by B. J. Keeton
This was divinity. This was apotheosis.
One by one, a dozen crystalline spires emerged from the earth, tinted only by the refraction of the sunlight that hit them. They rose from the ground as liquid, but became solid as the nanites continued to pack themselves on top of one another, microscopic layer upon layer.
Damien laughed as the energy beneath the soil empowered him. He commanded the nanites to replicate faster, more efficiently. They did.
In his mind, Damien Vennar saw the end result of this construction. He saw a palace surrounding a single tower that reached upward, more majestic than anything ever before constructed on Erlon. He could see the footprint of the building, and its interior corridors. He saw his fortress in his imagination, and the surging nanites made every detail of his fantasy a reality. Every hall, every door, every tower poured upward from the ground and solidified into the haven he and his Charons had been searching for.
He had no idea how long it took to build. From then on, time meant nothing to Damien, and eventually he was finished.
He stood a few hundred meters away from his creation. He could see gardens that were already blooming on the terraces. He had not just created this fortress, this haven and sanctuary—he had created life. He embraced the rush of nanites as they came back to him from the storm of energy below. Their work was finished for now.
Not long afterward, his colleagues regained consciousness, and they walked up behind him. Damien could feel their nanites pulse with the energy from the pocket beneath them, eager to experience what his already had. It was a new sensation, feeling another person’s nanosleeve. Damien liked it, but said nothing. The other Charons were awed by what he had accomplished, what they had known to be impossible just hours (or had it been days? weeks?) before. They were at a loss for words.
“Welcome home,” Damien had said to them.
His mind snapped back to the present, and he heard himself speak those same words again. They seemed strangely appropriate now, too. A lot had changed since he had Conjured it out of nothingness, but still, it felt familiar. Damien knew that once he was inside, he would have little trouble finding his way to the Headmaster's Office. It would still be locked away in its own Instance via the Library. There was only one portal on the grounds, after all.
The campus was bustling with students and faculty making use of the various gardens and terraces as they enjoyed the beautiful day outside. The twin suns beamed along the building’s crystalline exterior, which made the whole building glow in a hundred different colors. It really was a beautiful sight. He admired his handiwork as he climbed the shimmering stairs that led to the front door. No one seemed to notice him; one lonely old man in a sea of crotchety professors was probably not going to get anyone’s attention.
Damien finished his fruit, secured the rest in his satchel for later, and walked directly into the front door of Ennd's Academy for the first time in over four hundred years.
Chapter Fifteen
Ceril and his team found shelter well before the storm came, but luckily for them, it turned out that the rain had little in common with the acidic tree sap that had eaten through Harlo's test tube. The cave they found was a bit cramped for five people with travel gear, but it kept them dry. Chuckie even managed to Conjure a decent enough fire to keep the chill from the wind out of the cave.
Ceril had to admit that Chuckie had talent, even if he was kind of an insubordinate jerk. Making a fire was easy. Conjuring a fire was not.
Technomage nanites did not naturally produce heat. Whenever they created excess energy, the surrounding nanites absorbed that energy so that nothing went to waste and so the nanites had a perpetual power source. Because of this design, it took intense concentration from a Charon to be able to condense and control nanites well enough to produce even a minimal amount of heat. It went against the tiny machines’ base design. That’s why a Flameblade’s aura was completely aesthetic unless the Charon was in total control. Chuckie was able to keep the fire going for the duration of the storm. Ceril wondered what emotion he could have channeled that long to fuel the Conjuring. Maybe there was more to Chuckie than was on the surface.
Even though Chuckie seemed a bit tired afterward and needed to rest—that Conjuring had obviously taken a lot out of him—Ceril knew he was a tough kid and would pull himself together quickly enough.
“What next, Ternia?” Saryn asked. “It’s been half an hour or so since I saw lightning.”
“We go looking for ways back to Erlon.”
“Vague,” she said.
