Star Angel: Dawn of War (Star Angel Book 3)
Page 48
Voltan looked at Kang, his one good eye studying the demon, a dozen questions on his mind but none, clearly, worth discussing at present. He turned to his second in charge.
Choosing to continue ignoring Kang’s demand.
“Monitor the ship,” he instructed. “We’ll sort this out as we go.
“Move all craft into position around the target world.”
EPILOGUE
Jess fell to her back and hit the ground with a crack, vision spotted, familiar copper tang raging in her skull as if she’d been punched in the face. The older Bok stood over her, staggering after he released her but keeping his feet. In his hand he held the Icon. Above him the castle was gone and now, spanning the night sky …
Stars.
Stars upon stars. Patterns she didn’t recognize. A brilliant, multi-colored nebula dominating a giant swath overhead.
It was night. It was afternoon where they’d just been.
They were outside. On a completely different …
No! This couldn’t be happening.
She struggled to rise, horribly disoriented; convulsed and rolled to her right, doubling over even as she saw …
Saturn.
She collapsed again, this time in shock.
Not Saturn.
A planet just like Saturn but …
Not.
Rising above distant mountains in the starry sky, gigantic in proximity; brilliant blue, icy rings flying around it at a steep angle, their static, sparkling lines tilted sharply against the horizon.
Not Saturn.
Spastically she coughed; struggled to get control of herself.
Got to get back.
Her limbs weren’t listening. She pulled her legs under her to get up. The man was standing nearby. Only, unlike her he seemed invigorated; in rapture, looking to the star-filled heavens, turning slowly in place beneath their majesty and drinking it all in.
“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Here you will find your destiny! Here you will save us!”
And suddenly he had a gun. A machine pistol like the ones she carried, pulled from somewhere inside his jacket. She checked frantically for hers; one had fallen in the transfer and lay several feet away. She became more aware of her surroundings. The other was jammed beneath her, strap twisted across her shoulder. She felt it in her back; jerked around hard to reach it, desperate. Was he about to shoot?!
The man looked down on her.
“Lorenzo was wrong to come here,” he said. “This was meant for you.” He held up the Icon.
Then dropped it to the ground, even as he pointed the gun at it and fired.
“NO!” she screamed as the muzzle flashed in the night. Bullets zinged off the shiny surface and she covered her face; ricocheting sparks, bullets kicking the Icon, making it dance, relentless, splanging the stony ground …
Her only way back.
She shook it off and rolled over with purpose. The old man continued the barrage as her feet and hands shoved hard against the stones, fighting for purchase, fighting to grab hold of her own gun and bring it around; in a panic to end the madness happening right before her …
POW!
The Icon popped out of existence.
And the man stopped firing. She froze. For an instant, the briefest of instants as time seemed to stand still, as the man stopped firing and the last shots echoed through the empty air. Simply … frozen, half risen. For that instant she could not move.
She fell to her knees.
Defeated.
Her way back was gone.
The old man stood in the soft blue glow of the giant planet, beneath the spectacular hues of the star-jammed sky, looking at the spot where the Icon had just been.
Then turned his eyes to her. Anger in them and she braced herself.
“That whelp perverted our legends!” he said, rapture turned abruptly to fury. “And I let him! But you … you will fix things. You will set us right. You shall fulfill your purpose!” He grinned like a maniac. “The great priestess has foreseen it!” He was convinced of that. “This is your destiny!”
And before she saw it coming he pointed the barrel of the gun—not at her, but at his own head, before she could act, pushed it hard against his temple, squinting in anticipation.
“I have delivered you!” he yelled. “Our future is in your hands!” Maybe the bullets were out …
Brap!Brap! he fell in a spray of blood and fire. Like a sack of meat in a crumpled heap, right there on the ground before her.
She stared at his motionless form.
The Icon was gone.
She was stranded.
And the man to blame had just committed suicide right in front of her eyes.
Her world began to collapse. She was alone. The air was cold. She felt it now. Harsh on her skin. Blue Saturn rose majestic behind it all, mocking, the dark silhouettes of mountains stitching a line across its face, impossibly huge, filling the night sky. Over it spanned a stellar nebula that could’ve been anywhere.
