by Keri Arthur
None of them moved.
They weren't unconscious. They were dead.
The wind swung around and got us the hell out of there. We were met by two soldiers at the garrison and were once again led down to the windowless debriefing room. Gallego sat at the head of the table and Marx was to his left. A woman and two men were on his right, and the mage staff I'd stolen lay on the table, the broken crystal gleaming softly in the room's harsh lighting.
Marx quickly introduced us and then said, “What's happening out there?”
Donal filled them in on everything we'd discovered and then stripped off his pack and placed the tube on the table. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the thing that's is going to cause all the damage to the city.”
“I take it it's one of the acid-spitting weapons you mentioned earlier?” Marx said.
“Yes,” Donal said, “But they're currently constructing cannons ten times larger than this in the Skaran encampment.”
Hilgar—the woman in charge of engineering—carefully drew the tube closer and examined it. “At first glance, it appears rather primitive. The shot is loaded into the chamber at this end and is fired by this button here.” She pointed to a slight indentation on one side of the metal. “It doesn't seem to have any sort of guidance attached. It is, quite simply, a point and shoot weapon.”
“One that can turn stone into liquid,” I commented. “We need to find a way to counter the acid shots, because the bastards will be here within the next day or so.”
“How can you be so sure?” The commander's voice was harsh.
“Because they're already in the Wild Lands. Or rather, their tunnel is. Their main force hasn’t yet arrived at the Skaran encampment.”
“Is that the force you spotted in the volcano?” Wrest, the man in charge of the Garrison’s permanent army, asked.
“Yes,” Donal said. “They’ll have easy access into the Wild Lands once the two tunnels join.”
“Is it possible for them to bypass the wall and emerge somewhere in the middle of the city?” the commander asked.
“No,” I said. “The chasm is too deep. They'll have to resurface at some point to set up their camp and attack.”
Jancin, the man in charge of munitions, said, “What's to stop them going under the mountains or even attacking from on high?”
“Nothing,” I said. “But their course has not deviated in all the miles between us and their volcano. I think it's safe to presume they’ll not do so at the last minute.”
“We dare not work on presumptions right now.” The commander glanced at Marx. “Alert all the watchtowers. Tell them to raise the cannons in preparation.”
“And warn them that tremors confined to a specific strip of land is one of the first signs of a tunnel approaching,” I said. “It may be the only warning they get.”
Marx activated comms and immediately began issuing orders. The commander switched his gaze to Hilgar and Jancin. “I want you two to take that weapon apart and figure out some way to counter it.”
“And the mage staff?” Hilgar asked.
The commander glanced at me. “Any ideas?”
I shook my head. “But given they use it to access and control the earth, it’s obviously a form of magic not dissimilar to that in both the King’s Sword and my knife.”
“Which doesn't exactly help us, given such magic has long disappeared from Cannamore.” Gallego thrust a hand through his hair. “Nyx, take the thing and see what you can uncover. If either of you sense any further movement out there, inform Marx immediately.”
Which was an obvious dismissal. I picked up the mage staff and followed Donal out the door.
“Is it safe to take that thing apart within the garrison?” he asked as he led the way back to ammunitions.
“I deactivated it, so it should be.” I handed over my rifle and ammo.
“I hear another ‘but’ in your tone.”
I grimaced. “That's because I don't know enough about our earth magic let alone this one.”
“So we'll need to be somewhere somewhat isolated before we attempt anything.” He scanned the area for a moment and then said, “There're no real options here. Let's try the canyon between the garrison and the Red City. That area is pretty lifeless already, so it's not going to matter much if we unleash something.”
The gates were open, but the guards stopped us from leaving. After a quick conversation, they contacted Marx and we were allowed through. The chill in the air immediately increased and moisture swirled. The heat we'd been getting over the last couple of days had obviously melted the early snow further up the mountain, and it was now pouring down the canyon's vertical sides, creating a long waterfall that sounded like thunder. Water lapped at our boots as we made our way toward the center—there was so much coming down from up high that not even the deep splits that crisscrossed this no-man's land could contain it.
Once I'd reach a small but dry mound of stone near the center of the canyon, I placed the staff on the ground and squatted beside it. The staff was made of some sort of metal other than silver, which was slightly odd given silver was apparently the better conduit for magic. The end that went into the ground was pointed and sharp and appeared to be made of a glass-like material similar to that of both my knife and King’s Sword. The crystal that topped the other end had multiple cracks marring its surface, and it wasn’t emitting any sort of power.
“Any revelations?” Donal squatted opposite me.
“No, and that’s rather frustrating.” I carefully touched the crystal; it was as inert as it looked. “I really wish my mother had told me more about the history of her people.”
“Her people are your people,” he commented. “Their blood runs in your veins.”
“Yeah, but so too does the blood of the king.”
