by Ramy Vance
The sentiment tickled Anabelle. She didn’t understand why these humans would want to prove themselves to her. Nothing but disdain had come from her mouth since they had arrived. She chalked it up to human resilience.
If anything, they don’t know when to quit.
Anabelle peered over a boulder. The squad of orcs was moving toward her position. The Dark Gate was still open, but the orcs appeared to have other business to attend to. They hadn’t taken battle formation yet. It was likely they still didn’t know the human soldiers were here.
She turned to the private. “All right, how much combat experience do you have?” she asked. “I need to know what you’re all capable of.”
The private answered quickly, showing his military experience with his tone. “Three tours with the US Marines,” he barked. “Might not be used to shooting at orcs, but I’m more than comfortable with the shooting part. We won’t hold you back if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
At least this one isn’t oblivious, Anabelle thought. “All right, then this is what we’re doing.”
The private and the other able-bodied soldiers leaned in as Anabelle explained how they were going to get out of this mess.
The orcs were returning to the Dark Gate. Whatever had interested them enough to leave the Gate must have turned out to be inconsequential. Remaining by the portal seemed to be their priority at the moment.
Anabelle and the four soldiers were sneaking around the back of the ridge where the orcs had posted up. Once in position, she tossed a rock behind her, toward a soldier armed with a plasma rifle who was set up against a boulder, halfway between Anabelle and the rest of the men. He, in turn, grabbed the rock with his free hand and chucked it toward the soldiers behind him.
The bulk of the soldiers were grouped together, and when the rock landed at their feet, they sent up a loud shout of agony, whooping dramatically, trying to call as much attention to themselves as possible.
It worked. The orcs atop the ridge came to the edge in search of the origin of the noise. As they prepared to investigate the source of the commotion, Anabelle and the humans began to scale the ridge. They worked fast, scrambling up the side of the hill, not at all worried about noise since the yelling from the other soldiers gave them enough cover.
Once Anabelle arrived at the top of the ridge, she checked the orcs’ positions in case they had heard her and her team coming. From what she could see, they were already descending the hill and moving toward the rest of her squad. She quickly turned to help the private and two other soldiers up.
When the small fireteam was all atop the ridge, Anabelle gave the signal to the private, who aimed his plasma rifle at one of the orcs. At the last second, the private pointed the gun at the largest orc and fired five shots at the creature, felling him. “One down,” he muttered.
The orcs whipped around, drawing their weapons. Down in the valley, the soldier who had relayed the rock message aimed his rifle. He fired, the shot tearing through one of the orcs, who fell off the ridge, dead.
Anabelle and the soldiers took cover behind a set of boulders closer to the Dark Gate. The private nodded at her and then saluted before breaking cover and opening fire.
The air quickly erupted into a blistering-hot volley of plasma blasts from the human soldiers. The orcs were caught off-guard for a second time by the assault from the rear, a few of them slumping over, dead from the attack.
Anabelle slipped in among the chaos, the words of her trainers reminding her not to lose herself on the Road. That was always the danger. Each battle brought you ever closer to losing yourself. She had heard of Travelers of the Road being consumed by a bloodlust to rival the most insane berserker’s.
An orc aimed his plasma rifle at Anabelle and fired. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she barely managed to deflect the attack with a small barrier. Since she was already up in her head, she reminded herself to pay attention to how much manna she was using.
The benefit of a wand was manna conservation. The tradeoff to not using a wand was the ability to manipulate more magic in its rawest elemental form. Anabelle may not have been able to call down a thunderstorm, but the lightning in her kicks would be more focused. And lightning is lightning.
“Cover me,” Anabelle shouted as she dashed forward, pulling manna into her legs for more speed while also infusing a small electrical storm around her body. She zipped in between two orcs, kicked one in the head, flipped over the other, and brought her knee down hard into his face.
