Coming to Power

by T J Marquis

  The thing exploded spectacularly, raining shrapnel, glass and wires onto the thin blanket of snow. He landed next to the ruins of the reflective orb and bent to inspect it.

  As he’d thought once he saw its camera eye, the orb was some kind of surveillance drone. It innards smoked with burst capacitors and it was still warm with fading power. Was this how he’d been tracked all this time? Jon wondered how long it had been tailing him, and whether there were more. He’d have to keep his eyes peeled.

  Jon took flight again and scanned the way ahead thoroughly. He didn’t expect to be left alone as he continued his journey. Even if that had been the only drone tracking him, the enemy knew both his point of origin and his most likely destination. Certainly he could alter his route, to curve out east over the country of Nul, or west toward Katal, but either alteration would cost valuable time. And anyway within the next few flights he expected to come across the Nulian supply trains, which he was obligated to attack. He would have to face whatever came next head-on.

  That day, it was nothing. Jon’s only foe was the constant apprehension that he could be attacked at any moment.

  Before the mental assault of those gremlin shamans, Jon would have suffered little fear for his own safety, for no one thus far had proved his match - though Malok had been the better fighter. Now, however, he was aware that he still had weaknesses that could be exploited. He thought perhaps someday he would learn to protect all the different facets of his mind and body with the power of the light, either all the parts at once, or each in its moment of need. But he knew it would take time - practice and experience and imagination all fused together as his skill in applying the light increased. The white light was certainly mighty, but still its effectiveness was largely filtered through Jon’s own consciousness and will.

  He spent the rest of that day passing over intermittent low hills and plains, pocked with patchy forests He flew on a few extra hours to help make up for time lost at Soulspeak. Jon stopped for the night on the tallest hill he could find, released his tent of bloodlight, and slept as if he’d been up all the last night. In the morning, he continued on.

  The wilderness south of the mountains grew marshy - he could smell its wetness and decay even high up in the air - and was laced with small rivers and streams, lakes and ponds topped with filmy green masses and speckled with lily pads and other growth, with bands of forest spread between. As he continued slightly southwest, the border of Nul swung nearer. It was marked by the lower stretch of the Red River, which now forked off into a second river called the Gullet. Both cut toward the Sea of Night along adjacent sides of an extended basin.

  Rae had indicated the locations of several Nulian forts on the far side of the Red, which she’d scouted out in the Throne. She warned that the intel could have been made obsolete, however, as the Throne had been warned off by the fire of Nulian artillery - they may have shifted things around after sighting the old ship. She had been tempted to engage them but hadn’t been certain how much fire the Throne could take, and was unwilling to experiment. Jon hoped he was small and fast enough to avoid any unwanted attention.

  He wasn’t.

  The Nulian supply lines had shifted much farther north in the last few days than he would have expected, and no sooner had the dust of their movement come into view than Jon came under fire from an alarming amount of artillery. Jon realized with chagrin that he hadn’t taken the time to formulate a plan for this encounter. Not to mention he hadn’t thought about the Nulians bringing field artillery with them.

  He wasn’t sure how they expected to get a hit on him, though. They must have been sighting him through some kind of magnification, but at this range, he’d have more than enough time to evade their fire. All the same, it was more than a little unnerving to be the target of dozens of cannons, their explosive shot bursting in the air behind and around him. He needed to move - if he gave the Nulian gunners enough opportunity, they would adjust their trajectories and actually might hit him.

  I think this calls for a short retreat, he thought, but when he spun around in the air to get back out of sight, a huge mass of flesh collided with him, and he fell to the ground in the grip of a foul-smelling beast. Instinctively Jon ignited the white light, and the beast shrieked as its flesh burned, releasing him.

  The wind knocked out of him, Jon gasped as he rose and danced blindly away from his attacker. With great effort he held the white light’s rage in check - the creature emanated ill-will, but he had no idea how dangerous it might be. The thing had recovered, but held its ground, sizing Jon up. It was like a creature from hell.