He grunted. “But if she’s now part of the earth’s greater consciousness, it might be possible to talk to her. Even if it’s not, her knowledge will be available to you.”
“Except I have no idea if she did, given the manner of her death. Besides, it’s not like I’ve had much time since the bracelets were released to ask that sort of question.” And I certainly had no desire for anyone to witness me doing so—not even Donal. I’d spent a very long time controlling my confusion and anger over her death, but it was more than possible that—if she were able to talk directly to me—the mere sound of her voice would shatter that leash.
I drew my knife. Fireflies flickered down its blade. The stone might be inert, but there was still something here, however faint.
I pressed the blade's tip under one of the three metal clamps holding the crystal in place and carefully pried it away, then repeated the process until the stone fell free and rolled toward Donal. He picked it up and examined it.
“Is it possible for stones to represent different types of magics?”
“Anything is possible.” I carefully picked up the staff and examined the area that had cradled the stone. Its surface was smooth and, like the rest of staff, appeared at be made of metal. “Why?”
I started to flip the staff over to check the pointed end when something slid from the center of the cradle and raced over the edge. Though it looked to be little more than a grain of sand, I nevertheless felt the impact of it through the earth under my feet. I frowned and peered more closely at the base—and discovered a hole little larger than said grain.
“Because,” Donal said, “both the mage in the volcano and the ones positioned with their advance force used blood sacrifice and a black crystal. The three making and controlling the lava used red stones, and this one—which was the source of a barrier that prevents entry and presents a false image—is clear.”
“I guess it's one way of not mixing up the different staffs they’re using for each of the magics.”
I half flipped the staff; more sand appeared, hitting the ground with a weird heaviness.
“Yes, but where are they getting them? The black stone might have come from their mountain, but I very much doub
t the others would have.” He paused, studying me—something I felt rather than saw. “What have you found?”
“Sand. The staff appears to be filled with it.” I tipped the staff again, allowing more golden grains to drop onto the ground. “The earth shudders each time the sand touches it.”
“Which suggests it’s powerful.” He placed a hand under the gentle dribble and caught some of it in his palm. “And yet it feels no different to the sand found on any shoreline. Is it, perhaps, some sort of conductor between the earth and the crystal on top?”
“Let me ask the authority on all things earth.” I placed the staff on the ground and then splayed my fingers across the stone. What can you tell me about the sand that leaks from the staff?
It is old.
How old?
It comes from a continent that was lost long ago to volcanoes and ash—Atlan.
Which was a place I’d never heard of, and its fate a somewhat eerie echo of what had happened to Isle of Whyte. The bipeds come from there?
As did many of the mage lines that remain in Cannamore today. But the Volker did not create the earth staffs—they simply adapted them to their needs.
I blinked. If you knew their name and origin, why have you never told me before now?
Because the eons that have passed buried the knowledge deep, and that meant time was needed to retrieve it.
I hadn’t really thought about it before now, but it did make sense that the sheer amount of information that came with each new soul entering the collective consciousness would—by necessity—mean older information would be “stored” until needed. So why did the Volker attack then? Why do they attack now?
We do not think they have any real reason, other than the fact they believe they are a superior race, destined to rule above all others.
They wouldn’t be the first or the last to think that. Certainly more than a few wars throughout Cannamore’s long history had been started because of that very same belief. If the staffs were designed by earth mages, how did the Volker get hold of them?
Treachery. More than that, we cannot say, as memories of that time never became part of the greater consciousness.
I frowned. But surely the knowledge of those who weren’t traitors would have.
Sadness ran across our connection—an emotion so fierce tears stung my eyes.
The great mages were too secretive about the staffs they created—that was in part what led to their downfall. The dark magic that corrupted and then betrayed also consumed them, body and soul.
That still doesn’t explain how the Volker got hold of them, let alone how they can use them.
Again, we cannot fully answer that. But they are creatures born into the deeper recesses of the earth, and her heat runs through their veins. They are also capable of magic based in blood and use staffs similar in design to the earth mage ones. It’s possible that in mining the deeper energies of the earth to augment their weapons, the earth mages woke an evil they had no understanding or control over.
More than possible, given what we’d witnessed in the volcano. Which still doesn’t explain how the Volker can use the staffs in the first place. Blood magic is not of earth and it should preclude them.
Unless the souls of the corrupted are held within each mage stone, and that is what provides the link between the two.
Meaning if I did attempt to destroy these staffs, I’d be going up against the might—even if in spirit form—of the greatest earth mages to have existed. That didn’t fill me with a whole lot of hope.
If we can destroy the staffs, will that stop them from using the earth against us?
Yes. But destruction was tried before, the earth commented. It failed.
Because the staffs were too strong?
Because life was too weak without proper conduits.
I frowned again. Why didn’t you have proper conduits? Wasn’t the King’s Sword and my knife designed for that very reason?
