by Samuel Fort
Chapter 65: Coming Clean
Disparthian watched as the white landscape below passed beneath the craft. A few weeks ago, he knew, the land below would have a scene of almost indescribable destruction. There were, beneath that wonderful blanket of snow, thousands upon thousands of decaying and dismembered bodies, burned and abandoned cars and trucks, and the ruins of homes. There was also plenty blood, red and frozen, from the myriad battles for food and other resources that the survivors participated in every day of their sad and dwindling lives.
Almost none of that was visible now, however. The deep snows from the recent blizzards had wiped the face of the earth clean of these monuments to Nisirtu apocalyptic genius. To a significant degree, he was part of the genius and more than passingly responsible for the deaths of billions of people. He wondered again if there really was an afterworld, and if there was, what sort of penalty there might be for a few billion deaths. The Peth around him more devoted to their Nisirtu gods thought the deaths of Ardoon inconsequential. In their mind, the commander had done what had to be done for the glorious rebirth of the Nisirtu, and would be justly rewarded after the final twilight.
Disparthian did not share their optimism. In his best-case scenario, death brought blackness and nothing else. He was unnerved by recent events which suggested that there might actually be something more.
Lieutenant Demit approached, saying, “Lord Disparthian, ETA five minutes to the coordinates provided by Lady Thalassa.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Disparthian pointed at a long, zigzagging trough in the snow which ran roughly east to west. In width, it was as big as a house. The odd pattern reminded him of the shapes a sidewinder snake made in sand, except that at certain points the trough stopped, only to be renewed twenty or thirty yards beyond. “What do you think that is?”
The other man looked. “A defensive trench, perhaps? Breastworks?”
Disparthian shook his head. “I don’t think so. It seems to have been created since the recent snows. There’s no indication the soil beneath has been disturbed.”
“It might serve the same function, even if built of snow.” The younger man paused and squinted. “Perhaps the Ardoon have located a functional snowplow.”
“How many snowplows are capable of plowing over buildings?” replied the other man, pointing at the path of devastation in the wake of whatever made the trough.
“A tank with a plow could,” said the junior officer, the doubt in his voice was evident.
“It’s the path of a bashmu,” said a voice behind them.
Turning, they saw Fiela.
“A what?” asked Disparthian.
She strode up to the men. “Bashmu. A temple monster. Like the one I fought in Cash. It moves a little like a caterpillar, but side to side, and it condenses its coils and jumps. It chews up anything it encounters. That is why the channel seems to stop, only to continue further away. I would advise that we not drop below a five hundred feet.”
“Can it jump that high?” asked the lieutenant.
“Maybe. The muscles that line its ribs are very powerful.” She turned to Disparthian. “Have you radioed Steepleguard?”
“Yes, Annasa. I have advised them that you are alive and well and that we are approaching the king’s location now.” He took in a breath. “Annasa, there is a difficult topic we must discuss.” He looked at Lieutenant Demit. “Alone.”
As the other officer stepped away, the queen said, “What is it, Diz?”
“It is about the king,” the man said. “There has been an incident.”
“Bashmu,” she said, nodding. “I had surmised that. I know he went to a temple like the one we visited in Cash. It would not surprise me if his squadron was attacked. I have thought about that for many days.”
Disparthian weighed his words. “You are right, there was an attack.”
He watched the girl, dreading the inevitable question. To his surprise, she had no response. There was a strange serenity on her face. He said, “You realize that he may be-”
“Dead?” She rolled her eyes. “No, Diz. He is not dead.”
Disparthian frowned. This was going to be tougher than he thought. “Annasa, there was a cave. It collapsed while he was inside. He and Vedeus-”
“Will be rescued,” the girl said. “If they have not been already.”
“I’m sorry, Annasa, but given what we know…”
“What do you know? You said you lost radio contact.”
“That is true, but-”
“You do not know, then. You can be certain of nothing.”
“Yet…” Disparthian lifted his arms helplessly. “We must consider the likelihood that, given the resources available, and the attack, he may not have survived.”
“He is alive,” said Fiela. “I know it.”
“Please, Annasa, be reasonable.”
Fiela shook her head. “I dreamt of him last night, Diz. It was a shared dream. I’m sure of it. I cannot recall it, exactly, but it was very…real. One cannot share a dream with a dead man.”
