“The biggins are coming,” muttered Coop pulling two broad head arrows from the quiver hanging from his shoulder.
“Aye. Steady now, lads,” Abernethy said eagerly.
Exchanging a few quick words with the sentries, the Head Mother Frigg’n Anakim in Charge turned his mammoth head back toward the portal and grunted something undecipherable. Then he simply broke into a hefty jog heading north across the clearing.
Upon receiving the command, a parade of giants emerged from the portal like it was a frigg’n clown car. One after the other a single file of massive shapes, clad only in dark tunics, lumbered through the otherworldly gate and fell in formation behind their leader. The dark mass of behemoths glided through the clearing in lock step like a unit of highly disciplined soldiers, making no sound as they methodically moved through the woods. It was unnerving to put it mildly. Azazel had been busy.
If not for the up close and personal experience I’d already had with such creatures I think I would have shit myself. Instead, I slowly drew the spatha from its sheath and locked eyes with Big A.
“Steady,” he said again.
When the entire horde of giants had passed through the gateway and faded into the darkness of the woods, the two lycaon scampered after them leaving the varangian sphincter twins alone at the entrance.
“I counted eighteen,” Caveman whispered to the group.
“Yep,” I grumbled. “Same here.”
Duncan, who I’d actually forgot was there with us, let out a low growl-like squeal, which I presumed was pocket pig for ‘Me too.’
“They were, ah, rather large,” whispered Tango.
“I’ve seen bigger,” Rooster said. Which earned him a jaw dropping gaze from the rest of the us.
“Aye,” Abernethy grunted in agreement. “That was a wee lot.”
A long silence followed as we waited for the green light to proceed to the next phase of the mission. At the rate the anakim were moving, it wouldn’t be more than a few minutes before they reached the feeding site. They were on the clock, just like we were.
Meanwhile, at the portal entrance, the varangian sentries stood like statues. They neither moved nor spoke. If not for the occasional beam of moonlight silhouetting their armored frames, you wouldn’t even know they were there.
In what felt like a damn eternity, but was probably no longer than a couple minutes later, a blurry image of Crockett appeared again on the teleLink screen and muttered, “Got word from Berko. They’ve picked up the raiding party. You’re clear to proceed. Good hunting.” As quickly as the screen appeared, it dissolved and faded from sight.
Rising to his feet and carefully drawing his broadsword, Big A said, “Cooper, if you’d be so kind.”
“My pleasure, boss,” Coop coldly replied as he slowly stood up. Fastening not one, but two arrows on the string of the mighty longbow, he effortlessly drew it back to his ear. “In the throat?”
“That’ll do,” Abernethy replied very businesslike. Shooting me an icy stare, he said, “I’ll take the one on the left. The other beastie is yours.”
“Bad Guy on the right,” I confirmed. “Got it.”
“Separate the head. The barzel arrows will confine them to their human form — but not for long.”
“Roger that.” I took my post on his side and willed the argent metal gauntlets into being. Wrapping my hand tightly around the hilt of the spatha, I raised it in an offensive position. “Ready.”
Doing his very best impersonation of Legolas’ red-neck elvish cousin, Coop raised the bow and muttered, “On Three.”
“One.”
His eyes hardened into a predatory squint as he locked on the targets.
“Two.”
His arm slightly drew back on the already taut bowstring adding just the precise amount of tension to make the impossible shot.
“Three.”
His mouth curled into a dark grin as his fingers released the arrows.
Game on.
Chapter 32
The barzel tipped bolts rocketed from Coop’s bow and whirred like missiles across the clearing in a blur of motion. Despite the great distance and looming darkness, they impossibly plunged squarely into the neck of each varangian sentry before the poor bastards even had a chance to turn their heads.
It was rather impressive. The country boy got some dagum skills.
Making the mental note to never piss off Cooper Rayfield, I took three bold steps while focusing on the rightmost Bad Guy. Instantly manifesting opposite my heavily armed adversary, who was desperately trying to pull an arrow from his throat while attempting to morph into an unnatural bear creature, I muttered, “Let me help you with that.”
