The tide of unmaking, p.37
The Tide of Unmaking, page 37
part #3 of Berinfell Prophesies Series
Any casualties the Russians inflicted were by chance. Nothing more. Skax smiled. The Russians, on the other hand, had suffered a humiliating loss. Four of the destroyers were ablaze and sinking. The nuclear subs had submerged and scattered, but arc charges disabled most of them before they got too far away. Warworms finished them off. Avacha Bay was a radioactive mess now. It was almost too easy.
But, something must be said of Russia’s valor, Skax thought. They are doomed, and yet they fight on. To the last man, perhaps?
“Well, so be it,” Skax said aloud, turning his Warfly into a dive. He emerged from a cloud bank and smiled again at the destruction. Skax cracked several pairs of arc bombs together and released them. The aircraft carrier already burned in several places. A huge fiery balloon of smoke boiled into the sky from its cracked hull near the conning tower. FOOM…FOOM…FOOM! Three helicopters still on deck went up in flashing fireballs, one after the other.
Skax looked for another target. He found a tight formation of three MiG-31 fighters screaming in from over the bay. Skax couldn’t keep up with them, and he certainly didn’t want to stay in front of their ridiculous cannons for long. He gave his Warfly a sharp tug, and the beast responded with a darting upward movement…the kind of aerial movement of which airplane pilots could only dream.
Satisfied with his altitude, Skax smacked two large arc bombs together and looked up. The MiGs were nearly upon him. He dropped the arc bombs and yanked on the reigns. The Warfly zipped upward and zigzagged out of range. The arc bombs exploded directly in front of the three MiGs. Angry orange fire churned within the larger white flame burst, and the Russian fighters were gone.
From his current altitude, Skax saw two things: a serious rain front was moving in from the west, and the Russians had mobilized their armored cavalry at last.
The rain was somewhat troubling. Skax had seen the Gnomic invisibility paste tested. It was waterproof, so the rain shouldn’t matter. But Skax didn’t want to take a chance. Losing their invisibility would be more than a little problematic. He looked up at the dark mantle of cloud, just now sweeping in over the western volcano range. Something looked odd about the clouds and the rain curtain beneath them, but Skax couldn’t identify the issue.
Thunderous artillery fire below jerked Skax’s attention back to the tanks and other armored vehicles crawling over the battlefield. He knew the Warspiders would be scurrying to get out of their way, but he also knew the tanks wouldn’t stop. They would set up a skirmish line and press forward, firing ordnance at varying ranges until they hit the Warspiders. Skax knew that wouldn’t take long. And, agile as they were, the Warspiders wouldn’t be able to maneuver forever.
“Time to have a little fun,” Skax muttered. As he drove his Warfly into a dive toward the tanks, he recalled the Dark Arts commands he’d need. Russian soldiers marched in fire teams behind the tanks. But their attention was straight ahead. Those who did look up didn’t see Skax bringing his Warfly to a frantic hover in front of the tanks.
Skax put his knobby hands together. He uttered a series of rites and stretched his hands apart. Some thirty feet below, directly in front of the line of tanks, a seam tore open in midair. Bluish electrical arcs danced on its jagged perimeter as the portal window ripped wider and wider. The Russian tanks rumbled forward. Sparks flew and the portal flared as tanks edged into the hole.
Skax watched with glee as each and every tank that drove even a few feet into the portal became disabled. The portals, he knew, wouldn’t allow anything but organic materials to enter. Skax slammed his hands together. The portal collapsed, sheering off portions of tanks across the battlefield. Skax opened the next portal across the middle of nine armored vehicles. Then he brought the portal to a crashing close, gutting the enemy. The remaining tanks and the soldiers opened fire, but hit nothing.
SCREEEE!
A chorus of shrieks and screams came from the west, but not far. Skax knew those sounds: dying Warspiders and Warflies. Had the enemy gotten lucky with their artillery once more?
The cacophony of pain rose in strength and pitch to the point that Skax’s Warfly began to buck wildly. Skax nearly fell but, with a few swift kicks, managed to force his mount to submit. He couldn’t blame the creature. The cries were as disturbing as they were continuous. Skax snapped the reigns and raced west.
