by Peter David
Something roared in the near distance. It was one of the trees, and its branches were moving as well, thrashing around in fury, one of them coming so near to Lamb that it almost grabbed him. Lamb stumbled backward, as much by accident as design, and then barely flipped to the left in time to avoid another root. “What the hell is happening?!” he cried out.
Usze pulled Lamb up, and the two of them stumbled backward, almost falling as the ground continued to be torn up.
The trio continued to retreat, bumping up against the incline of the cliffsides, which prevented them from running. The one thing in their favor was that the cliffs were not insurmountable. They were at a steep angle, but could be scaled.
Wasting no time, Usze and Lamb immediately started to climb the rocky slope. The Spartan came last, climbing backward.
The roots were stretching after them, clambering up the cliff, trying to reach them, enwrap them, and yank them back down. It was uncertain just how high the damn things could travel, and their only choice was to keep climbing.
“Up here!” Lamb was shouting.
The Spartan took an instant to glance up and over his shoulder. Usze and Lamb had taken refuge in one of the upper caves. Holt hoped that it wasn’t occupied by something; that would be just their luck. It seemed beyond the range of the roots, although that was more or less guesswork on Holt’s part.
Deciding to trade out defensive capabilities for speed, Holt locked his rifle onto his back, turned around, and scrambled up the cliffside.
Just as he was reaching for the lower lip of the cave wall, the Spartan was suddenly pulled away from it as something took hold of his left leg. It was one of the roots. Automatically he kicked down with his right foot, trying to drive it away. He reached for his rifle, but it was positioned badly and inaccessible.
Usze threw himself out of the cave, swinging his sword around and down. Holt’s leg came free as the blade sliced through the root, and he heard something scream; it was the tree. The cutting of the root caused it injury.
Injury, how? It’s a damn tree!
Holt climbed upward with strength born of desperation. He fell into the cave and then immediately pulled his rifle clear and brought it around. “What was that thing? How can a tree do that?”
“Maybe it wasn’t a tree,” Lamb said. “Maybe it was a plantlike animal? Or just a really pissed off plant? Whatever it was, apparently it doesn’t like us.”
“It can join the club,” said Holt. “Everything on this rock seems to be after us.”
“Now what?” said Lamb. He was obviously doing whatever he could to keep his fear buried deep, but only partly succeeding. “I mean, it’s not like we can wait it out. The damn thing isn’t going anywhere.”
“I wish we could call for help,” said Holt, tapping his comm unit. “If we could, that would be . . .”
His voice trailed off.
“What?” said Lamb.
Holt looked up, sounding confused. “My . . . comm unit is working again. I’ve just got a clear signal. Whatever was scrambling it before has stopped.”
“So, great!” said Lamb, clearly not questioning good fortune when it came their way. “Call for help!”
“Let’s just hope they can hear us,” said Holt.
Spartan Kodiak tapped the communications device. “Say again!” he said.
Holt’s voice crackled back at him. “We’re pinned down! Some kind of . . . there’s no good way to put it. There’s some kind of creature here; it looks like a gigantic tree, but it’s not—it ambushed us and is trying to tear us apart. We’ve taken refuge in a cave, but we have no way out of here. We could use some reinforcements!”
“Tracking you now,” said Kodiak as he ran figures through his comm unit and HUD. “We’ll try to get there as quickly as possible.”
“We’ll be waiting. Holt out.”
The Huragok continued to float nearby. It had been relatively silent for the entirety of the trip. That figured, as there wasn’t much it was interested in communicating at the moment, given its limited functions out here on the vast ice fields of the Ark. They had been traveling across a frozen body of water for a while, and their objective was coming into sight.
Kodiak finished running the triangulations as Luther leaned toward him and asked: “What have you got?”
“They’re about an hour’s walk north-northwest of our current position.” There was no true north on the Ark, only directions that coordinated their position and their objective. It was somewhat surprising to learn that the other group had actually moved closer to the Ark’s center, where the foundry existed, as did the citadel they were all headed to. Holt’s team must have had much easier passage than them.