And cleaved his head off with a single powerful stroke of the spatha.
As Abernethy did the same to the bogey on the left, our quarry evaporated in a flash of white radiance as the rest of the team joined us at the portal entrance.
“Jackie, time check,” Abernethy said.
“Eleven minutes after midnight. Fifty-four minutes on the mission clock.”
“On with it then. Remember, lads, Don’t believe anything you see in there,” Abernethy said in a hushed tone. “It’s a shade of reality. Nothing more. We’ll be cut off from Skyphos — so stay close.” He shifted attention to me. “Ready?”
“Ready,” I confirmed.
He smirked and offered a courteous bow. “Then, by all means — after you.”
Giving him a smug grin, I focused for a quick second and felt my veil snap into place around me. Trading the spatha out for the Winchester, I called for the fire and cocked the lever chambering an otherworldly round. Raising the gun to a reflexive firing position under my chin, I boldly approached the doorway as the calmative awareness washed over me.
With a cold gaze and a tad of reluctance, I crossed the dimensional threshold fully prepared to find a cavern of hellish nightmare or something inconceivably worse waiting on the other side. Quickly passing through the expected vortex of time and space, I felt my feet firmly plant on soft ground and was rather shocked by what I saw.
It was neither nightmarish nor horrible. Oddly enough, it was sunny — and warm — and breathtaking.
An unsurpassed marvel of majestic landscape unfettered by civilization was laid out before me. It was kind of like the golf course version of Jurassic Park without the dinosaurs. Finding myself on the perimeter of a dense redwood forest, I dumfoundedly gawked across a vast savanna carved with ravines and canyons that perfectly melded into countless mesa-like bluffs set against a pristine backdrop of reddish mountains. An intricate network of brilliant blue rivers and streams fed countless gardens that sporadically bloomed amidst the panorama.
And shockingly, there was not a bad guy in sight. Hell, there was no evidence that anybody nor anything even existed here.
The only real indication that this place was not quite Earth was a distinct heaviness to the air. It was off. Oppressive. Laced with a feeling of dread.
Quickly moving from the portal entrance to the cover of a ginormous tree on my immediate right, I took a knee and focused my Sight. Making another visual sweep of the area, I saw nothing out of sorts.
We were alone — for the moment.
Dropping my veil and sending a cautious ‘All Clear’ signal to Abernethy, the rest of the team advanced through the portal exhibiting similar awestruck expressions as they gazed upon the shadow realm. Everybody, that is, except for Duncan who was seemingly unimpressed. Bit of diva that piglet.
“Whoa,” Rooster said panning around the countryside. “Not exactly what I was expecting.”
Caveman shook his head. “Nah, this makes perfect sense, bro. Azazel sees himself as a god, right? He’s not gonna have some ghetto shadow realm. Dude’s gonna go all out.” Scoffing, he added, “Probably got a club med with a wet bar out there.”
“Where are all the biggins?” Asked Coop dropping the bow to his side while he scanned the landscape.
“Far side of those mountains
maybe?” Rooster said looking rather perplexed. “Don’t know.”
Abernethy grunted. “It’s quiet.”
“It is,” I confirmed. “Too quiet.”
“Fifty-two minutes,” Rooster muttered, stuffing his pocket-watch into his tac-vest. “Clock’s ticking.”
“Aye,” Abernethy grumbled. “Keep a keen eye, laddies.” Turning to the resident magus, he said, “Which way are we going, Mr. Stoner?”
“I’m on it,” Stoner replied throwing his assault pack on the ground in a small clearing amidst the trees. Pulling out his sleek laptop, a small bronze bowl, and a series of mason jars filled with random shit, he quickly went to work on whatever voodoo he planned on using to locate the shadow realm’s point of origin. Rooster immediately jumped in and started helping like they’d done this particular dance a time or two before.
