by Ramy Vance
“Less than stellar,” Anabelle said after a few moments. “There were…complications.”
Myrddin was still watching the screen. “I assumed so when I heard Abby was being taken to the medbay.”
Abby raised her hand, looking awkward as hell. “Uh…I was actually okay. Not even bruised.”
“It’s still good to see your commanding officer prioritizing your safety. Anabelle, please tell me what happened.”
Anabelle mentally ran through the important bits of things to bring up in her head. “Grok showed up. And—”
“I trust you started searching for information concerning her.”
Anabelle bit her tongue, trying not to snap at Myrddin. Their relationship had been getting better over the last few months but, sometimes, that tone in his voice made her want to punch the old wizard in the face. “Yes. I did. Can I continue, or do you want to interrupt me again? Because I can—”
“No, please continue.”
Myrddin looked over his shoulder, smiling slightly.
One of these days, old man, one of these days.
Anabelle cleared her throat, trying to remain professional. “Grok didn’t stick around. She just knocked the shit out of me and bounced. And there were over twenty gates that opened.”
At this, Myrddin turned to give Anabelle his full attention. “Only one was projected. Did you shut them all down?”
“Thanks to Terra and Abby, yeah. But even then, they weren’t being used for an invasion. It was some kind of ritual sacrifice to release—you’ll never believe it—a lich.”
The color drained from Myrddin’s face. It was the first time Anabelle had ever seen anything resembling fear in the old man. The look was disconcerting enough to make Anabelle think she hadn’t taken the lich issue seriously.
When Myrddin spoke, he confirmed Anabelle’s worries. “Did you say a lich?”
“Yeah. She said her name was Rasputina. Mean anything to you?”
Myrddin twisted the end of his beard, a nervous habit Anabelle rarely saw him indulge in. “This is not good. This is not good.”
Terra and Abby stared at the old man. “What’s the big deal about a lich?” Abby asked.
Myrddin waved his hand, and the projector switched to an image of Rasputina. Apparently, Myrddin knew exactly who she was. “If the Dark One is willing to reach out to a lich, and this lich specifically, then he is growing desperate. Or too eager.”
“Yeah, but what is a lich?”
“Wizards and sorcerers live extremely long lives. I, myself, have lived over 2,800 years, give or take a century or two.”
Abby’s and Terra’s jaws dropped. Anabelle managed to refrain from betraying her surprise, but his revelation came as a shock to her as well.
Myrddin didn’t wait for questions. “Generally, we care about knowledge. Many people use magic, such as Anabelle, but there are those of us whose entire lives are dedicated to the pursuit of arcane arts. Some of that knowledge is forbidden, for good reason. Anything that deals with the Old Gods or the Elder Ones, gods as old as the Dark One. A lich has touched that forbidden knowledge.
“A lich is a nearly invincible magic-user. They’ve gone beyond the veil of what a mortal should know. They do not die. Ever. There are only five in all of the realms. Three are sleeping, one has removed itself from our plane of reality, and the other is Rasputina, the worst of them all.”
Anabelle leaned forward. “Is she stronger than the Dark One?”
Myrddin squeezed the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “It is not a question of strength. It is a question of purpose. The Dark One wants control. Rasputina was not like the other liches. Before she learned how to tap into magic, she was a killer. She was feared throughout the nine realms. There was no reason for her senseless murders. She became a lich, sacrificed her soul and body for one thing: to live long enough to personally kill every living being in the nine realms.”
Terra laughed, clearly not taking any of this seriously. “Are you telling me that we’re afraid of a zombie Joker rip-off?”
“Worse. She is the only lich who has ever allowed herself to be beaten. I was one of the wizards who sealed her with the Jotun meant to guard her until the end of time. The battle nearly destroyed the dwarfish realm. Not the dwarfish planet, the entire realm.”
Myrddin sat, hanging his head. “Entire worlds were wiped out. So many people died. And we knew she let us win. I had to know, so I asked. She told me she simply got bored. And then she did this.”