“It's about all I have right now. I guess we should try to find signs of some sort of civilization if there is any. Let’s hope there is. Because if not, we're in for one hell of a trip if we try to find some kind of Instance connection on our own. I can only assume that the locals would have legends or stories of some kind that can lead us in a general direction.”
“Yeah,” said Saryn, “but where do you propose we find these locals?”
“We walk for a while. Pick a direction,” Ceril said.
“Excuse me?”
“Pick a direction. Any of them is as good as any other.” Ceril got up and walked toward the mouth of the cave. He had to step over the pile of his team’s supply bags, and he was careful not to trip since Chuckie's Conjured fire no longer provided enough light to see by. He wasn’t careful enough, though—his foot caught in one of the straps, and he went sprawling.
Chuckie laughed, too busy recuperating from the fire to bother checking if Ceril was okay. Swinton was the first to get to him and help him stand up.
“Sorry, boss,” he said. “Think it was my bag that got you. Shouldn't have left it out like that. I'll be more careful next time. You okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine.” Ceril brushed himself off and led Swinton and Saryn to the mouth of the cave. “So…which direction?” he asked.
“You got me, boss,” Swinton said. “All looks the same from here.”
“He's right,” Saryn chimed in. “It's either plains that way or mountains behind us. If my vote counts for anything, though, I say avoid the mountains. We don't know what kind of wildlife to expect, but if Harlo’s acid tree is any indication, I'd rather take my chances with whatever is in the plains. That way, we can see it coming instead of getting maimed by some mountain-climbing Whateveritis.”
“Point,” Ceril said. He crooked his neck backward and shouted into the cave at Harlo and Chuckie. “You guys have any preference? Where we go next?”
Harlo shuffled forward, grabbing her pack to strap on as she joined the trio at the mouth of the cave. “Doesn't matter to me,” she said. “I think Saryn's got a point, though. Not saying the plains critters will be any nicer, but I'm not really in the mood to have an alien Whatchamacallit jump off a mountain and eat me.”
“Agreed,” said Ceril.
“If you're going plains-way, though,” Chuckie said, “I think there was a path back near where the portal dropped us.”
“Will you be able to find it if we backtrack?” Ceril asked.
“Yep.”
“Then we go into the plains. Chuckie, grab your stuff and lead the way. We move out in ten minutes.”
“You're the boss, boss,” Chuckie said.
Ceril scowled at Chuckie for laying the sarcasm on a bit too thick. He tried unsuccessfully not to sound irritated when he responded with a simple “Yes, I am.” He left it at that.
A few minutes later, Chuckie showed them the path he had seen as they walked past. It was barely there, but he was right: the path led into the plains, and probably into the forest that bordered it farther out.
The wind from the storm had beaten down the tall, purple grass, and the rain had made the ground soggy and muddy. Finding where the path had begun was no problem, but keeping up with it was considerably harder. Eventually, anything resembling a path disappeared, and all that stood in front of them was a waist-high wall of weeds and grasses. Three of the acid trees were visible twenty or thirty feet away.
They walked for nearly an hour, and no one saw anything that indicated that they were heading toward civilization.
“What now, Ternia?” Saryn sighed. “There’s nothing here.”
Ceril was silent. He was in charge, and he had to come up with some idea fast. They could keep walking, sure, but there were plains for as far as he could see.
Then it dawned on Ceril. He had been treating this like any other field exercise Bryt had put him through. But it wasn't. They were allowed to Conjure, and that made a huge difference.
Instead of answering Saryn immediately, Ceril focused the excitement he felt and concentrated on the breather. He used that as a base and instructed his nanites to cover his eyes. His skin tingled as the black mass slid up his face and into his eye sockets. He felt the sleeve grip his eyeball. To the rest of the team, it just seemed like he was standing still and surveying the land.