The remaining orcs scrambled below the edge of the ridge, hiding from the human squad at the summit, who were still firing. The orcs turned their attention to Anabelle, who was backing away, sizing up her next point of attack.
There was hardly any time for planning. The orcs opened fire, ignoring the humans crouched behind the rock, focusing all of their attention on Anabelle.
Which wasn’t what she had expected. She’d thought the orcs would have chosen to destroy the weaker foe—the humans. Instead, they’d concentrated all the energy on the person who was most likely going to kill them.
One of the orcs reached into his satchel and pulled out a grenade. He lobbed it at the group of armed humans. A second passed before the grenade exploded, throwing the soldiers into the air, where they floated, suspended and vulnerable.
The orc who had thrown the grenade peeled off from his squad. He must have believed he didn’t need any help dealing with the humans. Anabelle agreed with him, all too aware that if she didn’t intervene, the soldiers were dead.
She tossed up another barrier as she ran toward the humans. The orcs fired, and she extended the barrier so she didn’t have to pay attention to each blast.
The soldiers, unable to move, floated lazily, their eyes wide as the orc approached them. He had probably intended to savor these kills, or he would have fired from afar. He must have wanted to be close, to feel their blood spill across his hands.
The orc unsheathed an ax and swung it cheekily as he approached the soldiers.
Anabelle came up behind him, her hands flaming, momentarily dropping the shield. She swiped the orc across the neck, slicing his head from his shoulders. It flew through the air in a burning arc.
Plasma shots came from behind her. Anabelle barely turned in time to deflect the first three. The plasma went careening into the sky and burned out.
She positioned herself between the humans and the orcs. A good number of orcs still remained, but Anabelle’s brain hadn’t yet kicked into fighting gear. All she could think of using was her elemental magic. Once more, a crushing sense of guilt washed over her. Thousands of years of wisdom wasted on her. Any of the old masters could have handled this in their sleep.
But Anabelle wasn’t one of the old masters. She was an elf who still didn’t know herself. That was what the Road was for, though. The Road was how Travelers found themselves.
Anabelle spread her barrier out, thinning it so that it was more like a piece of magical sheet metal. She grabbed it and rushed toward the orcs. As one of the creatures raised his gun, she turned the barrier on its side and tossed it at him.
The barrier flew at her target and sliced the orc in half. The other orcs saw their chance and opened fire.
Anabelle pulled the barrier back and whipped it around, knocking away the plasma blasts, though one penetrated the barrier and singed her cheek.
One of the orcs moved in close, choosing his fists over his ax. He sprang, arms raised, and fell upon Anabelle with a ferocity she’d never seen in her sparring partners.
The orc punched her in the face, and her vision blurred. As she tried to raise her barrier back up, he brought his fists down on her chest.
With the wind knocked out of her, Anabelle thought she was going to pass out right there. But if she did, she was dead. Still, the darkness did call loudly.
And in the Darkness, is Silence, Anabelle thought as she studied the orc’s long shadow. She leaned forward, headbutted him, and leapt into the shad
ow, where she flattened herself and effectively disappeared.
The orcs stared around, confused, and alarmed at Anabelle’s sudden disappearance. She held her breath, waiting quietly. The orc, whose shadow she was attached to, spun in circles, trying to figure out where the elf had gone.
When the orc’s shadow fell on a second orc, Anabelle reached out, filled her two fingers with manna, and struck the creature in the forehead. He dropped to the ground, dead.
Another orc, having caught a glimpse of Anabelle, opened fire.
She sprang from the shadow, back into the light world as the orcs turned and gunned down her former host.
The moment of surprise was all Anabelle needed. She drew her manna into her chest and surged into the air, where the power passed to her hands. She dropped to the ground, slamming both fists into the earth, sending out a shockwave of pure manna that incinerated the orcs surrounding her.
As the smoke cleared, Anabelle sprinted over to the suspended soldiers, waving away the barrier holding them in the air.