Myrddin unbuttoned his shirt. A scar, surrounded by dozens of other wounds, stretched from the bottom of his neck to his navel. “She froze time and tortured me for hundreds of years, healing my wounds only to disembowel me again. Then she returned everything to normal, and sat there like nothing happened.”
From Terra’s stricken expression, she didn’t appear to find the situation funny anymore. “What the hell was she doing under Earth?”
Myrddin stood silent for a long time before answering. “I needed her close to keep an eye on her.” The old wizard inhaled deeply. “You’re dismissed for now. I have to think.” He stood, leaving everyone in the room with their questions unspoken.
Roy and each of the Angels exchanged glances. Finally, he broke the silence with a sigh. “I think we all need a drink. Meet you guys in the cafeteria.”
Chapter Six
The Angels met Roy in the cafeteria, and they sat in silence while drinking their beers. Terra didn’t know what to say. Myrddin had dropped a lot of information on the team. She might not have fully grasped the enormity of what had happened, but she did know it was bad.
Abby, who was sitting beside Terra, slowly sipped a beer that Terra wouldn’t have ordered on her worst day. “Are you even twenty-one?”
Abby gulped down another mouthful. “If I can die for the nine realms, I can probably have a beer here and there too.”
None of the adults said anything, and they all kept drinking silently. “Well, not that this hasn’t been riveting, but I’m heading back to my room,” Terra said at last, preferring to avoid more of the awkward silence.
Everyone nodded or waved their goodbyes, still caught up in their own thoughts.
Terra didn’t head back to her room. Instead, she went to the orcish barracks. After their last mission, a handful of orcs who had been rescued from the fighting arena had decided to stay on at the base.
Originally, Myrddin had situated the orcs away from the staff barracks. He’d been worried that the orcs might not be well-received by the rest of the base. Orcs made up the bulk of the Dark One’s ground forces. Things could get ugly without much reason.
The orcs hadn’t minded. As long as they’d been given a place to stay, they were happy. Many of them were lobbying to join the Middang3ard defensive and offensive teams. Myrddin hadn’t passed down an order yet, but the orcs were ready.
Terra thought it was a great idea. Most of the time she’d spent around orcs had been in the arena, fighting at their side. It was the first time Terra had ever felt like she belonged anywhere.
She was still surprised it was with orcs.
Terra wanted to speak to one orc in particular by the name of Cire. He was a shaman of a lost orc tribe, one of the last of his kind, and still held to the old ways. He had bestowed the title of chieftain on Terra, making her much more than an honorary orc.
But it was not merely a title. Technically, the small band of orcs that had come back to the base was part of Terra’s troop. Orcs were generally informal, but they did speak to Terra with a certain level of respect they didn’t give to each other. She wasn’t sure if that was because she was their chieftain, or if it was because she had saved their asses so many times. Maybe there wasn’t a difference.
Another part of Terra’s chieftain status required her to learn orcish history. Cire was relating the orcish oral history. Terra had assumed it would be a drag but found herself more interested in their history than she’d ever been with her own. It was a little di
fficult to follow, though, with the history being delivered in the orcish tongue through song.
Back in the arena, Cire had performed a rite on Terra that allowed her to understand orcish. Unfortunately, her knowledge was still at the level of a five-year-old. But she was getting better, and that was important.
As Cire had said, hearing their own language in commands would rally orcs in a way that few people ever saw.
Terra found Cire in his room, sitting with Nib-Nib, another refugee from the arena.
Nib-Nib was a mantiboid, a squat, mantis-like alien. Nib-Nib didn’t speak much, but Terra could understand a little of what the creature said due to the rite Cire had performed.
Cire and Nib-Nib were conversing furiously, Cire using Nib-Nib’s language, a combination of clicks and high-pitched, quiet screeches. When Terra arrived, he rose from his seat and bowed slightly.