  The beast tensed, low to the ground and on all fours. Most of its body was like that of a great ape, massive muscles rippling under thick, brown, leathery skin like that of a crocodile. Its hands were vaguely human, but large enough to palm a grown man’s torso, and clawed. Its feet seemed to have been cut off, and in their place were stubs that had been imperfectly capped in half-molten steel. In the crevices and imperfections of the metal was the dark red of dried blood. The thing’s tail had been cut short as well, and the remaining nub flicked about impatiently. The creature was long-necked, like some lost breed of dinosaur, but its head was flat and pointed like a snake’s. In place of eyes were unlidded triangles of garish yellow light.

  It seemed to be grinning.

  The smell of death clung to Jon from those mere moments of contact with the thing, and he intuited that this was some strange form of undead. The necrosaur spoke to Jon suddenly, mind to mind, in an alien tone of voice.

  Our master spoke true, it rasped in his mind. The wizard woman is like a child compared to you. Come, give me your body before my brothers arrive. It's been so long since we've slaked our thirst with mage's blood - I am disinclined to share.

  The undercurrents of its speech were swarming with profanities and mumblings of unspeakable atrocities, in a guttural language that caused sickening images to bloom in Jon's mind. He recoiled and the necrosaur opened its snakelike jaws in a hacking sound that might have been a laugh.

  Shrink not from the pleasure of bowing to our desires, it said, stalking Jon in a slow circle. So few have known the joy of our dominance. That you should be so blessed!

  Jon was disgusted by the monstrosity, and it was hard not to panic. Yet he realized this was a part of the horrid beast's arsenal - to get into his head. Even when it wasn’t forcing its clearer thoughts into his mind, the stream of profane utterings persisted, and it made Jon’s skin crawl.

  Drawing his sword, he let the white light surface, attempting to focus its rage. The necrosaur narrowed its yellow eyes and stood upright, a full eight feet without its yard-long neck. It spread its arms wide and hacked a mocking laugh at him.

  Come then, if you’ve no wit for banter, it hissed. The hands of Krak have placed greater than you on the altar of Koakelv.

  I can’t take this thing, Jon thought unwittingly. For an instant, he regretted suppressing the light’s wild rage, but then he remembered his goal. Brawling with the necrosaur, and possibly losing his life to it, would serve no purpose. He should only commit to the fight if he felt confident about it.

  Jon feinted left, as if to dash in for a strike at the monster’s side, then sprang into the air past Krak, focusing on the speed to escape. A cold grip closed around his ankle, claws pressing into his armor of light. Jon heard the thing’s skin burning as it pulled him from the air and slammed him into the ground. His sword tumbled to the side. Only the light kept Jon from breaking half his bones, and still the impact disoriented him Jon rolled away as Krak drove its metal-clad foot stump into the ground where he’d been. He regained his feet and fell away again as Krak struck out with its fangs. A thought summoned Jon’s sword back up to his hand from the ground, and swiftly he swung at Krak’s neck, but the monster dodged.

  A pretty trick, it said. Is this how cowards fight?

  Jon ignored the baiting mockery. Now the only path away from Krak was back toward the Nulian supply train and artil
lery. He would have to evade both the necrosaur and explosive cannon fire. He could try for a greater speed of flight, but he wasn’t certain he’d be able to compensate for the effects on his body.

  Growling, Jon tried to pull Krak’s feet out from under it with his mind and a frustrated gesture, but somehow it resisted.

  Krak waggled a finger at him in a very human way, still grinning.

  Jon inverted the tactic and blew apart the earth beneath Krak’s feet, sending the heavy beast flying backward and gaining a moment to dash away and off the ground. He moved as fast as he dared, but within a matter of yards, he felt the necrosaur’s jaws clamp onto his feet, pressing against the armor of light and attempting to pierce the tough leather of his boots.

  That’s nearly all I have left of home, Jon thought, irrationally insulted that the beast should damage his favorite pair. How had it caught him so fast, and so high?

  He pivoted in midair, swiping again at Krak’s neck and missing as it released him. The necrosaur was flying as well, surprisingly fast. He shot into the south at full speed, and the creature kept up, the gap between them widening only minutely.