They were created after the Volker forced the volcano awake and the eruptions destroyed the island. We have no knowledge of them.
Why not?
She who held that knowledge never joined the consciousness.
I was tempted to ask why not, but it really wasn’t important right now. Why wasn’t the eruption stopped?
It was thought the Volker would be trapped and destroyed with the island. It worked no better this time than it did the last.
The last being Atlan, obviously, and that raised a whole lot of questions as to why lessons hadn’t been learned. And the Volker that attack us? How are they related to that original group?
They are not related. They are the same.
I blinked and automatically said, “Impossible.”
“What is?” Donal said immediately.
I raised my free hand and then silently said, The island was destroyed nine hundred years ago—how could they possibly be the same?
The slow walkers of the barren Tardigradus region can hibernate for over a hundred years and only need a solitary drop of water to be revived.
A hundred years is very different to a thousand.
The slow walkers are also much smaller. If creatures the size of a coin can survive one hundred years, why couldn't the Volker survive a thousand?
Put like that, I guessed it wasn't impossible. Would I be able to use a staff?
Only if the crystal that tops it is unbroken, and only if the staff is buried within live soil and unprotected by the magic of their mages. But it is dangerous.
Why?
Aside from the corrupting magic that might overwhelm you, the staffs are all connected. Any attempt to use one will be felt by those controlling the others.
Which was risk worth taking if there was absolutely no other choice. And the King’s Sword—you really can’t tell me anything about it?
No. Racinda’s soul, like those of the great mages, never became part of the greater consciousness. We do not know what happened to her.
Racinda had been, according to what I’d read, the queen of the Isle of Whyte and her strongest mage—and if she couldn’t stop the bipeds, what hope did we have?
I swore softly and told Donal everything the earth had said about the bipeds.
“As much as I love the idea of going after the mages, they'll be fiercely protected and an almost impossible target.”
“I wasn’t so much thinking about the mages but the staffs. The Volker might not be able to access their full powers, but we could.”
“Except for the corruption factor. I might not know anything about actual magic, but even I know blood magic is not something the sane want to trifle with.”
“We might not have any other choice, Donal.”
He grunted. Whether that meant he agreed or not, I couldn’t say. “Did you ask about the King’s Sword?”
“It’s a conduit able to withstand the full force of the earth magic and allows the user to destroy without being drained unto death. But there’s no certainty I’ll be able to use it, even though the knife is responding to me.”
He frowned. “Did you ask how the sword ended up in the hands of your father’s ancestors?”
“No, because it’s not information the earth has.” I thrust up. “Let’s head back to the garrison—I need to eat.”
After first reporting my findings to Marx, we did just that. The other scout leaders started questioning us as soon as we arrived back at our quarters—the garrison had finally been informed about the Volker, though the commander hadn't gone into great detail.
A good hour had passed before I was finally able to retreat to my cubicle. I wasn't particularly tired, but I also didn't want to be falling asleep during watch duty.
Donal woke me close to six and we walked across to the mess hall. There was no news on the tube we'd brought back and the search for more information about the Volker remained futile. But in my mind, the real question that needed answering was, if my mother’s people had destroyed their island and then fled, why hadn't the Volker
immediately followed them? Why had they instead moved into the dead lands, set up home in another volcano, and gone into hibernation?
It didn't make any sense.
Night swept in. My team had been assigned the area immediately to the left of the pulse cannon that protected the tunnel gateway, and were spaced at twenty-foot intervals. The Wild Lands were little more than a deeper blob of darkness against the night sky and as silent as a grave.
The night wore on without incident. As dawn began to creep across the sky, I smothered a yawn and shifted from one foot to the other.
That's when I saw it—an odd glimmer deep in the heart of the forest. I tapped the halo and immediately said, “Did anyone else see that?”
“See what?” Sage said, her tone bored.
“A flash of light in the forest.”
“No,” echoed down the line.
I frowned into the fading darkness, my uneasiness growing. Despite the fact no one else had caught the glimmer, the notion that something was very wrong was building. I placed a hand on the wall, seeking clarification, but the earth couldn't tell me what was happening in shadows underneath the trees.
Not because she didn’t know, but because she was being restricted.
Which meant the bipeds were out there, and in force.
Even as that thought crossed my mind, the glimmer appeared again, gaining size and brightness as it arced toward us.
It was a globule.
A stone-melting globule the size of a goddamn groaner.
Eleven
The cry of “incoming” echoed along the garrison wall, but there was little most of us could do except watch it. Only the wind responded, gathering speed and power, throwing dust high as Donal created a swirling barrier of air between the globule and us. It hit the turbulent air mass and was flung onto the ground where it splattered wide and began melting stone, turning it into little more than black water.
For several minutes, nothing else happened. Tension crawled through me, and my grip on the wall became so fierce the rough edges were tearing into my fingers, making them bleed.
Deep in the forest, light glimmered once again.
