What have I done?
CHAPTER 9
T hat evening, back at Crix’s home, he lay in bed with his mind unable to settle long enough to be restful. His head stirred over the big game earlier that day, the loss of Haflinger, and his finding of Kerriah crashed in Drisal. It was much to take in. He felt overwhelmed by everything.
Down the hall, he could hear Krath snoring like an old piece of machinery that needed maintenance. It was so loud at times, Crix felt as though someone was slowly sawing through the foundation of the dwelling. Underneath this restless racket, there was a gentle knock on the wood doorframe to his bedroom. Crix always liked to keep his door open as he hated the confined feel of his small bedroom. He rolled over. There Kerriah stood with a concerned look on her face.
“I can’t sleep.” She massaged her thumb across her forehead, trying to gain some focus. “Krath’s snoring is shaking the place apart, and I’m worried about you. You’ve been very quiet since we got back.”
Crix pulled the covers up close to his mouth like a child confessing to his parents. “I think I did something stupid today.”
“Stupid how? You were amazing. You won and saved Akhal at the same time. Your team and the crowd absolutely loved you.”
“I couldn’t get up that vortex carrying Akhal . . .”
“Yet you did,” she interrupted, now troubled over what he was about to tell her.
“No, I couldn’t. After you gave me the push that accelerated me out of the blind zone, I almost instantly drifted downward again. I couldn’t make any kind of adjustment to fight that, and an extraction call would have forfeited the match. You see, some of the most highly skilled annexis players tested the vortex, and the most weight that could ever traverse back up the vortex under any conditions was two hundred and eighty pounds.” Crix was explaining what happened as if he needed to hear himself say it aloud. Kerriah patiently waited and remained silent.
“Akhal and my combined weight would have been around three hundred and seventy pounds. Clyde is okay. He’s two-sixty and makes it up pretty well considering, but his biggest weak point is his slow accent compared to others. There was no way I was going to get both of us back up to the top like that, even with the strongest upward gust.” He stopped to sit up and pulled his knees up to his chest. He was calculating everything in his head.
“What are you saying then?” Kerriah asked, even though she knew the answer.
“I used the orb.” With a loud, disheartened exhale, he continued. “Until a few days ago, it’s been easy to not call upon the orb’s power because I never really had to before. Now that I have used it . . . it’s already becoming instinctive. It’s like moving my arm, as if I have been using its power my whole life. I was determined to get us to the top and win, and that’s what I did. The best way I can explain it is when you knock something over, and your reflexes automatically act to catch it without a thought. I should have called for an extraction, but my vanity wouldn’t let me. Now, I’m worried sick for Troika; have I doomed us? What will become of it once the Marcks trace the energy signature here?” Crix’s eyes were troubled and his heart hurt for the possible future of Troika.
Understanding the likelihood that Zearic had triangulated the energy signature and that his worry definitely had legitimate merit, she moved close to comfort him. At that moment, it was all she could do. She sat down next to him and put her arm across his back.
“Maybe they didn’t pick it up; it’s possible that the force of the vortex disrupted the energy enough to mask it from their orbital detection systems.” As soon as her words came out, she knew that it did not sound logical or convincing.
Crix is smarter than this.
“Whatever happens, don’t blame yourself. There are times we are forced to make split-second decisions, and some are good and some bad, but we make them and must stand by them.” She looked out the window and into the nighttime sky of Troika. “Still, we need to think of our next move, and we can’t take any chances. We have to get you out of Troika right away.”
“No!” His voice elevated. “I can’t leave them to a fate that I brought upon them. I have to warn them . . . help to defend them. It’s my responsibility to protect them now.”
“It doesn’t matter. You and the orb are too important to let fall into Zearic’s hands. If the Marcks come, the Andors will have to deal with them on their own.” She sighed. “Let me think this through. Try to get a little rest. I have a feeling we are going to need it.” Crix watched her leave the room. His mind was full of everything and nothing all at the same time.
What have I done?
