well.”
“Thank you, my Lord. I am moving Cragons in as we speak.”
“Surround the house,” Asp said. “But do not attack. I want to collect Hamandar myself.”
“Jett, honey, eat a little more,” Hazel Green said. “Pot roast with onion gravy is your favorite.”
Jett’s eyelids were only half open. He held the fork in his hand, but didn’t move it toward the food his mother had generously piled onto the plate.
“Let ’im be,” Austin Green said. “He’s been through a lot.”
“You mean today?” she asked.
“No, I mean all of it.”
“Just how much ‘a that you think is true?”
Mr. Green glanced at Jett, then back to his wife. “C’mon, Hazel,” he said, standing up. “Let’s give Jett a little peace.”
He led his wife into the study, a place he figured would be out of earshot for Jett. Once he closed the French doors, he said, “You know I don’t want to believe them any more than you do. Shoot, they’re all freaks to me. But I know a liar when I see one. And those kids, not a one a’ them is lying. They might be crazy, but they ain’t lying.”
“But they said…” her voice thinned and cracked. “They said he died. They said our boy died.”
“Maybe they thought he did,” Mr. Green said. “They sure believed it. You see the look on their faces when they saw Jett? Especially that Asian girl. What was her—”
“Kiri Lee.”
“Right, Kiri Lee. That look on her face near broke my heart. Reminded me of the look on your face. Remember the game against the Raiders? Ole Jack Granger put that hit on me, knocked me clean out. I woke up, saw that look in your eyes.”
“I thought you were paralyzed,” Hazel said. “Thank God you weren’t.”
“I know one thing,” Mr. Green said. “Our Jett would’a given his life for a friend. He wouldn’t a’ thought twice about it.”
“Jesus said ‘Greater love has no man than this: that he give up his life for a friend.’ Jett always liked that verse. I ‘spect you’re right about—”
“Shh!” Mr. Green held up a hand. “You hear something?”
She shook her head.
Mr. Green opened the French doors a foot and leaned out. He listened a few moments and then ducked back in. “Must be gettin’ windy. That strip a’ siding’s still loose. Anyway, after all we’ve seen, I can’t see why we shouldn’t believe those kids. Except…”
“Except that Jett’s alive.”
Mr. Green nodded. “Yet he doesn’t seem right. He doesn’t talk much ‘cept when he’s angry. Didn’t know his friends either, if they were his friends. Not even sure he knows us, not really, not like he used to.”
“He found his way back home, didn’t he?”
“That’s promising,” Mr. Green said. “I’m gonna give Chad Riley a call. He’s one of the Panthers’ new docs. He’s supposed to know a lot about brain injuries, kind of a specialist they hired ‘cause of all those concussions. Bet he could steer us in the right direction.”
“Good idea,” Hazel said. “Can you call him tonight?”
“I will. Now, let’s go sit with our boy.” Mr. Green opened the door, and they walked back toward the kitchen.
“Y’know, it’s funny,” Hazel said. “But after losing Jett once, I just don’t want to let him out of our sight—”
Mr. and Mrs. Green stopped and stared. They’d been gone only a few moments. But Jett’s food was untouched, and his chair was now empty.
“Hamandar Nightwing, we meet face-to-face,” Asp said. The Drefid lord stood between two massive, swaying trees just inside the fence to the Green’s property. Lightning lit the night. Thunder sounded eventually, a long, low rumble like a distant avalanche. Cold wind swirled. “You heard my call.”
Jett stood unmoving for several moments, a massively built, shadowy figure. Then, he nodded slowly.
“I was afraid that you were perhaps beyond reaching,” Asp said. “But then, the healing gift is strong in your family line. Very strong indeed. You aren’t the first to come back, you know.”
Lightning lit Jett’s face, his eyes embers of violet fire.
“Several generations back,” Asp said, “one of your line was buried and forgotten, only to rise again in time to meet his grandchildren. It is a curious thing. You didn’t actually die, you know. Oh, it was a mortal blow that you absorbed. It shut down every system of your body, but began recreating you immediately. Cell by cell. It took years. It would have taken at least another year or two had I not…sped up the process a bit.”
Asp held up three fingers. A red electrical arc wobbled at his jagged fingertips. He held his boney fingers to his lips and blew. The spark became a dancing red strand. It floated through the air and landed on Jett’s cheek. It snaked its way up Jett’s face and disappeared into the corner of his left eye.
Jett smiled.
“You like it,” Asp said. “That is the taste of power. And there is much more for you, Hamandar…if you serve me well. Come.”
Jett tilted his head sideways, down to one shoulder and then the other, cracking vertebrae. He began to follow Asp when there came a metallic clicking from behind.