The private rushed over to the remains of the orcs. “Holy shit, that was amazing,” he mumbled as the other soldiers joined him.
Anabelle wasn’t paying attention to their praise. She was extremely low on manna and ready to pass out. The fight shouldn’t have been so strenuous. If she was going to keep this up, she had to get better. At the rate she was going, she would be unable to fight more than once a day.
The private, having finished praising Anabelle’s work, turned and pointed to the Dark Gate, which was still open. “Should we take care of that?” he asked.
Anabelle cast a glance back at the human as she tried to fix her hair. “And you know how to close Dark Gate?”
“I mean…no. But I’d be willing to try and figure it out.”
Even if Anabelle was unable to admire the human for his battle prowess, she had to admit the little guy was a well of pluck and positivity. “Human, what is your name?” Anabelle asked.
The private clicked his feet together and saluted Anabelle, barking, “Private Thomas Blackwell!”
“Well, come on, Blackwell. Let’s figure out how to shut this thing down.”
Anabelle and Blackwell hiked over to the ridge where the Dark Gate stood. A weird humming came from the Gate. There didn’t seem to be any discernible mechanism for the portal. It merely hung in the air.
Blackwell walked around the portal, scanning it. “Huh, doesn’t seem to have an off switch. Hey! You should come check this out!”
Anabelle came around the side of the portal to where Blackwell was pointing. She leaned in to get a closer look. What she saw surprised her.
Through the portal, a scene played out in front of her. A small female human stood over an orc, bashing its brains in with a cane. The orc appeared to have been dead for some time.
Anabelle leaned back and activated her HUD. The portal was fading of its own accord, and her HUD was working again. She quickly reached through the portal and selected a command to remember her position. “Now, that’s the kind of human that knows how to fight. That’s a rage that I can work with.”
The funeral for Abby’s father was small. The farmers nearby showed up. A few people from town. Whoever heard attended. Ma and Abby thought it best if the news didn’t spread, though.
The pastor of the nearby Lutheran church shared a few words, a quick, dry sermon, and was on his way. Just the way Pa would have liked it. Ma spoke longer, but Abby could barely hear her words.
Abby stayed for some time after the mourners left. She remained there after Ma and the kids left as well. She promised to be back by supper.
There was nothing to say. Abby wished she could have thought of something. Instead, she stared at the mound of dirt her father had just been lowered into.
“You must have loved him dearly,” a man said from behind her.
Abby turned to face an old white-haired man dressed in a suit that looked to be the finest to have ever been made. The man’s eyes danced with an energy Abby had never seen before. “What would you know about that?”
The man sat beside Abby. “Anger is the way you grieve,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Who are you, and what you here askin’ about? Ain’t got nothing better than to bother a girl grieving her daddy?”
“The creatures with the gray skin—the ones that came to your farm—they’re called orcs.”
Abby looked at him for the first time since he’d taken a seat. Her eyes narrowed, and when she spoke, her words were slow and deliberate. “What you getting’ on about what happened at the farm?”
The old man straightened his tie as he smiled sadly. “You did quite the number on them. And your drones…genius is the only way I could describe them.”
“Would have done more if I could have.”
There was a long silence between them before Abby turned to the man and asked, “Who is the Dark One?”
Myrddin lifted a curious eyebrow, “Where did you hear that name?”
“One of the orcs said it while…you know.” She gestured to the coffin.
Myrddin, the old wizard, leaned forward, cocking his head to the left so that he could look Abby in the eye. “Abby-Lynn,” he whispered. “What if I told you that you could? What if I told you that the creature who sent the orcs, the Dark One, is dangerous and real, but also someone very killable. You want revenge? It’s him you need to direct it at.”
Abby clutched her father’s cane, which rested at her side. “The Dark One. You know where he is?”
Myrddin stood and brushed off his pants as he looked down at the freshly turned earth. “There is a war going on, Abby,” he explained. “Someone like you could do a lot of good, protect a lot of innocent lives. Your tech skills, your passion. I know it’s cruel to try to recruit you at this moment, but the war effort needs you. What do you say?”