“There's a forest a little to the,” he checked the compass on his belt, “I think west.” Ceril turned around, and his team could see that the whites of his eyeballs were now black, and they were bloodshot with glowing purple veins. His glowing green pupils were spinning slightly as he refocused. The nanites from his breather now extended tendrils from his nostrils into his eyes. They coated his eyeballs and worked as magnification lenses. He had forgotten he could Conjure at will here, had honestly forgotten about being issued the sleeves.
“Ceril,” Harlo said. “Your eyes…they’re, umm…”
“Conjured,” he said, smiling. “Kind of slipped my mind until just now when Saryn spoke up, but we’ve been essentially walking blind. Anyway, I can't tell if what I see ahead are more acid trees or something else—they’re just too far away—but it's something that's not plains. And if I’m not seeing it wrong, there’s some kind of structure in the middle of the forest, or maybe on the other side of it. I can’t see much of it, but it looks like a tower of some kind. I’m not sure, but it’s not like any tree I’ve ever seen. If this Instance is anything like Erlon, or anything like some of the others Bryt and Roman had me in, there’s a pretty good chance that some kind of village would have sprung up around it. At least, there’s a better chance of one being there than out here in the middle of this…nothing.”
“How far is it?” Saryn asked. She Conjured her own eyes into magnifiers, but could not see what Ceril was talking about. “I can't see it. I see the forest, though, and the trees do look different from the ones out here. They’re hopefully not going to kill us.”
“Hopefully,” Ceril said and pointed at the tower. “I’d guess the tower is maybe two days' walk from here.” Swinton and Harlo groaned at the same time. Ceril continued, “I know. But that's better than having nothing to go on.” His voice became stern. “We're going that way.”
Saryn's squinted at him. “Yes, sir,” she said.
The words had barely left her mouth when a high-pitched shriek came from overhead. Ceril, Chuckie, and Swinton immediately dropped to one knee, remembering Bryt's lessons. The soldier mentor had taught them that their biological first reaction—fight or flight—was wrong, that their first reaction should always be calculate. So, the three trained soldiers instinctively dropped below the level of the grasses and began to try and locate the source of the sound. Saryn and Harlo, while having been taught basic combat tactics, had never gone through Bryt’s soldier regimens. Their reactions weren’t as ingrained as their teammates. They hunched over slightly and whipped their heads around in search of the source of the loud noise.
“Get down!” Chuckie yelled.
“What?” Harlo answered. “What is that?”
“Down!” Ceril said, reinforcing Chuckie’s command. Harlo and Saryn complied. It was an ungraceful descent, but it probably saved their lives. Above them, just higher than the level of the plains grasses, a dark blur flew past where Saryn and Harlo had just stood. They all felt the rush of wind as it passed so closely overhead.
“What is that, boss?” Harlo asked shakily.
“No idea, Harlo,” Ceril said. “We all okay?”
The team responded in the affirmative just as another shriek sounded above them and the attacker came flying by again.
Ceril pulled the Conjuration from his eyes, blinked his vision into focus, and said, “Swinton, you're with me. We're going to check this thing out. Chuckie, if that thing comes back by, I want you to knock it out of the air. Do anything you can, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Swinton said. He reached into his pack and pulled out the small handgun he had stowed in there. Chuckie followed suit, only his gun was a bit larger and had been carried on his back. Ceril summoned his Flameblade, and it started to glow. The other four members of his team, despite the situation, stopped momentarily and gawked at the purple and green glowing sword their leader held.
Ceril marveled for a moment and so did his team.
“That's a mighty fine purple sword you got there,” Swinton said.
“Ain't it just?” Chuckie threw in. “Matches the place real good, too. You been here before, boss?”
“Can't say that I have,” said Ceril. “It is a little odd, though, huh?”
“A little past odd, if you ask me,” said Chuckie. “This whole place is that damned purple—the sky, the ground, the dirt, the trees—and here your little sword matches it perfectly. Even that green twinge looks like the lightning. You sure we came here on accident?”
“Well, I sure didn't plan on getting stranded here.”
“And yet,” Chuckie said, “here we are.”