As Big A stood watch over them with his broadsword drawn and scowl on his face, the rest of us fanned out in a tight perimeter securing the area. Taking the flanks, Coop raised his game and actually loaded three arrows on his bow while Tango produced a pair of obscure machete-looking things from opposing sheaths fastened to his chest.
“Those are cute,” I muttered, taking a good look at the Aladdin-like blades.
“Kukri knives,” he said. “The blades are coated in barzel. Picked them up in Nepal during the Gurkha War.”
Although I was by no means a history buff, I was fairly certain that the Gurkha War was fought in the early eighteen hundreds. Finding myself at a real loss for a coherent reply, I simply grunted and made the mental note that he was a few years older than he looked.
Caveman secured our six o’clock with his oversized battle axe and hoglet of war while I drifted up on the edge of the tree line to cover our twelve with the holy shotgun of Antioch.
Glancing back over my shoulder to see a somewhat comical vision of Stoner and Rooster taking turns dumping ingredients from the various jars into the bronze container while Stoner repeatedly murmured something in Latin, I figured it best not to ask how much longer it would take. Roughly thirty excruciatingly long seconds later, there was a distinct whooshing sound followed by a flash of light. Hoping that was a good sign, I turned to confirm they both still had eyebrows. The no eyebrows thing always creeped me out.
“Found it,” Stoner whispered as he shifted his attention from the bowl to his laptop and feverishly pounded away on the keys. As he, Big A, and Rooster studied what I presumed to be some kind of techno wizard GPS thingy on the computer screen, he said, “There it is. A mile and change to our nine o’clock.”
Standing and pointing across the landscape, Stoner barked, “Over there. It’s the top of that bluff.”
Following their gazes past the border of the woodland, it was clear that the point of origin was on a mesa overhanging a picturesque blue pond in the not so far distance.
“Jackie,” said Big A presumably wanting another time check.
“Forty-eight minutes, boss,” Rooster replied.
“Brilliant. Looks like we can hug the tree line and stay out of the open until we reach that wee loch,” Big A said as we congregated around him. “We’ll need to move at a good clip, lads. Tango, Find us a path.”
“On it, boss,” he replied. Decisively sheathing his kukri knives, Tango broke into a full on sprint through the surrounding tree line in the general direction of the bluff. In mid-stride, his feet very suddenly, and without any hint of warning, stopped being feet and started being little tornado-like columns of misty smoke that sparked and flared with greenish white light.
Before he completed another step, the transformation fluidly crept up his legs and torso until — well, it was pretty much all of him. He basically turned into a man-sized cloud of swirling light and smoky haze. Like a surreal swarm of hornets, he then zipped through the air at a blinding pace until he faded from sight into the depths of the woods. Yep. It was weird as all hell. And slightly disturbing.
“Man, I love it when he does that,” said Caveman getting a real kick out the fact I clearly had no idea what the hell just happened. “Pretty cool. Huh, bro?”
Before I had the opportunity to respond, Tango Storm Cloud was back. As the swirling mass of glinting fog morphed into the shape of a man, he said, “Follow me. We got a clear shot to objective.” And he was Tango again. Just like that.
“Let’s move,” Abernethy barked.
Adding yet another mental note to my rapidly growing collection, I took point in back of Tango as the group fanned out behind us. As we started double timing through the woods toward the peculiar point of origin, I had the unyielding suspicion we were walking headlong into a fight.
Something here was off. Besides — of course — Rooster, Caveman, Tango, Stoner, Abernethy, Coop, and Duncan. Especially Duncan.
I think we’ve already established that premise.
Chapter 33
With Tango back in sparky smoke monster form, he drifted through the woods staying a solid fifty meters to our front. Following his lead, the rest of us hauled ass, with reckless abandon, through the plush forest at a superhuman pace. I’m talking like — Olympic sprinters all hopped up on crack cocaine and espresso shots — kind of fast. And with the primal power of the cloak surging through me like electricity, I wasn’t even breaking a sweat.
Providing a bit of levity to the situation, Duncan was running step for step with Caveman despite the fact his little piggly legs were only four or five inches tall. Although it made no sense whatsoever, it was funny as hell to see in action.
