Lucas looked puzzled, but Asher took her at her word. He grabbed her hand and pushed on Lucas’ shoulder. “Sprint, Lieutenant!”
They ran.
As they ran, Asher pulled out his cellphone and dialed with his thumb. He raised it to his lips. “Alfar! In the air! Brace for incoming!” Then he tucked the cellphone away and concentrated on moving as fast as he could, which was faster than Lucas and Charlee could run. For a big guy, Asher was very light on his feet.
Even Lucas pulled away from her and Charlee fell slowly behind. They were in the meadow now, and she could see the street and the sidewalk ahead. People on the path scattered before them, or stood to one side and stared at them curiously, trying to understand why they were running so hard.
Charlee had a feeling that the danger didn’t lie behind them anymore. She risked a glanced upwards, into the iron grey sky overhead.
A diamond-shaped platform hung in the air. With her quick glance, Charlee couldn’t determine if the platform was very large, or just very low. The air beneath it was distorted, just like the air behind a jet engine would be. The throbbing engine sound came from it, but there was no engine-shaped anything. It was just a steel-colored platform, sleek and aerodynamic.
A homeless man pushing a loaded shopping cart looked at her indignantly as she ran past. “What’ser hurry, sister?” he called.
She pointed upwards and he lifted his head back. So did the people near him, and a woman screamed.
“Alfar!” Charlee called.
Panic exploded across the park, as everyone turned and bolted—most of them heading for the west side, away from the Alfar. Only she and Lucas and Asher seemed to be trying to catch the platform, which was now crossing Fifth Avenue, ahead of even Asher.
Now it was ahead of her, Charlee could see the Alfar standing on top of the platform. There was even a very ordinary-looking chair in the middle of it, with an Alfar seated comfortably. She guessed the one doing the sitting was a Lajos. Even from where she was, the Lajos looked extraordinarily tall.
The hall was seven blocks away, on the south-east side of FDR Drive, close enough to the Queensboro Bridge that if they stepped outside the hall, they could hear cars clunking over the joints in the bridge surface, overhead. Charlee knew she would never be able to run all the way. It was a long, brisk walk as it was. And now that the platform was skimming over Fifth and Park Avenue, New Yorkers were streaming west, escaping. The sidewalk suddenly became clogged with people all moving in the opposite direction to Charlee, a sea of panic that it was almost impossible to swim against.
Asher was out of sight, and Charlee could barely see Lucas ahead of her. He had stepped out onto the street, where so far, no one was running. She copied him, and immediately began to make better time.
The first low booming sound didn’t register as anything other than more noise. Then the ground seemed to shiver under her feet and Charlee looked up, alarmed. The platform was hovering and as she looked, a streak of almost invisible light left the platform, leaping for the buildings below. Then came the same muffled booming and the shudder of the earth.
They were firing on the hall. They were right over it.
Charlee came to a halt in the middle of the street. All the vehicles had stopped, too, so there was no danger of being run over. Their drivers were hanging out their windows and looking up, or else they had stepped out of their cars altogether.
Then the throbbing, low bass beat sounded, but this time from behind her. Charlee whirled. Another platform was zooming in from the direction of New Jersey, heading for lower Manhattan. The Alfar on it looked smaller, which told her it was higher up, but it was dropping altitude. As it dropped and arrowed into the downtown area, the same barely seen light shot from the tip of the platform and a more distant booming sounded.
Lucas jogged up to her, his gaze on the platform over Wall Street. He pointed over Charlee’s right shoulder. “Three!” he called.
There was another, more distant platform and behind it, smaller still, even more of them.
“We have to get off Manhattan!” Lucas said. “The Lincoln Tunnel.”
Charlee turned him so he could see the phalanx of platforms over New Jersey as they headed for Manhattan. “Too late,” she told him.
Lucas considered. “The archway bridge tunnel, then,” he said and picked up her hand. “C’mon. Back to the park.”