“Don’t you go another step, Son,” Mr. Green said. “Not with that monster anyway.” He lifted his shotgun and pointed it at Asp’s chest.
Asp looked closely at the gun. “A Mossberg 835, smooth bore 12-guage—I have made a point to study the weapons of your world. Good choice, Mr. Green. Perfect for home protection.”
“Good enough to wipe that grin off your face,” Austin Green said.
“Perhaps,” Asp said. “But if you fire, you might hit your son.”
“He’ll heal,” Mr. Green said. “But you won’t.”
The cold wind intensified, rustling dead leaves between them. Lightning flash-lit the yard, creating shadowy faces in the shrubs and in the trees.
Asp stepped toward Mr. Green. “I sincerely apologize that you’ve become attached to Jett,” he said. “But he is no longer your son. In fact, he never was.”
“Shut your slack-jawed mouth,” Mr. Green commanded, bracing the shotgun against his shoulder. He switched off the safety and slid his finger from the guard to the trigger. “Don’t you come any closer!”
Asp moved slowly, but didn’t pause in his movements. “Jett is Elven,” Asp said. “Not human. He was never meant to come into your world. Regrettably, there were weaker vessels of my kind who brought Jett here.” With each step forward, Asp’s talons slowly began to extend. “One man’s loss is another man’s gain, I think you say. I have simply come to reconcile the error, to ah…collect what is mine.”
Austin Green had made many important decisions in his life. But he’d never taken such a risk as this one. Asp stood just in front of Jett now, and those sharp talons were emerging.
“You said Jett belongs to you,” Mr. Green said. “That’s where you’re wrong. You can’t own a man.”
He fired.
The shotgun blast should have ripped the Drefid’s left side to shreds. But the buck shot stopped in a swirling cloud of red mist just inches from Asp’s outstretched hand. Storm-driven wind blew the mist away, and Mr. Green’s shotgun blast went with it.
“That was valiant, Mr. Green,” Asp said, still advancing. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you. Now, you can fire again and again, use every round you have, and watch me blow them away. Or you can rescue your wife.”
Asp pointed to the Green’s home. Mr. Green turned, keeping Asp in his peripheral vision. But when he saw the massive dark trees moving in on his home, his heart fell. He’d seen first hand the damage that Cragons could do, and these were bigger than the others he’d seen.
“Isn’t this fun?” Asp asked. “You cannot save Jett or your wife. But you have to try. Am I right? Those Cragons are already ripping up the roof of your home. You told your wife to wait there, didn’t you? Probably in the basement…a storm cellar, I imagine. But Cragons are not like some mindless tornadic wind. Their gnarled fingers snap timber and crack stone. They will search out every corner, every crevice until they find her. And then…”
Austin Green looked down at the shotgun. He looked at his son. In the lightning flickers, Jett’s stare was sullen…cruel.
“Son, you don’t have to go with him,” Mr. Green said. “We’re your family! Don’t let him own you. Jett, don’t you know me, boy? Please.”
Jett cracked his neck again and then, almost sneering, he said, “Go home, old man.”
If someone had sucker-punched Austin Green in the gut, it wouldn’t have had nearly the impact of those words.
CRACK!
Mr. Green turned, saw a section of what had been their family room collapse, two Cragons mercilessly crushing and tearing.
“Let me make this easy for you, Mr. Green,” Asp said. “You have no weapon that can harm me. Jett has renounced you. I will leave with him. You really have but one choice.”
Asp slashed the air with his talons. A shimmering portal opened behind Jett.
Mr. Green’s eyes grew huge and plaintive. He looked back and forth between Jett and his home. Back and forth. No hope versus little hope. Back and forth.
Lightning blasted. Somewhere very close. Thunder crashed instantaneously. And Mr. Green turned and fled for his home.
Asp laughed quietly, put his arm around Jett’s shoulder, and led him into the portal. “Come, Hamandar,” Asp said. “We have much to do.”
36: When Kingdoms Crumble
SKAX TURNED HIS WARFLY OUT of combat and brought it to hover so that he could think. The attack on Russia’s Pacific Fleet had gone exceedingly well. Stationed at Petropavolvsk on the Avacha Bay, the Pacific Fleet Base had an aircraft carrier, six destroyers, and more than a dozen nuclear submarines. ‘Had’ being the operative word, Skax thought.
Asp’s senior general did the calculations. Yes, it was true he’d lost a dozen Warflies, mostly due to the MiG-31 Interceptors flying about like hornets. The Russians had made cunning use of their forward cannons, each plane capable of strafing the skies with close to ten-thousand rounds per minute. And several Warspiders had been burned up by the ship-based artillery. The destroyers had found the right range once, but only once.