Terra crossed the room and punched Cire in the shoulder. “I told you to stop doing that.”
Cire rubbed his shoulder as Terra sat on his bed. “The other orcs might not be required to show you reverence, but as your shaman, it comes with the job.”
Terra watched Cire closely. As she’d been getting to know the orc, she was learning how to tell when something was upsetting him. Like most of the other orcs, the only emotions that were ever front and center were indifference, anger, or a combination of both.
But there were strong emotions underneath all the bluster. Cire was full of them and Terra was learning it was okay to ask questions. “Everything okay?”
Cire pulled a dagger from his pocket and started sharpening it. “No. It is not. We are still waiting to hear from Myrddin on what will be done about freeing the orcish people from the Dark One’s influence.”
“Myrddin hasn’t said anything more than he did before. It doesn’t seem like it’s a high priority. At least for humans.”
Cire nodded sadly. “What more could I expect? The gnomish world under siege, your own constantly being attacked. If I was in the same position, I would be making the same decision. That doesn’t make it sting any less.”
Terra rested her hand on Cire’s knee. “I know it must be hard. But it’s going to happen.”
“Yes, and wars take time. And they are constantly in need of bodies. Have you heard anything about our chances to join the war efforts?”
“No. Nothing on that end, either.”
Anger flashed across Cire’s face, a rarity. The orc was easily one of the most composed people Terra had ever met. “I should have assumed so,” he muttered.
“Hey, am I still going to get to listen to a war song tonight?”
Cire’s face softened. “Yes, we shouldn’t allow Myrddin’s delay to get in our way. Are you staying for this one, Nib-Nib?”
The mantiboid’s bug eyes were impossible to read.
Nib-Nib stood, chirping and whistling shrilly. All that Terra could grasp was that Nib-Nib thought singing was boring and she was going to go drink with orcs who knew how to have a good time.
Terra laughed heartily as Nib-Nib left the room, leaving Cire with a confused, wounded look on his face. Then he chuckled. “Little gal has quite the mouth on her,” Terra joked.
Cire stood and removed his shaman’s coat. “You should have heard her before you got back. Shit-talks better than the biggest orc I’ve seen.”
“Can probably back it up too.”
Cire prepared for the dance. They were simple preparations: a small wooden bowl and some ash. He placed the bowl on the floor and blew into the ash, sending it flying into his face. The ash stuck to Cire’s skin, painting him white as a ghost.
The song came out slowly and was guttural. Though Terra didn’t understand all the words, she became lost in Cire’s voice. What she couldn’t understand could be inferred from Cire’s eyes, or the way his hands moved.
When Cire was done, Terra sat quietly, trying to piece together the tale. Many of the orc battle songs did not have beginnings, middles, or ends. They had no lessons. Yet there was a point. One Terra had to decipher.
After giving her some time to think, Cire asked what the song was about.
Terra didn’t answer immediately. “A fight can happen at any moment. That was what the singer in the story was trying to get across.”
“Deeper. The true point.”
“And…because of that, a battle is often lost from lack of preparedness…no, it’s lost through surprise. Unawareness.”
“Perfect.”
Cire wiped the ash from his face as Terra’s HUD watch beeped. Terra looked at her message. Myrddin was requesting to see her in the war room. “Guess I have another briefing. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Terra placed her fist over her heart and Cire mirrored the gesture. She left the orc alone in his room, wishing she’d had more time to spend with him.
Myrddin was waiting in the War Room for Terra. She was surprised no one else was there. “Is this another debriefing?”
“No. Please take a seat.”
Terra sat and Myrddin took a spot across from her. “Visiting with Cire?”
“Yeah. We’ve been reviewing orcish history every couple of days.”
Myrddin folded his hands as he leaned forward. “You have an affinity for these orcs, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah. We fought together. I saw the kind of people they are.”
“I mean beyond that.”