Luther wasn’t in love with the idea of walking that distance. It wasn’t impossible. The snowstorm that had been pounding down on them had lightened to some degree, but it was still coming down. So he was reasonably sure he could manage it, but it wouldn’t be easy going. “I’m pretty confident that we won’t be able to get the mammoth to go in that direction. Like I mentioned earlier, something else is controlling it,” he reminded Kodiak. “Any other ideas?”
“No,” said Kodiak. “It’s got to be on foot. N’tho!”
N’tho glanced up at him. “Yes?”
“I’m getting off here. Holt and the others need help.”
“That might not be wise. It is obvious that the doctor is correct: whatever is overseeing this place wants us to go this way. It’s leading us where we need to go.”
“We don’t know that for sure. It doesn’t matter, though. Holt needs me now, and he’s in that direction.” He turned to Luther, “Stay close to these guys, I’ll make this as quick as I can.” Then Kodiak swung his leg over and vaulted to the ground.
Puffs of snow billowed up where he had landed. The mammoth did not appear to notice that he had disembarked; instead it kept trudging forward, one huge leg in front of the next.
Without wasting time, Kodiak started running. It would not have been the easiest endeavor for anyone else, but his enhanced physiology propelled him forward, the weight of his armor not even registering, since he was so accustomed to wearing it. It wasn’t long before he recognized that the others, at least Mann for certain, wouldn’t have survived long on the ground in these conditions. The snow was simply too dense for normal travel on foot.
Nevertheless, he removed any awareness of his surroundings from his consciousness. He did not dwell on the fact that he was sprinting across a vast, frigid body of water, and he had no clue how thick the ice actually was. Instead he focused on a singular purpose: another Spartan needed his help. If Holt couldn’t handle this on his own, he knew it was serious.
Every ten minutes, he would check in with Holt via comm, confirming that the group’s condition remained stationary. “So what are you dealing with?” he asked in their first communication. “A tree . . . ?” He had a vague recollection of a centuries-old fantasy story that had living trees, but he couldn’t remember much beyond that about it. “Is that right?”
“Not exactly. Lamb’s current theory is that it’s some sort of carnivorous plant that blends in with the trees and apparently eats people-size things. Whatever the hell it is, it’s not playing around.”
“And it’s got you pinned down?”
“Its roots, which it’s able to project above ground, are thrusting around below the cave entrance. They’re either not rigid enough to penetrate the rock, or not long enough to get up here, but if we try to go anywhere, the thing’s going to drag us down before we’re five meters out.”
“Can you climb up any higher?”
“No go. The angle’s too steep. We’re pretty much stuck here for the moment.”
“Okay. Sit tight; I’m en route.”
“You and the others?”
“No, just me.”
There was a pause on the other end that Kodiak couldn’t help but be amused with. Holt obviously was not thrilled by the fact that their rescue party consisted of just
one Spartan and not the Elites as well, but he wasn’t about to risk insulting Kodiak by commenting. “Copy that,” Holt finally said.
The further Kodiak went, the more he noticed that the snow was beginning to thin out. Glancing back, he could barely make out the mammoth in the distance behind him. He stayed steady, his legs scissoring, his arms pumping back and forth, keeping his attention on the area, making sure that nothing else was encroaching on his position. For a second, he remembered the whales, and a brief spurt of fear shot through his veins: he was, after all, sprinting across a frozen sea.
His HUD readout also began to report the escalating temperature, which attested to the approaching shallow, stone ridgeline. Soon he found his feet on frozen ground, with dirt and muck being carved up at every footfall. Within ten minutes, the temperature had climbed several degrees, and with any luck, it would continue to do so.
With any luck. Because I’ve had an abundance of that.