  The artillery fire began again, heedless of Jon’s pursuer. Though he flew low, in and out of the cover of hills, the Nulian gunners were expert and kept tracking him. Every time Jon dodged an incoming bomb, he was forced to swing wide to avoid flame and shockwave, and Krak was able to close the distance. He had felt the greed of Krak’s jaws and teeth, and he feared them. All it would take was one lapse in Jon’s guard, and he would find its fangs embedded in his flesh.

  Suddenly Jon realized this crush of negativity was due to the necrosaur and its ceaseless invasion of his thoughts.

  Believe in the gift, Jon told himself. Then he remembered the bloodlight.

  Jon impulsively searched for more speed, and he cut through the air like a blade. The wind tore at him all the more fiercely, and he drew on the land below for the energy to power his flight, leaving a trail of scorched earth behind him.

  He was nearing the endless line of Nulian supplies, which disappeared over the horizon in both directions. The train consisted of both horse-drawn wagons and brown armored transports. The latter lumbered along on huge black wheels, belching noxious fumes that smelled of burning coal.

  Soon he was too close for the cannons to track, and artillery fire ceased. Guards with rifles fired up at him, but the small bullets burned up in Jon’s aura. The artillery would continue when he passed over the train, unless he did something.

  Rae’s counting on me anyway, he thought.

  Most of the temporarily quieted artillery were mounted on the backs of the transports. The more primitive carriages must have been loaded with goods.

  Jon wondered how much he could catch in his net.

  Tensing his reflexes, steadying his mind, Jon slowed to let Krak catch up. He heard it hiss, tantalized, and commanded the bloodlight to bloom into view, swinging the ethereal net around the necrosaur and reeling it in. To his surprise, the writhing streams of crimson light did not slice through the beast as through other flesh, but they did cause it pain as it strove to escape the trap. The necrosaur was as heavy as it looked, and the added mass, coupled with its own unwillingness to be dragged into Jon’s control, caused his flight to slow considerably. If he’d had more practice with his powers…

  He wouldn’t be able to hold it for long.

  The clenched mass of bloodlight suffered no such restrictions, obeying Jon’s orders without fail. He swung the net around toward the Nulian train and opened it up, sending Krak careening into one of the transports. The hefty vehicle toppled onto one side, its frame warped catastrophically from the impact. Jon spread the bloodlight into a long ribbon and flew westward, using it to slice into the transports and wagons. Drivers and guards were cut to pieces, shedding blood and limbs as red streams tore their vehicles to shreds, their orbs joining the bloodlight to form new nodes. Many creatures’ final thoughts cascaded over Jon’s mind in a red flood.

  The bloodlight’s streams flicked randomly about, and wherever it cut into an armored transport’s engine, the vehicle caught fire. Some exploded in dirty orange flame and billowing clouds of black smoke. Many Nulians fled the scene of carnage, and Jon let them go.

  He glanced behind. Krak was airborne again, pursuing. Jon increased his speed and let the bloodlight slake its thirst. It was a pity he couldn’t offer these Nulians surrender. He would have to be sure to release their nodes after all this was over.

  He flew for miles, staying just out of Krak’s reach, devastating the impossibly long supply line. At last, he crested a hill, and came to the head of the line, which had ground to a halt and was mostly abandoned. He knew this wasn’t the only caravan headed toward Centrifuge, but he was glad this one stretched no further. No Nulians bothered to fire at him anymore. Instead, they crouched with hands overhead in surrender. The bloodlight crippled their vehicles, and Jon veered away south, dismissing it for now.

  When he glanced backwards, Krak was gone. He gasped lightly and turned his head to find those sickly yellow eyes gazing into his. Krak’s hands wrapped around Jon’s body, claws sinking into the light and the black armor beneath. His confidence and resolve faltered for a moment as shock and sickening thoughts suffused his mind. Krak’s snake-like head flicked forward blindingly, and four-inch fangs sank into Jon’s shoulder like needles. Instantly he felt its venom enter his bloodstream, but his instincts overtook his shock and fear, and the white light’s rage asserted itself.