In just a few short hours, the early morning light broke across the rooftops of the Andor dwellings. Crix suffered through a dreadful night of tossing about trying to fall asleep before exhaustion took its toll. He awoke to the sound of Krath and Kerriah talking close by.
“Urrmm,” Krath cleared his throat, interrupting their conversation. “Looks like he’s beginnin’ to show signs of life,” he muttered to Kerriah. “Hit the deck! We’re gettin’ outa here ASAP!”
“Wha . . . what?” Crix rubbed his left eye to clear his hazy vision.
“Tya heard me right. Grab tya gear, and let’s get goin’! We’re gonna be knee-deep in Marcks ‘cause of that stunt you pulled yesterday; in fact, I’m stumped why we aren’t already.” Krath started kicking at his bed to hurry him up and was clearly not giving the warm comforts that Kerriah did hours before. Of course, comforting was not Krath’s style.
Crix looked over at Kerriah with a miffed look in his eyes. “Sorry, Crix, he needed to know the situation we both discussed, and we have concluded that we need to get far away from Troika. At least, until we’re sure everything is clear,” she explained.
Crix snapped up out of his bedsheets. “Well, don’t you think I could have been included in this conversation? I know you two think I’m just naive and sheltered, but I may have some input that’s worth listening to,” he retorted.
Krath rested his fists on his hips. “Tya mind is not clear regardin’ this, kid. Too emotionally attached to the Andors to make the right decision here. If the Marcks descend upon Troika lookin’ for tya, the worst thing is to be here when they arrive.”
“He’s right, Crix. We should have left last night when you told me, and that was my mistake. The only reason I can conclude as to why the Marcks are not here already is they did not detect the orb’s energy signature, or they are planning something massive. I fear the latter to be true, especially since they are already aware of its presence in nearby Drisal. I would have to assume they are proactively scanning for it here.”
Crix sighed and placed his hands on his head. His mind was spinning with thoughts. “Where will we go? Can I still attend Haflinger’s funeral this evening?”
“I’m sorry, no. We can’t afford to stick around that long; we have to get going now. I have some friends back in Teinol that have a mutual disregard for Zearic and the Marcks. They have a secured area we can stay in for a short while, until things cool down some,” Kerriah said.
“Okay, what are your plans for getting there? I mean, it’s not like Troika has regularly scheduled flights out to Mendac cities, aside from sabe mineral cargo shipments, which will not arrive for pickup for another week. Andors keep a relatively isolated existence, and normally, the only transport that leaves here at all is diplomatic trips for Grand Chief Isomar.” Crix firmly crossed his arms, waiting for their reply.
Krath and Kerriah looked over at one another and shrugged almost at the same time. Crix’s mouth dropped open with disbelief. “No!” He did not intend to give in on this subject. “We are not going to steal the Grand Chief’s transport. That’s where I have to draw the line. It’s disrespectful. Besides, that transport is located in the Stablet Alcazar, and you’re not getting anywhere near that. It’s protected by Morak elite guards, who are sworn to protect his palace with their lives.”
Kerriah pressed her lips tightly together in rebuke. “Okay . .
. what’s your plan to get us away from here quickly? Walk?” She stared intensely at him, waiting for an answer.
“Well, no, obviously, but there has to be another way.”
“How far away is it?” Krath’s voice rose. This discussion was already poking through his thin veneer of patience.
Crix looked nervously at Krath for a few seconds before responding. “The Alcazar is located in the mountain region of Crein, and that’s not easy to get to on foot. Although by sky carrier, it’s about two hours from here. The sky carrier is the only practical way to travel between the Troika providences.”
Krath jumped up, grabbed his pack, and started heading toward the front door. “Where are you going?” Crix blurted out with the slim hope of stopping him.
“I’m goin’ to the Alcazar, and so are tya. That’s our ride outta here, and the meter is runnin’, so let’s get movin’.”
Although he was exasperated and uncertain, Crix knew they needed to leave, but stealing the grand chief’s transport did not sit well with him. Yet, he decided to follow their lead, given the respect of their experiences, and he was outnumbered two to one.