Soon, he’d managed to get clear of the snow entirely, but it caught him off guard. The transition was almost instantaneous. He hadn’t been aware that dramatic shifts in temperature were so close, but that didn’t seem to be a positive omen. It cast a shadow over what exactly was going on. If there was some sort of intelligence controlling the mammoth, what exactly was it after? Was it involved in Holt’s current situation? Or Vale’s disappearance?
Even though he was drawing much closer to Holt’s location, his instincts advised him to slow down, because he was immediately aware that there was something nearby. He could hear distant growling, and he assumed it was coming from whatever had Holt and the others pinned down. He slowed considerably as he reached the top of the ridge and clambered about a hundred meters across a barren plateau to the other side, looking down into a ravine below. For a moment, his concern was piqued: the steep decline into the ravine was covered by large evergreen-like trees. Could they be the same thing Holt was talking about? He decided they were not and chanced careful forward progression.
There were some small boulders scattered around that would serve to prevent anything from spotting Kodiak. He moved from one to the next, checking the area with caution the entire time. He kept his weapon at the ready.
“There,” he whispered to himself.
The cliff on the opposite side was still some distance away, and he could make out a few of the caves. But there was no movement in them. The ground below seemed a bit unsettled, but none of the trees or roots were moving at all. For a fleeting instant, he wondered if it had all been some sort of twisted exaggeration on Holt’s part, or maybe some sort of Forerunner illusion, but he discarded the notion just as quickly. That was simply a nonstarter; no Spartan—hell, no soldier—would ever do something like that.
He carefully scanned the area and tried to get a sense of what was out there manipulating the roots. His eyes were drawn to one tree in particular, which was larger than any of the others in view, and the branches were swaying gently. It could have been from the wind . . . except no other tree branches in the vicinity were moving.
Kodiak wasn’t sure how long they were going to be on the Ark, but the last thing he wanted was to run low on ammunition. He’d prefer to save it for when he was sure that it would be put to optimum use. Instead he pulled out his Covenant plasma blade, but kept it deactivated for the time being. Very slowly he started moving toward the suspicious tree.
Damn, that thing is big.
And the closer he neared, the larger it seemed. In its fundamental shape, it resembled an oak tree. But here was a much vaster array of branches than he’d ever seen in a tree—ten people joining hands would barely be able to circle its trunk. Most curious, its bark, if it could be called that, was interlaced with streaks of purple.
Fortunately it didn’t seem to be reacting to Kodiak’s approach. Maybe it was dormant? Or perhaps focused entirely on the cave that Holt and the others were in . . . ?
His booted foot stepped on a fallen branch, and the snap reverberated through the still air.
And the tree trunk actually turned 180 degrees, revealing an eerie cluster of black and red eyelike protrusions.
All around the Spartan, the ground came alive. Roots ripped up from the dirt, sending it flying, and reached for him.
Kodiak activated his sword and sprinted toward it, plowing through the roots with his strength and sudden speed, using the superheated energy sword as a charging barge.
One of the roots pulled his feet out from under him, and Kodiak hit the ground hard, as another came up in an attempt to encircle his arm. Before it could do so, he swung the blade and sliced through it. The tree, if it could still be called that, released a deep guttural bellow, and then it lost its grip on his legs. Kodiak scrambled loose and got up, continuing to run toward his attacker.
He got within a meter of the tree and brought his blade around, sinking it deep into the trunk, and this time the resonant, heavy shrieking noise threatened to blow out Kodiak’s ear drums, but his armor automatically compensated, rapidly reducing the volume of his in-helmet audio function.
Branches and vines descended from overhead. Had Kodiak not been in his armor, he would have been in deep trouble, because the tree-thing could have easily strangled him without much effort. And suddenly, to Kodiak’s shock, he was being lifted into the air . . . and then he felt something. Within the Mjolnir armor.
That was when Kodiak realized: as solid a piece of construction as his armor was, there was still space in between the individual plates and his undersuit. Generally, this space was so tight that nothing could possibly penetrate, save for, perhaps, something as thin as vines from a tree.