The storm had been moving much faster than Skax anticipated. It had already crossed over the westward volcanoes and was even now intruding upon the field of battle. Skax felt a cold chill. He’d been right to fear the rain. The Gnomic paste must have failed. The rain water washed it off, and now the Russians could see—and attack—the invaders. Skax winded his horn three times—the signal for retreat—and drove his Warfly west at top speed.
Skax looked down at the terrain blurring beneath the Warfly. Based on their battle plan, he knew that he was flying over a sector where there should have been hundreds of Warspiders and half a legion of Gwar and Drefid soldiers. Of course, they were all invisible. Still, Skax raced on. The storm front and the volcanoes loomed ahead.
“NO!” Skax yelled. He yanked the reigns. The Warfly tried to respond, but couldn’t make the turn in time. Its left wing slid into the rain curtain. The creature shrieked and jagged hard. It began to spin out of control. Skax leaped from his saddle just as the Warfly buried itself in rocky, half-frozen ground.
Skax hadn’t gotten much lift. He extended his talons and flailed at the limbs of a tree as he sailed by, but that only served to throw him further off balance. There was no way to land on his feet, so he tried to roll. The angle was all wrong. He hit his shoulder, heard a sharp snap, and screeched his agony into the wind. He rose unsteadily to his feet. Pain throbbed along the right side of his body, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He couldn’t. His mind was consumed with the sight before him.
“What…what is this?” he asked in a scratchy whisper. What he saw made no sense. The storm front…the rain curtain…it was destroying everything it touched. Skax blinked at the series of startling flashes before him. And in the instant of each flash, there had been just the briefest of shadow images—Warspiders and soldiers—silhouetted in the moment of death.
There were more flashes higher on the rain curtain. Warflies, no doubt, Skax thought with what reasoning he had left. They weren’t able to turn away in time and burned up.
But he still could not understand what he was watching. He’d been over and over the reports. Except for nuclear warheads, the Russians had no weapon of this magnitude. Skax looked at the approaching curtain of death. It scorched the ground as it came, devouring turf, tree and stone. It seemed to make no difference. There came a rumbling behind him.
It was the thunder of a large group, an army. Skax turned to the east but saw nothing. The sound grew louder and louder. It was all around him. “NO!” Skax yelled. “Turn back! Turn back!”
It was his own army. Hundreds of Warspiders and thousands of troops. He had sounded the retreat, and now they all raced west…into certain death. He spun and looked for his war horn. He’d lost it in the fall.
He limped down a hill. He had to find it. Something banged into his shoulder, spun him around, and knocked him to the ground. “NO!” he screeched. “You fools, turn ba—!”
The Warspider’s foreleg pierced Skax’s breastplate, impaling his chest, and then tore free. The second limb crushed his skull. He hadn’t seen it coming. And his army raced west, not realizing the doom that was upon them.
“Flee!” Irethor cried out. “Take only what you absolutely need and only what you can get swiftly! The Tide is upon you!”
The scout from Berinfell stood under the eaves of the highest bell tower in Wooten Vale and shouted from the depths of his lungs. In between yelling out warnings, he rang the colossal bell. Down below, the Elves who lived in this village at the western edge of the Thousand League Forest, ran from storage buildings and from their homes. They were running for their lives.
Irethor wished he had five-hundred Scarlet Raptors to bear the village into the sky and out of harm’s way. But he had only one flying mount. His mind raced as he screamed more warnings. He knew he’d arrived at Wooten Vale just in time. If the villagers moved swiftly, they could escape. And, if the need were upon them, Elves could travel through the trees more rapidly than most of Allyra’s races.
Irethor looked up. The need was most certainly upon the Elves of Wooten Vale. The Tide of Unmaking loomed just a few hundred yards from the village. Irethor watched as one of the scattered trees on the other side of the village wall vanished in a blue-white flash. That tree had lived for over a hundred years and now, in the single beat of a heart, it was gone.