She had rested enough to gain back her breath so she let Lucas lead her at a steady jog down the side of the roadway, between the cars and the pedestrians. When they got to the tunnel that would shelter them from the overhead strikes, she would think about what they should do next, and how to get back to the hall. They had phones. They could network and figure out what they should do next.
She and Lucas hurried into the pretty tunnel under the bridge and made themselves comfortable. They weren’t the first there, and they wouldn’t be the last. Charlee had no way of guessing that this was the beginning of what would be called the Rout of New York, and that they would end up staying in the tunnel for two more days.
That was how long it took New York to fall.
MIDGARD
Chapter Forty-One
There was a shelf on this level that thrust out into the air, so that an Alfar could walk to the edge and look out upon the realm below. Renmar studied the effect. His tower in London did not provide such a viewpoint. He used images that were instantly transferred to his preferred work level instead. But this idea had a simplicity that was appealing.
He stepped out toward the edge of the shelf and felt the cool, thin air that eddied around the towers at this level brush against his face. He looked down.
It was quite easy to see where the shield wall ran, for on the other side, where humans were still free to adjust their environment in the way they did, the roads and buildings were whole once more. Cars moved in the narrow streets, although not many of them dared to come close to the shield.
On the inside of the shield wall, there were few whole buildings. No cars moved and the streets were deserted. Alfar craft floated here and there—patrols that Renmar was quite sure had taken to the air only because of his visit.
Human cities were branded by their control of green spaces, which were limited, but in the three years since the Alfar had won New York for themselves, green had been creeping back in. London was very similar, for the surface of the roads had crumbled without constant human vigilance, and plants had thrust up through the cracks and holes. In a year of growing, the plants had torn the surfaces up even more. After three growing seasons, the city landscape was quite different.
The wreckage their pulse cannons had created when they took New York was softened and disguised by mosses and mold, bushes and small trees that were reclaiming the land and converting it back to what it once had been. Renmar found it calming to see the world taking back what once belonged to it.
Soza hurried into Renmar’s presence. “Great one, I apologize for my delay appearing in front of you. Your visit is most unexpected.”
“You had a day’s warning,” Renmar pointed out.
“Yes, but a day is not nearly long enough to make preparations worthy of your visit.” Soza belatedly touched his eyes. “But your presence alone makes up for my lack. You grace any event you care to be a part of.”
Renmar waved away Soza’s gushing. “Your report, Soza.”
“Great one.” Soza touched his eyes again. “It is very quiet here. There is nothing unusual to report that I have not included in my weekly missives.”
“I have read your missives. Lately, they have been missing vital information, which is what brings me here to see for myself.”
“Great one?”
Renmar liked the fear he heard in Soza’s voice. The doubt. It was useful to keep commanders unbalanced in this way, so that they would question everything before them.
“When I appointed you to control this tower and the humans inside it, I gave you specific ambitions. I stressed how critical they
were. Yet for the last seven reports you have failed to address these ambitions.”
Soza stared. “The Einherjar and his woman?” he whispered.
“The Einherjar called Asher Strand and the woman we believe is his. You have failed to report progress on my desire to capture this Einherjar. You have omitted any mention of them in your reports. This is a sliding of attention I do not appreciate.”
Soza swallowed. “Great one, it is precisely because of a lack of progress on that ambition that it was omitted from the reports. My desire to provide you with what you seek is ever fresh.”
“So you have continued to fail to meet my expectations,” Renmar interpreted.
Soza’s gaze darted around the room before settling back upon Renmar. “I...I have failed you, great one.”
Renmar considered him. “Describe your current efforts to find this Asher Strand.”
Soza prostrated himself on the floor. “It is as I described in my earlier reports, great one. There is no word of the Einherjar on the streets. My spies hear nothing of him or the woman at all. The others, yes. The Valkyrie and the Einherjar that lead them, we hear of at all turns. They are ever a thorn in our toes. But there is nothing of Askr Brynjarson.”