They snaked in between these pieces, quickly going taut and wrapping around various plates in extremely rigid ways. Kodiak struggled furiously as he felt them making their way around his undersuit, which provided very little in the way of protection. He twisted around, tried to swing the blade, but he no longer had control over his arms; the vines had locked his armor in place. He put all his strength into it, trying to break free, but this creature was keeping him completely immobilized. The branches were now reaching down toward him, and even more vines were slithering into his armor. He heard the Mjolnir components start to moan under the duress of the vines, almost as though it were about to rip him from his armor like food out of a tin can.
Then the tree boomed again with a fierce roar.
The vines lost their strength and immediately receded as Kodiak crashed to the ground. Klaxons in his heads-up display were going off because of the strain the armor had endured, but those quickly died away. He lay there for a moment, unmoving, not understanding what was happening. Then he clambered to his feet and turned toward the tree.
Usze ‘Taham was driving his plasma sword through the trunk, plunging deeply into it. Black ooze, very likely its lifeblood, was seeping out of the huge slice that the Sangheili had carved into the thing. Usze had used the tree’s focus on Kodiak to sneak down and assault it before it noticed.
Kodiak charged forward and began carving it from the other side with his own sword. The tree writhed and shook and roots shot up, flailing at Kodiak, but with quickly fading strength.
Seconds later, the entire tree started to topple. Kodiak and Usze cleared themselves from its arc as it tumbled. It crashed to the ground, branches snapping on impact, the roots flailing for long moments afterward before finally sagging.
The two of them stood there for a time, completely silent and staring down at the bizarre creature they had just slain.
Moments later, Spartan Holt and Henry Lamb descended from the cave above. “Thanks for coming,” said Holt.
“Spartans don’t leave Spartans behind. So am I correct that you did not manage to locate Olympia Vale?”
“That is correct,” said Usze, sounding somewhat annoyed. “We were waylaid by that life-form . . . as well as other strange things in this place. And now we have lost more or less all sign of her trail. So we were heading for the citadel in the hopes that we could po
ssibly locate her there.”
“Seems like a reasonable plan—the others are on their way now,” said Kodiak. “Have you encountered anything out of the ordinary? Aside from this thing, I mean.”
“There were these machines, these biped Forerunner creations,” said Lamb. “They were armed with weapons and moving around like . . . well, like humans. Or perhaps Forerunners.” He sounded almost fascinated by it, which Kodiak found strange. “What about you?”
“We were picked up by a mammoth.”
The others exchanged confused looks. “I’m sorry, what?” said Holt.
“A mammoth. Or something like that. It picked us up in the middle of the snow and was transporting us.”
“I am confused by this. Explain,” said Usze. “One of the creatures on this place was helping you?”
“Doctor Mann has some theories. His belief is that this animal, and possibly the one Vale was with, was doing so at the behest of whatever AI is running this place.”
“That is a strange theory,” Usze said. “What of the beasts that are not particularly kind? Like this one?” he said, looking down at the gigantic, gnarled tree creature.
“Honestly, I’m not sure.”
Lamb was looking thoughtful. “Well . . . consider this. Whenever anyone does anything, it’s always for the same reason. They want something in return. That’s just common sense. Nothing is done for nothing—if this AI, or whatever it is, was providing us a means of travel in order to bring us to the citadel, then it must want something from us.”
“What could that possibly be?” said Kodiak.
“Nothing that I can think of,” Lamb’s voice trailed off. “At least, nothing good.”
“We should try to make it to the citadel, then,” Kodiak said, “before the other group gets there. They might be walking right into a trap.”
Luther Mann was relieved that the trip so far hadn’t veered once again into chaos. He was worried about Kodiak, of course. He hoped that the Spartan was able to reach the others and aid them with whatever it was that had pinned them down. Still, he wasn’t exactly enamored by the notion that Kodiak was making his way back across the snowy terrain, even if the snow had now ceased to be falling.
