MindRogue

by Connie Suttle

  Just as we were almost afraid to breathe. Footsteps echoed above our heads as more of Mebbers' troops joined their fellows. As yet, we had no evidence of the Prophet's presence, but that could change in half a blink.

  And it did.

  Vogeffa II, Past

  Randl

  I'd Pulled the worn coin from a passing thief, who wouldn't learn of its absence for a while. I'd handed it to my own father, telling him my mother wanted him to have it. Had she ever realized it hadn't come from her—if she knew about it at all?

  No wonder I hadn't seen anything when I'd held it before.

  She'd never handled it to begin with.

  I sat in what passed as a bar in Gungl, wondering how my life had gotten so fucked up.

  V'dar was my half-brother.

  How in the name of every god in existence, including the rogue ones, had that happened?

  Fathered by a god, with the added curse of a Sirenali's DNA, V'dar had been created for a purpose. Liron had no care what happened to anyone else; he had his own plans and they included vengeance.

  Even if it came years after his death.

  The Prophet didn't have Sirenali at his beck and call; he was Sirenali—up to a point. And, with Liron's machinations at work, he had the full gifts of any Sirenali, plus those his father gave him, no doubt.

  "Another drink?"

  Another would be just as bad as the first four. "Absolutely," I tapped a finger on the bar and flipped out another silver coin I'd stolen from the same thief. He'd be a beggar by the time he reached his home.

  I didn't care. He'd steal again anyway.

  V'dar was my own flesh and blood. In all my imaginings about him and his beginnings, that was never a consideration. Did he know he had a half-brother, or was I the only one burdened with that dreadful information?

  V'dar—my kin. Still, I intended to kill him. I wished I could kill him a hundred times for what he'd done during his life. But then I wished I could kill Liron and V'ili, too, for their part in this. They'd left my mother to die alone in Gungl. They had no idea I was there with her, invisible and angry.

  Already dead, those two, a small voice informed me. Sometime in the future.

  "Yeah," I sighed as the bartender thumped another drink in front of me. Lifting the small glass, I downed it in one swallow.

  Mebbers' Compound, A'pelur

  Zanfield

  Kooper disappeared the moment the dead army appeared from nothing. Jett and the rest of us realized it quickly. Above us, Travis and Trent's dragons flew, burning swaths of the approaching army, but their efforts were a cup of water tossed onto a roaring blaze.

  Form a tight circle, Jett shouted orders at the rest of us on the ground. It wasn't the easiest thing to do; until now, all we'd been able to do since the dead arrived was to keep a short path before us cleared so we wouldn't be run over by the Prophet's army.

  The dead were marching—sometimes running—between us; we had no way to stop them from doing that unless we could form a circle, as Jett requested.

  Take a step inward, toward your neighbor, Jett shouted. We were lined up haphazardly before Mebbers' compound, with Jett now at the center, but more of the dead than we could blast were getting through and attempting to scale the walls behind us.

  With Mebbers' witch and warlocks firing spelled blasts, and the rest of his crew shooting ranos rifles, we were in as much danger from the back as from what we faced in front of us.

  A circle would ease that problem somewhat, if we could get close enough together to make one.

  Where was Kooper in all this? Where had he gone? I didn't want to consider insubordination, but, wait—yes. Yes, I did.

  Asshole, I sent in his direction. He'd sent us here, when he should have known what kind of massacre it could turn into. My loyalty had never been to him, anyway.

  Randl held my trust—in any situation. I just wished we'd waited for his return before instigating this madness, because I had no doubt that our arrival had done just that. The Prophet undoubtedly had been waiting for someone to make a move.

  We'd become the target for two enemies, front and back. Not only that, but whenever we blasted another of the Prophet's deadwalkers, they exploded into gory bits of flesh and bone, spraying their infection everywhere.

  If we escaped with our lives and without being affected by the Prophet's disease, I would kiss Zaria's feet myself.