“Hroar and the Valkyrie do not concern me,” Renmar pointed out. “They are toothless while they are inside the shield. They can growl as loudly as they wish, it is nothing but noise.” He hissed. “You irritate me, with your face placed so. Get to your feet.”
Soza scrambled to his feet and bent forward in obeisance. “Great one, after such efficient and concentrated effort, after so many years, perhaps it is time to consider that both the Einherjar and his woman died in the original capture of the city. Our pulse cannons were very effective and the human population so perfectly contained on the central island, it was considerably easier to capture New York than London, but the destruction was widespread.”
“Because the humans would not yield,” Renmar snapped, his irritation building. “I remember the reports. The Myrakar estimated there were nearly eight million humans living within the borders of the shield, including the island. Even if half of them died in the original capture of the city, that leaves a very large number of humans, and Einherjar disguised as human, still within the shield. How many humans have the Myrakar collected as slaves?”
“They were most efficient, Great one. There were too many slaves for this tower alone. We have given slaves to the other towers and even to help with the running of your own palace, in Oslo.”
“How many?” Renmar snapped.
“The last report from the Myrakar put the number at just over one million, great one. They have stopped actively recruiting slaves, as there is simply nowhere to house and feed them, even with minimal rations. The humans are quite weak. Without continual nourishment and several hours of sleep, they grow even less efficient.”
“Find fresh slaves and replace the weaker ones,” Renmar said. “I should not have to point out such administrative simplicities to you, Soza.”
“The Myrakar have researched this method, oh Great one. Their conclusions are simply inarguable. It is cheaper and less troublesome to provide basic resources to the slaves we have already acquired than to find, subdue and train new ones. After a period of adjustment, older slaves are far more compliant. I can show you the research and the analysis, Great one. The economic savings alone are very pleasing.”
Renmar considered the matter. “Very well,” he said. “I am open to change—it is my reasonableness and ability to adapt that has made this venture to Midgard successful to date. Provide the data to my wife. She will check the findings.” He turned away from the shelf and the meditative contemplation of the reclaimed human city below and faced Soza for the first time. “I want my ambitions obeyed, Soza. Renew your efforts to find the Einherjar and his woman. If the Myrakar estimates are evenly loosely accurate, and I agree with you that they are very good at gathering information about the humans, so their estimates are likely correct, then that means there are better than two million humans still inside the shield. I doubt that even when you were fresh and zealous about your work, you scanned more than a tenth of that number.”
“Yes, Great one.” Soza kept his head close to the ground.
“I know he is still alive,” Renmar added. “I want you to find him and bring him to me. I hope I do not have to reinforce my request more than this one occasion.”
“No, Great one. But, if you would be so generous as to allow a question?”
Renmar considered the top of Soza’s head. The Alfar had been highly effective in bringing the population in the shield under control. There had been very few major outbreaks, despite having caught the Kine’s Regin and the new Annarr located within the shield where they could stir up trouble. Renmar didn’t underestimate the Valkyrie and Hroar Brynjarson. For one, Eira was a noble warrior, who had led one of the strongest human armies ever assembled. And Hroar was Asher Strand’s brother, and would have learned the same battle skills, and would think in similar strategic ways. Both of them together—Hroar and the Valkyrie—were potentially a lethal spearhead at the front of the Kine war machine.
But it was far more critical he find Asher Strand and the branded woman. Both of them had to be permanently removed from the battlefield. He would not consider victory over this muddy and violent world his until they were accounted for.
“Do you remember your childhood lessons about the Vanir and their prophecies, Soza?” Renmar asked.
“The fairy tales, Great one? My mamman would relate them to me, to entertain me. But….” Despite Soza keeping his head down, Renmar could sense his puzzlement. “They are just stories,” he added carefully.
“Ragnarok was real enough,” Renmar pointed out. It felt good to be so expansive and generous with his knowledge.