Terra didn’t know what Myrddin was getting at, but she preferred to not beat around the bush. “The way everyone talks about them like they aren’t real people, it’s disgusting. No one should be thought of like that.”
Myrddin snapped his fingers and sat up. “Agreed. But that is not why I wanted to speak to you. I believe I have a new role for you.”
“And what would that be?”
Myrddin smiled faintly. “I want you to be our spokesperson.”
Terra laughed as she raised an eyebrow. “Me? A spokesperson? You must be out of your mind.”
“Precisely the opposite. You’re a hero to the humans. And one of the only public faces of the war against the Dark One so far. We need more recruits. Who better to speak to the masses than the person who they watched fight their way out of the arena on television?”
Terra shook her head. Whatever this entailed, it was a bad idea. “I think you have the wrong person.”
Myrddin stood, appearing ready to leave the room. “No, I do not. You have limitless potential, Terra. This should be nothing compared to being dragged across the galaxy and forced to fight for your life.”
When put like that, Terra didn’t feel too bad about the prospects. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it. What’s next?”
“Next is the Steve Campbell Show.”
Anabelle walked down the hall toward the armory and the firing range. She was planning on taking a tip from Sarah to blow off some steam by shooting things, then do some light reading about Grok before bed.
When Anabelle turned the corner, she heard footsteps behind her. She hugged the wall, waiting. The footfalls were too quiet to merely be someone walking down the hall. Whoever it was had been attempting to silence their presence. Which meant she was being followed.
Her stalker turned the corner and Anabelle grabbed the man by his shirt, turned him around, and slammed his back against the wall.
Roy smiled at Anabelle, looking extremely boyish and mischievous. “Oh, shit. Looks like you caught me.”
“You’re going to have to do much better than that to surprise me.”
Roy leaned in and kissed Anabelle lightly. She could smell the aftershave on his neck.
Anabelle glanced over her shoulder, down the hall. “You’re getting better at that, too. Come on, follow me.” She yanked Roy after her, opening the door to one of the maintenance closets and shoving him inside.
The closet was cramped and barely lit.
Anabelle pressed up against Roy, inhaling the scent of him as his hands caressed her waist. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about him since coming
back to the base. It was too distracting. If they were caught, they would both be in huge trouble. Officers weren’t allowed to fraternize.
Roy had reminded her multiple times of the policy since their last mission, but the long stares from across the room were becoming too much for either of them to handle.
Anabelle grabbed the back of Roy’s neck and pulled him closer, pressing her lips against his as he cupped her ass, both trying to keep from stumbling over the cleaning supplies lying across the floor. They failed miserably and ended up tumbling over each other, landing in a heaping mess of brooms and limbs.
Anabelle had lost herself with Roy there for a while. She pulled herself off him only because his HUD watch kept beeping incessantly. “Are you going to get that?” she asked.
Roy sat up and looked at his watch. “Oh, shit. Something about prepping Terra for an interview.”
“Wait. What for?”
Roy was already on his feet. “Gotta get her TV ready. She’s doing some PR run for recruitment. She’s going to be on the Steve Campbell Show.”
Anabelle felt her stomach twist, and she was hit with a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a while: jealousy. “Are you kidding me? She’s going on Campbell? I was an international phenomenon, and I could never get on it!”
Roy gave Anabelle a puzzled look. “Uh…okay. You sound a little upset.”
Anabelle quickly regained her composure. “No, not at all. Just surprised.”
“All right. If something’s on your mind, just give me a call in a bit, okay?”
Anabelle stood and kissed Roy on the cheek. “All right.”
Roy walked out of the closet, leaving Anabelle alone with her thoughts. Why hadn’t Myrddin asked her to be the spokesperson? Anabelle had been famous for nearly a decade.
Whatever. You wouldn’t have wanted to do it anyways. It was your idea to leave all of that behind. You didn’t get put in charge of the DGA to sit in front of a camera and look pretty. It is not important.