  I probably wasn't the only one who'd realized by now that we'd become invisible to both sides—that's why the zombies didn't bother stepping to the side; they kept walking toward us in an effort to reach Mebbers' walls, even though the ones in front of them were being blasted as quickly as our ranos rifles would fire.

  Behind us, Mebbers' people were firing at the ocean of the dead—or so it appeared. If they'd seen us, they'd have targeted us better and more quickly. As far as we were concerned, they were firing blindly in our direction, and any blasts that should have hit us ricocheted in another direction. I hoped those altered blasts were hitting the dead, so the effort wouldn't be wasted.

  If I were watching this battle on a vid rather than being in the middle of it, I'd probably enjoy the exploding, dead flesh flying high into the air every time a zombie was hit.

  Being in the middle of it certainly changes points of view. Draw closer together, Jett commanded. I took two steps toward the center, after firing six quick blasts in succession to clear space.

  I heard Vik's High Demon roar, first, just before my ranos rifle ran out of its charge.

  Fuck.

  Things had just turned deadly. Dropping the rifle at my feet, I drew the sword strapped to my back and swung at the first zombie close enough to bisect.

  Mebbers' Compound

  V'dar

  They were here, just as my chief advisor promised. What did it matter that my newest conquests fired on the deadwalkers, in addition to the enemy? The deadwalkers were already dead—and it convinced our quarry to believe that Mebbers was still in control.

  I chuckled as I watched the carnage outside the walls through the eyes of my newest minions—it was a new trick shown to me by my advisors. Yes, my enemy was hidden from sight—most of them, anyway.

  The flying ones—we saw their flames and targeted those. As for the High Demon, he became visible to us the moment he turned.

  What might I do with one of those—if I could command him?

  No—better to kill this one and go looking for others. I could take them unaware. This one knew of me and would be wary.

  "Your new ships are gathered around the Prophet I, my Lord," Mebbers bowed to me, as I'd commanded.

  "Good. I feel there are other, enemy ships out there—when my enemy falls before us here, we will take those ships, too."

  "As you command, my Lord."

  Had Mebbers been in control of his faculties, still, he would have argued and fought before calling them my ships—those eleven vessels he'd carefully scrounged and stolen parts to rebuild before taking his place among the elite of all criminals.

  Instead, I would hold that title; at least until they began to recognize me as what I was—their god.

  The people would worship me as I commanded—my advisors said so. I looked forward to that day most eagerly.

  Travis

  If Trent and I, in dragon form, hadn't been able to shield ourselves while attempting to burn an encroaching ocean of the dead, Mebbers' warlocks would have fried us with the fireballs they tossed at us. Failing that, we'd have been killed by the rest of his crew, who were firing ranos rifles at us from the top of the compound's walls.

  Once we'd made the change to dragon, we were visible because of the fire we breathed and the subsequent burning of the dead. That was more than visible to everybody, and they easily targeted the invisible sources of incinerated bodies.

  Without our shielding ability, which was added to, no doubt, by Zaria's medallion, Mebbers' ground crew would have obliterated us in the first few rounds of shots at our dragons.
r />   From my vantage point aloft, I couldn't see most of the others any longer—several were still shooting, but the dead swarmed so thick it looked like insects were marching over them like inconsequential sticks or leaves in their path.

  I could have sent mindspeech, but was too terrified of not getting an answer. Too many rifles had gone silent, indicating they'd run out of their charge.

  Where was Kooper in all this? He was the one who'd instigated this massacre; why wasn't he using his power to help?

  Even if he turned to lion snake, no amount of poison would have an effect on what was already dead. The terrifying thing was this; Farzi sent mindspeech early on, telling me his power couldn't neutralize the Prophet's zombies. He and Nenzi had made that effort, yet the dead kept moving forward. It took more drastic measures—employing their power to blast reanimated bodies to bits instead.

  That, of course, released the Prophet's disease into the air, which in turn would infect anyone it touched who wasn't sufficiently shielded.