Ceril nodded. “That we are, and it appears we're under attack. Can we discuss this later?”
Another shriek.
This time, as the flying beast came around, Ceril and Swinton peeked their heads above the grass. What they saw was amazing. Ceril had read a lot of books and articles on religion in his time at Ennd's, and if he didn’t know it was impossible, then he would have said that he and his team were being assaulted by some kind of angel.
The creature was longer than most men were tall. Ceril thought that it probably stood seven to nine feet when upright, and, other than the wings, could pass for human in the right situation. It wore rags as clothes, and long purple-black hair fluttered down its back. Also from its back, coming through the rags, were large black-purple wings. They were not feathered; instead, they were either scaled or made of metal, as they reflected the sunlight with each wingbeat.
“Ceril!” Swinton said. “It’s got Flameblades!” Sure enough, the angel was holding a Flameblade in each hand. They both glowed purple, a dark rich hue that matched its skin, hair, and wings.
“What the hell?” Ceril said. “It does.”
“I want one,” Swinton said.
“Well, here might be your chance,” Ceril told him. “Let’s get this thing out of the air, right?”
“Yeah, right.” Swinton aimed his sidearm at the flying creature and pulled the trigger. His shots went wide as his target twisted in midair and flew back toward him, its Flameblades glowing brighter.
Despite all the power and finesse Ceril had gained from training with his Flameblade, its reach was no different from any other melee weapon. He had to be close to his opponent for it to be of any real use, so Ceril stood impotently as Swinton continued to fire, and miss.
“What do you think you're doing?” Harlo roared. “Why are you shooting at it?”
“It tried to kill us, Harlo!” Ceril yelled.
She countered, “What if it's intelligent?”
“So what if it is?” Chuckie said. He aimed his gun at the angel flying toward Swinton and fired. His gun wasn’t a slug-thrower; it fired bursts of highly concentrated energy. Generally, those bursts did more damage than chunks of metal, and they were much more easily controlled. The angel crossed its swords in front of its face. Although Chuckie hadn’t aimed at the creature’s face, the energy bolts veered midair upward toward the center of the flaming X created by the swords. The Flameblades’ auras glowed brighter as the shots were absorbed. “I thin
k we may be screwed here, boss. That thing—AAAAHH!”
Whatever he was going to say was interrupted when two purple hands clamped down on Chuckie's shoulders and lifted him off the ground.
Saryn yelled, “There’s more than one! They’ve got Chuckie!”
Ceril dropped his sword, and it immediately disappeared. He wrapped his arms around Chuckie's legs just in time to join him in the air.
The others watched it all happen, and Swinton aimed his sidearm at the angel that held Chuckie and Ceril.
“Don't shoot!” Chuckie yelled at the ground. “Don’t shoot!”
Swinton lowered his gun slightly.
Up in the air, Ceril shouted to Chuckie, “Are you okay?”
Chuckie said, “I can't get it off me. It won't let go. I'm going to shoot it before we get too high.” He put his hand on his gun and turned it upward. “I ain’t gonna miss from this angle, and it can’t block me with its swords this time. If it wants to try, it has to let us go.”
“No!” Ceril said. “No, we’re already too high.”
Chuckie looked down. “Yeah. Yeah. So what's the plan, then?”
“Not die, first and foremost. That means not shooting at whatever is keeping us in the air.”
“Okay,” Chuckie said, lowering his gun. “What then? Because we're moving pretty damn fast and far away from those three.” He pointed down at the rest of their team. Ceril looked back and saw Swinton leading them through the high grass and mud, but they were moving too slowly to catch up with their flying kidnapper.
“Look out!” Ceril screamed down, but they didn’t hear him, and he grimaced as he watched the other angel grab Saryn and take her into the air. Swinton and Harlo dropped to the ground immediately, but by then Saryn was gone. Her kidnapper soon caught up with Chuckie and Ceril’s and flew along beside them.
“You okay?” Ceril asked Saryn.