Racing between a cluster of skyscraper sized redwoods and doing one of those parkour vaulting maneuvers over a car sized stump covered in spongy moss, I spotted a definitive patch of blue sky up ahead. We were rapidly approaching the edge of the forest. As I threw my hand up alerting the crew to slow down to a more cautious pace, the mini tornado cloud buzzed my tower and morphed back into Tango before I could say ‘Negative Ghostrider.’
As I instinctively jumped backward a step or two, he smirked and said, “You Ok?”
“I’m good,” I grumbled. “That whole smoke on the water thing is going to take some getting used to.”
“Understood,” he replied with a quick chuckle.
As the rest of the crew quickly huddled around us, Tango said, “Once we pop out of the trees up ahead it’s about a half mile to the target. And unless anyone’s in the mood for a swim, we need to skirt to the right, around the pond and come up the backside of the mesa. There’s a path cut into the rock face.”
“Well done, Tiberious,” Abernethy said. “Did ye get a good look across the plain?”
“I did. Still no sign of life,” Tango replied with a concerned look.
“Dagum strange,” muttered Coop.
“Forty-one minutes,” Rooster announced.
Turning to Stoner, I asked, “Can you run a veil over us while we get across the field?”
“Maybe,” he grumbled. “It’ll take all my reserves to pull it off though. No telling how effective it’ll be. The energy here isn’t like Earth.”
“Never mind then,” I said. “We’ll move at a slower pace. Keep a good spread. Heads on a swivel.”
“Aye,” Abernethy grunted. “Any sign of trouble — we split up. Dean, You and Mick get Jackie to the bluff. The rest of us will hold the line, yeah?”
With no need for any further discussion, we each nodded and started pushing through the remaining stretch of woods with Tango and I leading the charge. Leaving the safety of the forest and stepping foot into the grassy lowlands made my stomach churn. It was a good half mile of wide open field without a hint of cover until we reached the bluff and surrounding rock formations. And it was broad daylight. Not exactly the ideal scenario for conducting a clandestine infiltration op.
If we were going to get ambushed, this was the place. It was the perfect kill box. Once we got halfway between the mesa and the forest there was nowhere to go — we’d be sitting ducks.
Keeping the pristine blue pond to our l
eft, we carefully maneuvered through the field of knee-high grass on high alert, in a staggered file. It was eerily quiet. The only noises were that of the water steadily flowing from the occasional small creeks and the blades of grass brushing against our shins. Reaching the halfway point without issue, Tango pointed to the bluff in the near distance and twirled his index finger. Within the blink of an eye he morphed into bedazzled smoke and zipped toward the rock formation like a flock of humming birds.
Reaching into my bag of new tricks, I focused for a quick second and extended my thoughts, creating a telepathic link with him. Feeling the connection snap into place, I used my inner voice, and said, “Hey, Smoky. It’s Dean. You hear me?”
“Ah, yeah,” he replied painfully. “Feels like you’re screaming through a megaphone wired straight to my eardrum.”
“Ah, Sorry. That better?”
“Not so much …” he cognitively grumbled.
“Right, ah, How we looking up there?” I asked, trying my best to mentally whisper.
“I’m at the top of the mesa. Nobody’s home. Got a clear view for miles.”
“Roger. Stay where you are. See you in a couple.”
“I think my brain’s bleeding.”
Dissolving the link and making the mental note that I really needed some work on my telepathy skills, I held my arm up in a pumping motion, announcing to the group that it was time to pick up the pace. Breaking into a steady trot, we reached the base of the rock formation within the next couple minutes without any fanfare. Although I was still fairly certain all hell was about to break loose at some point in the near future — it was so far, so good.
Taking the winding path up the three or four hundred foot mesa was not exactly pleasant, but it beat the hell out free climbing up the rock face. And although it didn’t appear the path had been used very recently, there was clear indication that creatures of large proportions had traversed it in the past.
Rise of the Giants: The Guild of Deacons, Book 1 Page 32