  Jon’s arms erupted into white hot blades of coherent light that thrust deep into Krak’s torso and severed its spine. Its jaws and hands released Jon as its snake head flailed in pain, hissing madly. Jon heard its screams in his dimming mind.

  … get you… , he heard faintly as Krak’s body fell heavily to the ground below. It offered no orb to the bloodlight as it died.

  I’ve got to get away from here, Jon thought, woozy.

  He angled southward, leaving the ruined caravan behind, hoping to find decent cover under which to try and heal himself. Before long, he could no longer tell if his flight was fast, or even if he was going in the right direction. Pure instinct kept him in the air a little while after his mind dipped into blackness, until at last he fell into muddy waters with a splash.

  Jon’s eyes fluttered open to a dim, fuzzy world. The pain of the venom had invaded his body like brambles in a garden, shooting spikes of pain into every nerve, causing his muscles to seize up. He tried to infuse his bloodstream with white light, hoping to heal himself, but kept slipping in and out of consciousness, losing focus. The staff Rae had given him pulsed warmly on the ground nearby, offering tiny waves of relief, but it wasn’t enough.

  “He’s trying to wake,” came a soft voice from nearby. “Hurry.”

  Jon turned his head, trying to find whoever was there. He was lying on cold stone, and stray pebbles dug into the back of his head. Two pillars of blue were approaching, out of focus, and unwilling to resolve. They knelt on either side of him, and he felt lithe fingers curl under his neck to support it. A cool comfort spread across his skin.

  “It is okay,” said a silky woman’s voice. “I called my brother Rill, for he is the better healer.”

  “Hold him tight, Whisse,” the other voice was male, brassy. “His blood will protest the extraction of the venom.”

  Jon realized the upper portion of his body armor had been removed, and he squinted at the blur of his bare shoulder where the necrosaur had bit him. The fang marks were the size of quarters. He couldn’t feel that arm.

  Rill bent and placed his mouth on the wound to pull out the poison. He sucked and spat a few times, the sat up straight again.

  “It’s too deep. He’s been like this too long,” Rill said. “I’m surprised he hasn’t died. We’ll have to do this another way. I might need your help.”

  The blue blur of Whisse nodded.

  Rill placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder and immediately Jon felt a sensation similar
to Bahabe’s healing, only cool. He shivered as the cold seeped into his veins, and he thought he felt Rill’s power vying with Krak’s venom. It felt like someone was pouring iced water in one fang wound and pumping it out the other.

  “Need your help,” Rill groaned at his sister. She took his hand.

  Jon winced as his head spiked with pain and his eyes seemed to bulge out. His vision went in and out of focus. Rill gritted his teeth along with Jon, his veins popping out as if over-full. Vitriolic green fluid dripped from between the blue people’s clasped hands, which had softened in form as if they were not skin and bone, but two streams of water colliding.

  Gradually the fluid turned blue, then clear, and Jon’s pain decreased substantially in turn. The aches remained, but the feeling of a body pierced with barbs was gone, and he could see clearly in between the poundings of his head.

  Rill blew out a big breath, released Whisse’s hand, and sat back.

  “What foul demon did you run across?” Rill asked Jon. “That was the nastiest poison I’ve ever seen!”

  Whisse leaned in close, examining Jon’s reddened eyes.

  The young lady was beautiful in the way of a sculpture, without edges or angles, and with bare skin patterned and colored like the petals of a cornflower. Her long, wavy hair was the color of a wave’s crest, and seemed to be her only covering.

  Rill looked much the same, lithe like his sister, but bigger. He rested with crossed legs, catching his breath, but was otherwise still and seeming unperturbed by the ordeal of filtering out all of Krak’s venom, now that it was over.

  Jon found his voice at last.

  “Where are we?” he asked. “I… thank you. How did you… help me?” He tried to struggle up to a sitting position, but Whisse pushed him back down gently.

  His healers glanced at each other, then Whisse said, “We are sarathi. We do not usually…allow men to meet us.”