Abby stood, leaning on her father’s cane, her brow as dark and as furious as a storm. “Take me to ’em,” she whispered. “I’ll kill ’em. I’ll kill ’em all.”
Up above, in the fading afternoon, the sky swelled with the fiery color of blood. It would be night soon, but evening had yet to come to pass.
Chapter Nine
Meanwhile, somewhere else, far from concerns about orcs and Dark Ones and the war, Terra Spartan stood in front of her bathroom mirror. She held a pair of clippers in one hand, and in the other, her bright red hair, bundled up so that it wouldn’t cascade down her back to her hips. It had taken her nearly ten years to grow out her mane, as she called it.
Obviously, anytime you cut off this much hair, you had to psyche yourself up to finish the job. She grabbed her hair by the roots and snipped. Then she put the chopped bundle on the toilet seat and continued.
After the locks were cut away, Terra took the clippers to her head. When she was done, she wet her skull and applied shaving cream. She removed her father’s straight razor from the cabinet and scraped the cold blade over her scalp as she had seen him do thousands of times.
Once Terra was satisfied with her gleaming bald head, she ran the hot water and put her head under the faucet, relishing the sensation of water against her skin. The mirrors had steamed up by the time she turned off the faucet. Then she applied the aftershave.
The Morning After—the only aftershave her father had ever used. Terra’s mother had once told her it was the greatest smell in the world. It smelled strong. Confident. Powerful. Terra couldn’t disagree. She had grown up with that scent, the scent that had soaked into the weight room she had shared with her father. It was strong, just like Terra.
Terra wiped her head off one more time and studied her reflection in the mirror. She hardly recognized herself. Most people never saw past her bright red hair. Now that it was gone, what would people see? How were they going to remember her?
Abby stood in front of a glass skyscraper. The building looked unreal. The glass seemed thin, and there were no discernable girders. How did the building manage to keep from being b
lown away in the wind?
Earlier that morning, a limo had arrived at her house. Four really short guys—who Abby swore looked like garden gnomes—had emerged from the vehicle and informed her that Myrddin had sent them to help keep the farm running while she was gone. A deal she had made with the wizard—she’d only join his army if her family was taken care of.
Seeing how industrious these little guys were, Abby realized Myrddin’s word was good.
She turned to say goodbye to Ma and Margie. Margie gave her a quick hug and then retreated inside so as to not reveal she was crying. Abby knew, and she wanted nothing more than to go inside and comfort her sister.
“She’ll be all right,” Ma said. “I’ll see to her.”
An uneasy silence fell over them. Abby had never been very good at showing her emotions. So, the pair simply stood next to each other in silence until Ma nodded in the direction of the four gnomes. “Seems that Myrddin is good to his word. Those guys, weird-looking as they may be, are already hard at work. Almost as industrious as your drones.”
“Yeah,” Abby said. Then a rush of regret and worry washed over her. “I can stay, Ma. Help here. I don’t have to go.”
Ma gave Abby the look she always did when she knew the right thing was hard to do. “Yes, you do. You have to go. You have to help them with their war efforts by doing what you were meant to be doing…building those amazing robots of yours. They need you.”
“But you need me.”
“We do, honey,” Ma said, pulling her close. “But they need you more. We’ll be fine. We got help. And we got Facetime, Zoom, Skype, Whatsapp, and a whole slew of other ways to stay in touch. Go, do what you need to do. We’ll be fine. And if we’re not, I’ll call you home. Don’t you worry about that.”
“You promise.”
“With all my soul.”
Abby hugged her ma and strode off the front porch toward the limo. She turned for one last wave goodbye. Margie was outside now, holding Ma and waving to Abby so vigorously that Abby felt like her heart was going to break with love. Then she remembered Pa and what those bastards did to him.