  The Prophet had grown much stronger, if he could take on the lowest levels of the Hierarchy like this.

  Randl, we really need you, I sent, knowing my silent plea wouldn't be heard.

  Vogeffa II, Past

  Randl

  The pain in my right arm, where the coin was grafted onto my skin, was debilitating for several moments, and that was soon followed by the relay of mindspeech—and a vision—from Travis.

  Randl, we really need you, he'd said, while the images playing before his eyes had me standing immediately.

  Mebbers' compound was under attack by a massive army of the dead, and Kooper had sent my people into the fray in one of the worst decisions he'd ever made.

  Coming, I sent to Travis and the others, before disappearing in front of the bartender. His shout of alarm was cut off quickly, as I left his world and time behind; I'd somehow managed to zone in on Travis' location without even thinking about it.

  We need help, I heard Dori's mindspeech quickly. We're being overrun.

  She was right. Blasted body parts of the Prophet's zombies were piled high everywhere, along with gore, fluids and who knew what else—so much that the ground was slick with it. The army of the dead marched over their former allies, intent on reaching Mebbers' compound.

  Or the ones standing before it.

  Anyone who wasn't shielded properly could succumb to the Prophet's disease from coming in contact with any part of these zombies, and still there was a sea of the dead coming.

  Baby, I just got here, I replied. Give me a second to think, all right? I was working my way through what I'd drank at a bar in Gungl, burning through the haze with power to clear my head.

  As I stood inside my small island of shielded space, the dead bumped into my outer shield regularly, distracting me from the high wall before me and the encroaching dead.

  To my right, Vik's twenty-foot Thifilathi suddenly roared to life as he changed and towered over his adversaries. He'd become visible—I understood why after a moment. He did it deliberately, to draw the dead away from the others.

  Once he could be seen, scores of the dead crawled up his body, almost too quickly for him to burn them to ash. While bodies crawled and flamed over his legs and torso, Mebbers' people targeted and fired at him with ranos rifles.

  All around Vik, I could see the short, quick bursts of light, telling me that a few of the BlackWing crews still fired their weapons at the dead. Those weapons were useful—if yours still held a charge and you had sufficient numbers firing into the massive army of attackers. We didn't have sufficient numbers.

  Time for me to act, or someone could die.

  If it hadn't happened already.

  Miz

  I'd lost sight of Markus, and was terrified he'd gone down beneath the onslaught of the dead.

  If the Prophet had released this great a force against us, then what could we do in return? I'd never felt so helpless as I did then, firing my ranos rifle and watching the charge dwindle rapidly.

  Still, I saw no end of the enemy coming against us. Until now, I'd never really considered that Mae might never be pulled away from the Prophet's clutches.

  Miz?

  Markus' mindspeech reached me. He was still alive and I was grateful.

  Markus? I responded.

  My rifle just ran out of its charge, he informed me. If we—don't make it out of here, he added, I love you, too.

  David

  Zombies bumped into the shield around me; my rifle had run out of juice and all it was good for now was bludgeoning zombies in the crotch.

  That part of them no longer hurt; I realized it after the first few hits. I fell a time or two from the force of my blows—it didn't matter, they'd either walk over the shield covering me or slide over it when they blindly ran into it.

  Randl's here, Vik informed me. I froze. I couldn't see over the zombies crowding around me, intent on marching to Mebbers' wall and crawling over it, no doubt.

  In any other circumstances, I might have sent mindspeech to Randl, telling him I was on my way. With only the spent rifle in my hands, I was of no use to him and the less of a target I was, the better.

  Time to help, a strange voice informed me.

  What? Who the hell said that? I demanded.

  I did. I am Ca'lex. I choose you.

  Ca'lex is a forsaken planet, I argued as a zombie, leaking brain gunk and fluid from taking a hit to the head, slid across the top of my shield with an eerie squeak. The gore it left on the shield's surface made me want to heave.