Irethor blinked. That cannot be right, he thought. The Tide was just outside the wall. It cannot be here already. Irethor stumbled backward, striking the bell. “No, no,” he whispered. “Its speed has increased.”
Irethor grabbed the bell rope and heaved. The peal was louder and more frantic than before. Irethor yelled, “Forget your belongings! Go now! Flee for the trees! Flee for Berinfell!”
He leaped out of the bell tower, slid down the rooftop, and dropped hard to his feet. His raptor shifted nervously as Irethor climbed into his saddle. Then, he was in the air. He looked down at the Elves as they fled into the Thousand League Forest. He prayed for them to make it safely to Berinfell. Then, as he rose above the treetops, he looked into the hazy east. Berinfell was there. But what safety would that grand city provide against the Tide of Unmaking?
37: Echoes Uncertain
“WHAT DO YU MEAN SHE’S gone?” Jimmy asked. “She’s a Lord now. She can’na just leave.”
“Leave, did she indeed,” Migmar replied.
Bengfist shrugged his shoulders and said, “She must have been watching Migmar work the moniterds, and when our backs were turned, she went right out through a portal.”
“I knew her grudge against Asp was strong,” Kat said. “But I never thought she would go after him on her own.”
“I don’t think she ever really believed diplomacy would work with Asp,” Tommy said. “In her mind, Asp has to die. She should have waited for us. She’s going to get herself killed.”
“Uhm…” Migmar said. “Thinking me not that reason she left.”
“What?” Autumn asked. “Of course that’s why she went. Why else would she leave?”
Bengfist held out a small leather-bound text. It looked tiny in his massive hands. “What my backwards speaking friend here means,” the Gwar Overlord explained, “is that Lady Taeva left this behind.” Bengfist handed it to Tommy and said, “It does not paint a very promising picture.”
Tommy passed the book on to Kat. “Do your thing, Kat,” he said. “Broadcast it.”
Bengfist snatched the book back. “It is long,” he said, flipping the pages with remarkable dexterity given his thick fingers. “Very long. But…hmm, no…a moment, yes, here! Here, read these pages. They are the most…informative.” He handed the book back to Kat.
“I have a feeling I’m not going to like this,” she said.
“No,” Migmar replied. “Like it not at all.”
Norander, 1443
As near as I can tell, two months have passed since my last entry…since just before the birth. The poison he gave me forced the child from my womb prematurely. Thank Ellos she was conceived before the venom, for she appears in every way normal. As normal as the child of an Elf maiden and a halfbreed Elf Gwar could be.
But whatever she is or might become, she is my child. She is precious to me. A ray of light into this dark place. So smart she is. She quiets with a touch and mimics my every expression. Brave too. For she looks upon me without fear. In fact, she loves me. I have named her in First Voice, the oldest Elven language. Her name means Spark of Life. Her name is Taeva.
I have come to bitter terms with my fate. This thing that I have become, this wicked spider-like monstrosity, will never be able to mother another child. I feed Taeva but fear what might travel from my body to hers. And I do not know my own strength. Each time I touch her I am afraid I will wound her…or worse. No, as much as I long to do so, I cannot be the mother precious Taeva needs. And this, this dark cavern cannot be her home.
I have delayed our parting out of selfishness. So far, I have kept her hidden from him. But for how much longer? And so it comes to this day…this cursed day. I have made arrangements with a Drefid who, among all the beings of Allyra, are most skilled in stealthy movement. His name is Asp. I am not certain if he is loyal to my cause or just to his own private agenda. In any case, he is clearly not loyal to my husband. And that is enough for me.
In exchange for such treasures as I have left, Asp has agreed to bear Taeva safely from Vesper Crag. When I implored him to deliver Taeva to a family of means, he insisted upon the Taladrim, who have no heir. I have never trusted the Taladrim, but then, what of my judgment? History will never show me wise.
Tomorrow, before dawn, I will gaze upon Taeva one last time. And then, Asp will bear her away. My only love will be taken from me…my last strand of hope leaves with her.
As one, the Lords looked up at Bengfist with a twisted expression of both recognition and fear.