She flopped to her back and stared up at the impossible heavens. A galaxy of stars, filled beyond counting.
She could be anywhere.
Anywhere at all.
* *
Zac was on his knees. Jess was gone. Moments ago the crowd of Bok in the room had opened fire, following his mad lunge to grab his true love, a withering spray of bullets that lasted until the Bok were out of ammo. Vaguely he was aware of them ranged out behind him, standing around the large stone chamber, empty guns trained on him—surely wondering what to do next. They’d just unloaded everything they had, echoes of the discharge of massive amounts of gunfire still ringing down the halls, yet there he kneeled, completely ignoring them.
The Bok meant nothing to him right then.
He’d failed.
His nightmare had come true.
Then …
POW!
Across the room, near the alcove where the old man first stood. Zac whirled and came to life as the Icon popped into existence and fell clanging to the stones. In an instant he had it in his grip. No Jessica, no old man with it, but with the Icon he could follow. With it he could save her.
Without hesitation he gripped and twisted, preparing for the transition to wherever she’d gone …
Nothing.
He twisted again. Looked it over frantically. Was he doing it wrong? The other Icons worked so easily.
He noticed it was dinged and scratched, badly, almost like it had been shot. Did they have a gunfight on the other side?!
Now he had to get there. He twisted again. Studied it more closely, looking for its mechanism, wondering if the bullets had damaged it somehow.
They must’ve.
He stared wide-eyed at the roomful of Bok, barely seeing them in his desperation, stunned and staring back at him, guns up, out of bullets and fearing for their lives, not moving as he in turn fought angrily with the Icon.
This couldn’t be happening. He made himself look carefully over its parts, recalling exactly how the others functioned. Twisted, exactly as he knew he should, parts moving exactly as he knew they were supposed to.
Nothing.
He twisted again.
And again.
Nothing.
* *
Jess lay for some time. A long time, a short time … she couldn’t be sure. Only that time passed.
At length she heard the light clink of metal. Coming from somewhere beyond that small zone of death and impossible loss. With difficulty she lifted her head. Looked down the length of her body in the direction of the sounds, listening.
Armor. It sounded like old armor. The chink and clank of metal armor, like plate or chain mail, or something equally archaic.
Then a glint beyond the edge of the wide plateau on which she lay and a man came into view, jogging up what could only have been steps. He was followed by another and together they ran shoulder to shoulder, coming directly toward her. At least, they looked like men. Two armored forms, man-sized and shaped, two arms
, two legs, wearing shiny black metal armor, carrying what looked to be long pikes across their chests. She gripped the gun; decided to remain as she was, lying on her back, even as she pointed it slowly across her middle, between her feet, lining the men up as she nervously watched their approach.
They saw her and slowed. As yet showing no signs of attack. More like they’d come to investigate the commotion. She lay still, watching.
Soon they reached the dead Bok and stopped. In the reflected light of the blue gas giant she was able to make them out in more detail. The shape and style of their armor was not exactly medieval, though the technology seemed no more advanced. Simple plate and mail, slapping as they moved. Over the armor they wore a sort of tunic, white, with symbols that looked vaguely like … hieroglyphics. What made this seem more likely were their helmets. Now that they were close she could see the reality of what she’d only thought she saw in the dim celestial light as they jogged closer:
Their helmets were shaped like the heads of dogs.
Long snouts and ears. Like the head of Anubis, old Egyptian god of the afterlife.
They looked like one of those ancient statues come to life.
And the oddity of that, as she made the connection with something so definitely Earth—in the midst of what was so definitely alien—shook her more than anything so far.
All at once they seemed to notice she was alive and raised their metal pikes. She held the gun tighter.
Hoping Zac would get the Icon on the other end. Hoping it wasn’t destroyed. Hoping it went right back to where they’d been in the castle—hoping so many things right then that might save her and yet seemed like utter impossibilities.
Willing Zac to come charging through.
Fearing he never would.
Next:
Book Four: Rising
Book Five: Prophecy
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