“Well, yes,” Soza agreed hesitantly.
“Do you remember the Many Worlds poem?”
Soza was silent for a moment. “I remember,” he said at last. “Kings, all losing their heads. A great disaster. It was not about the Alfar,” he added stoutly.
Renmar sighed. “They are all about the Alfar,” he said stiffly. “Alfheim and Svartalfheim are ours. Midgard is nearly ours. They are all part of the nine worlds, are they not?”
“Yes, Great one.”
Again, Renmar sighed. Why had he thought sharing his knowledge was such a pleasant thing? This was like pulling the essence from trees. “Any prophecy that speaks of the nine worlds involves us, and this one speaks of a king of kings, who will win the nine worlds for himself.”
Soza lifted his head to look at Renmar, momentarily forgetting himself. “Asher Strand? The Einherjar? A former human is to defeat us?” He was offended and rightly so. Renmar realized with a little jolt of pleasure that sharing knowledge had a wisdom he had been unaware of. This was much more effective than merely declaring his ambitions.
“He will not defeat us,” Renmar pointed out magnanimously, “if he is no longer alive to lead them.”
* * * * *
Charlee stopped weeding long enough to look up at where Fudge sat at the top of the broad steps up to the street level. He hadn’t moved and he hadn’t made a sound.
“Still clear?” Charlee asked.
Fudge yipped shortly, then returned to scanning the empty shell of the building, the windows, the exits, and the street beyond. Satisfied, Charlee went back to weeding. She looked up at the patch of blue sky overhead and the outer curve of the tower visible from here. The tower blocked the morning sun, but the dazzling hot light that reached down here to the cellar was more than enough to grow two crops each season. The proximity of the tower kept nearly everyone away, so her garden had not been discovered.
Yet.
She had started the garden three years ago, and at the time she had not expected she would ever see a harvest—the Alfar had been merciless in their patrols and roundups, and she figured that sooner or later the garden would be discovered. Then the patrols had slackened an
d become a once-a-night circle around the tower on arrowheads, but there was always the possibility that it might yet be found. She continued to work on it anyway because the garden had become one of their major sources of food and the all-important medicines of which she was constantly in need.
Either Fudge or Torger kept guard while she worked. Fudge hadn’t been out of the home base for a few days, so Charlee had ordered Torger to watch over the house. Fudge was very well trained. Asher had seen to his training, patiently weeding out his bad habits and attitudes, while Torger had kept him in line and obedient with nips and snarls, as necessary.
Torger was incredibly old for a dog. He had lived long beyond a dog’s usual life, although in the last year or so he had finally begun to show signs of age. His chops were grey and he moved slowly on cold days, if at all. Charlee had wondered aloud if Torger’s long life was linked to Asher’s and he had shrugged. “The Amica live longer than usual. Even the Eldre linger on. I suppose a faithful animal might benefit in the same way.”
Torger was still the smartest dog Charlee had ever met. A day at home, for him, would be a chance for him to rest. However, only having one dog on watch was risky, so Charlee kept straightening up and checking for herself.
It was such a nice day. It was very easy, down here, to forget about the tower rearing over them, or the occupation that shaped their lives. It was easier to listen to the trickle of the little stream that had been created when the Metropolitan Museum had been destroyed—a pipe or drain, or a cistern had been broached and the water ran across the torn-up earth that was all that was left inside the shell of the museum, cutting from north to south. Charlee would never drink the water because she couldn’t find the source, but it was potable enough for the vegetables to thrive.
Fudge growled, low in his throat. It was a warning.
Charlee looked up at him, then ran her gaze along the bombed-out window arches and the big dormers. No shadow fell across them. Nothing appeared to be moving out there, but that could be deceiving, because the tower cast a shadow across front of the building in the morning. It wasn’t quite noon yet, but at this time of year the sun would be almost completely overhead.
The Branded Rose Prophecy Page 63