***
The sky carriers were a primitive and continuously running transit system that operated between the five Troika providences. The system consisted of two fastened-together, cylindrical dirigibles that carried round, open-air platforms beneath them. A single pilot sat upon a raised seat at the rear of each platform.
The sky carrier station was nothing more than a simple, rustic ticketing booth with a short line of Andors awaiting the next carrier. The carriers touched down smoothly and flawlessly for only ten minutes at a time before lifting off to make way for the next arrival. At any given time, a continuous line of four to five carriers could be visible in the clear Troika sky. Water stains seeped down the patinated sides of the lightweight metal carriers. They were very quiet; in fact, the only noticeable sound they made was a long hiss as they lifted off from the ground. This fit well with the older generation of Andors, who were adamant about living a low-tech and quiet existence.
Crix, Krath, and Kerriah boarded a sky carrier destined for Crein and the Alcazar. As they rode, they observed the peaceful, natural, wooded Andorian countryside. There were only six Andors onboard with them, who intentionally acted as though they did not notice Crix and his companions. It was difficult to tell if it was out of politeness or uncertainty that made them keep such a distance, but either way, it was apparent, and it made Kerriah feel uneasy, so she stared out into the woods below and tried to ignore them. Only the elderly Andor pilot would give them a suspecting glance from time to time, though he never spoke a single word as the transport passed over kilometers of thick woods.
The wooded lowlands of Hemlor slowly changed over to the rocky, mountainous highlands of Crein with Andorian homes clustered into the rocks and hillsides. The dwellings looked similar in appearance to the homes of Hemlor. However, these homes appeared casually tossed onto the side of the mountain or even windswept there from some great storm. There was no uniformity in their layout; rather, the rugged terrain decided where each house found its place.
The hiss from the metal carrier picked up tempo and intensified as it went upward to climb above the rocky summits. After clearing a steep range, the air cooled noticeably and gave a slight tickle when it curled across the skin. The ascending landscape leveled off to a field of tall and narrow, rock-like towers, so close in proximity the sum of them had the appearance of an old, dead forest turned to stone.
“I believe the open field on the other side of the Pillared Forest is the Alcazar.” Crix pointed forward, but he was not quite certain. The dense forest of stone pillars became increasingly sparse until they reached the sky carrier station on the far side of the open field. The carrier slowed, and the hissing started again and grew louder as the carrier approached their destination. The platform gently touched the surface, and the passengers quickly exited via a small section of latching side rail. Right behind them, about a dozen or so Andors urgently boarded before it departed once again.
Posted at the station entrance stood two dark, cloaked Andors wearing navy-shaded chest plates. Looking statuesque and towering in appearance, they wielded great, curved blade weapons. Steam blew out from their nostrils as their warm breath hit the cool mountain air. Their chiseled faces, bulging muscles, and large veins perfected the look of forceful Andor protectors and appointed guardians of the land. They were not to be trifled with and would not react well to outsiders approaching their post.
“Moraks, as we near the Alcazar, we are likely to see more of them,” Crix whispered.
“They wield such primitive weapons, yet I don’t think I want to get on their bad sides if we can avoid it,” Kerriah noted while sizing up their blades.
“Tectonic blades aren’t as primitive as they appear. They are infused with Ghoran crystals and will seriously mess up the individual that comes in contact with one,” Crix warned with a whisper.
“Ghoran?” Kerriah asked.
“Shhhh!” Crix tried to get her to quiet down as the Morak guards looked at them with interest. He started to become uneasy. His neck became tense, and he found himself trying to stand taller than normal.
As they approached the station’s exit, one of the guards lowered his blade, blocking their passage. “What’s your business in Crein?” he questioned, noting that they were foreigners. Outsiders were generally not welcomed in Troika and even less so in Crein.