  I am Ca'lex—from before, from now, and from always. I choose you.

  For what? I argued, whacking another zombie at the knees and causing him to fall. I was grateful that the shield allowed me to reach outside it with my weapon; otherwise, I'd feel more useless than I already did.

  I am here. We will help.

  The pain over my heart knocked me to the ground for brief seconds. Ripping open my collar, I saw it—one of the gold coins from Randl's desk had adhered to my skin, beneath Zaria's medallion.

  Zaria's medallion hadn't stopped it from happening.

  Why?

  We know of her. We will help.

  We?

  There are many others like me. We are here. Come. We go to the one you call Randl.

  What else would we call him? I snapped, attempting to cover my confusion and to buy time. The last thing I wanted to do was get between Randl and the Prophet, who was probably waiting somewhere to kill us.

  We call Randl Reviendis.

  What's that supposed to mean? In plain English?

  Spirit of the universes. He is our defender, and we have come to help.

  How? I was still attempting to buy time while I sorted through mind-bending information.

  Like this.

  The flood of power through me was terrifying at first—sort of like sap running through a tree. No, wait—it was exactly like sap running through a tree.

  How did I know that? Who could understand how sap runs through a tree?

  The nature spirit of an entire planet knows, he replied, easily reading my thoughts.

  Ca'lex. An entire planet had filled me with power.

  Fucking hells.

  Let's do this. I tossed my useless ranos rifle on the ground and allowed Ca'lex to fold space.

  Vik

  Break the wall. We will do this together. No spell will harm you—you know that, he whispered to me.

  Like a sun, the coin blazed on my Thifilathi's chest as I strode toward Mebbers' wall, intent on taking it down. Zaria's medallion, which had grown with me, swung with my effort, as I wiped out an entire section of the wall with a single blow of one arm.

  Below me, a warlock cowered when he learned his power could do nothing to harm me. My companion, who called himself Meerius, had given me power I'd never thought to contain.

  The dead still swarmed about my feet, but they no longer needed to come in contact with my scales. I could burn them with a thought, and I was think
ing it most of the time. As for the ranos rifles aimed at me—no blasts hit. My Thifilathi, Zaria's medallion and Meerius' power and talents ensured it.

  Raising a foot, I positioned myself to stomp the warlock below into oblivion. I recognized him, after all—Alken Wilker deserved to be stomped. I roared when something pulled him away, my foot landing on empty ground instead of that filth's body.

  Nearby, Travis and Trent's dragons, each bearing a massive gold coin on their chests, burned into the solid rock of the wall with their fiery breath.

  They'd been chosen, too. I was about to land another blow against the wall when Randl sent mindspeech.

  Stand back, he ordered. I'll take it down.

  Randl

  Take down the wall and remove the dead, a voice told me. Then stand against him.

  I recognized that voice. It belonged to the man only I had seen in the second coin trip. I'd felt a kinship with him when he'd appeared—because he was also blind, and yet he could see.

  I am here with you, he said, as the gold coin on my right arm tingled. Many others are here with me. Our power belongs to you, now. Use it. Take down the walls of this fortress. Turn the dead to ash. Then call out the god. He has grown stronger, as you will discover.

  Target the wall just there—in the concrete between stones, another voice said—the one belonging to the blind woman I'd seen in the last coin trip—before hundreds of coins had slammed into my back and adhered to my skin.

  Focus, the male voice said as I studied the target she'd shown me. Gather the power—it will come at your command.

  I focused as well as I could, while the heady sensation of power suffused my being. Somehow, I knew when it was enough, and released it against the walls that had kept Mebbers safe for decades.

  Zanfield

  We knew something was off the moment Mebbers' walls exploded in a blast that should have deafened anyone less than a mile away. The ground rocked beneath our feet, too, and only the shield around me kept me standing by tightening its perimeter briefly.

  Mebbers is taken, Jincus' voice whispered in my mind.

  When did he get mindspeech?