Tommy blinked the fog from his eyes and asked, “Is this who I think—”
Bengfist nodded. He took back the journal, paged through it to a place much later in the book, and then handed it to Kat. “Now, now read this,” he said. “And brace yourselves.”
Wretched. I am a misbegotten creature from a misbegotten race. All those useless words about honor and nobility! Elves and their beloved Ellos! Where are they both when I need them? Vesper Crag stands as a haughty insult to all of Allyra. And the Elves? The Elves are hiding! Faithless and fearful, they hide.
Allyra is left to rot, and I am left to languish…to fester. More than twenty years have passed! And he uses me to breed a race of savage creatures. I have become his brood mother…a Queen of spiders.
Curse the Elves! Curse the so-called Children of Light! If I could, I would reach across this world and poison them all!
Maybe one day, I will.
In this imprisonment, I have grown powerful. Though now my body is so wracked with venom I fear my writings may soon end, such is the impediment of my faculties. The Elves have forgotten me…forgotten and forsaken me. But before all has ended, I will make them remember my name. Navira will haunt their steps until the end of this age.
“Navira,” Kat whispered.
“The Spider Queen,” Tommy said. “Taeva’s mother.”
“But,” Johnny said, “that would make the Spider King…her father.”
Tommy nodded and stared at the ground.
“And Asp was the one who took Taeva to safety,” Kiri Lee said. “He brought Taeva to the Taladrim.”
“Taeva used us,” Tommy said. “The whole time…all she was was a spy for Asp.”
“That can’na be right,” Jimmy said. “She helped oos against Asp’s forces in Thynhold Cairn. She came to oos for help. I mean, Asp killed her people, for cryin’ out loud!”
“They were never her people,” Tommy said. “Not really. If Taeva had her mother’s journal all this time, there is no doubt she shares her mother’s hatred of the Elves.”
“I don’t know, Tommy,” Kat said. “I never read Taeva’s mind, but I thought sure that…well, that she had a good heart. She’s wounded, but I thought—deep down—she was…I don’t know. Ugh, this is so hard to take.”
“So she’s gone to Asp, is it?” Jimmy said.
Bengfist nodded. “I fear it is so. Migmar and I have read a little more of the journal in the time you were gone, but these two passages you have now read, they speak plainly the message of the whole.”
“We should’a never made her one of oos,” Jimmy said.
“I tried to tell you that,” Kiri Lee said. “We should have waited for Jett. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t remember us. Maybe Ellos is punishing us for choosing on our own!”
“Yu can’t know that!” Jimmy shot back.
“No, none of us can know,” Tommy said. “And none of us should presume to know Ellos’ judgment.”
Jimmy nodded slowly.
“But it was the Spider King who poisoned Taeva’s mother,” Autumn said. “It was that Dark Arts poison! Taeva should despise the Spider King! She should hate Asp too. He’s a Drefid, and he’s all mutated like the Spider King, right?”
“Maybe she did hate the Spider King,” Tommy said. “But he’s dead. Vesper Crag is thrown down. But Asp was there before. He was there with Navira…aided her to bear Taeva to safety. And now Asp is mutated just like Navira and bent on destorying Elven kind, along with the humans…maybe that’s why Taeva’s sympathetic to him.”
“I don’t buy it,” Johnny said. “She fought with too much vengeance. She can’t be all friendly with Asp now. Or maybe that was just to impress us.”
“Too many maybes,” Autumn said.
“One thing’s certain,” Jimmy said. “We’re in big trouble.”
38: Communication Breakdown
“TROUBLE,” TOMMY SAID, “DOESN’T BEGIN to cover it.”
“Right,” Johnny said. “Asp is already blastin’ Earth with who-knows-how-many legions.”
“The Nemic are marching on Berinfell,” said Kiri Lee.
“Taeva’s gone and betrayed us,” Bengfist grumbled.
“Oh, and let’s not forget,” Jimmy said. “We have a wee wall of electrical energy fair eatin’ oop both worlds unless we can stop it.”
“Wait,” Kat said, a strange look on her face. “There’s still more. The Prophecies of Berinfell tell us that we have to get every last Allyran being off of Earth and back to Allyra.”