“We are here to have a look at the stone forest of Mothoa; we have heard so much of it, and . . . we just want to have a look at it with our own eyes.” Crix clumsily offered a last-second, pitiful explanation. He was not very good at being deceitful.
“You’ve seen it. Now be gone to where you have come,” the Andor’s strong voice commanded in an unyielding tone.
“We were hoping to get a closer look than this. Can’t we just walk out to the edge of it?” Crix’s voice was childlike, though he hoped they would not notice his nervousness.
“No one is allowed to enter the sacred forest except for Andors that have departed from the living realm with honor. Now go back to which you have come before I have you shackled and hung from a barstil tree!” The Andor’s tone was even harsher than before. Crix looked toward the forest.
“Wait justa minute there, buddy. Them’s fightin’ words where I’m from . . .” Krath barked at the Morak guard before Crix quickly placed his hand up to stop him.
“Look, I’ve lived in Troika since I was a child, and my keeper, Haflinger, was a Morak during the first Thraxon War . . . Well, he died two days ago, and I wish to pay honor to the lands his spirit will inherit. That’s all.” The two Moraks looked at him as if looking directly through him.
“Then why are these two here?” one of the guards asked while pointing to Kerriah and Krath without even looking at them.
“I tell you what. Can we at least just hang out in the small wooded area between here and the Alcazar and view both from afar?” Crix asked as respectfully as he could.
The guard let out a forceful exhale. “There’s no law that says you can’t. However, be warned, don’t try anything illicit or inappropriate while being in the area,” he responded with an insolent tone.
Krath smiled. He knew they were about to do exactly that.
CHAPTER 10
L ooking through his antique field glasses, Krath observed the perimeter of the Alcazar. The majestic stronghold of the Andors sat atop a plateau with a massive U-shaped reflecting pool at its base. The pool surrounded a statue of a strange, mythical-like creature, the likes of which Krath had never seen before. The Alcazar had five, tall, narrow spires that reached into the sky with the tallest at the center. Grey and weathered, it was easy to tell that this structure had stood as a representation of Andorian fortitude for countless generations, long before the settlement of Mendacs on Soorak. Surrounding the structure was a series of smaller towers with openings near the top. These perimeter defense
s had Morak Sentinels positioned inside, each armed with heavy turrets. The chain-driven guns fired electrostatically charged barbs capable of incapacitating both organic and robotic invaders. The Morak Sentinels were the elite of the Morak forces and had always held the honor of protecting the grand chief.
“Well . . . where the heck is the transport bay in this place? Wa—wait a second.” Krath panned halfway down the cliffside. “There tya are. Very clever of them to camo it against the cliffside.”
The grey and black granite texture created the visual illusion of a solid rock face. Concealed within this illusion was a cutout section that the transport used to access the underground landing bay. At first glance, most untrained eyes would miss it.
“Okay, you found it, so how do you propose we get in there?” Crix questioned.
Krath lowered his field glasses and looked over at Crix with annoyance. “Since a direct assault is out of the question, we climb.”
“You can’t. Take a closer look at the cliff wall, and you’ll see why.” Crix gestured toward the Alcazar. He wanted to prove a point.
Krath gave a scowling grunt and looked back through the field glasses at the cliff. He leaned his head forward a bit as if to get a more focused look. “Humph . . . Well them sneaky Moraks. So they lined the cliff with razor spikes, even used camo to help maintain a neat and tidy view.”
The razor-sharp spikes peppered the cliffside like tiny hairs. Crix gave a gratified smirk and crossed his arms. He wanted Krath and Kerriah to realize his worth and that he had knowledge that could help them. “So you see . . . we can’t get to that hangar.”
Krath bit at Crix with the sharpness of a feisty dog. “Now tya look here. I’ve been patient with tyar negativity, but my pa—” Crix cut him off before he could finish.
“But there is an alternate way in.” He pointed his finger in the direction of the stone forest.
“Now that’s my boy. Let’s have it, and be quick about it,” Krath said with an instant reversal in his tone and a big grin on his face.
Age of the Marcks Page 10
