“Wow…” Gage responded, Joey’s voice becoming a drone.
“Well, in any case,” Joey concluded, “you definitely can predict the temperature by means of a cricket.”
“You know what I can predict?” Gage asked. “That you’re always full of useless information.”
“Yeah, like how to quickly take down a bunyip in Amarillo?” Joey retorted quickly, ending with a smile.
They all burst into laughter, enjoying the company. Even Ty ended up smiling as he looked down at his watch.
“Hey guys,” he said, “not to be a party pooper, but we best get a move on and knock this first jump out of the way.”
“Oh yes,” Adrienne said, sitting up.
Suddenly, Don’t Fear the Reaper began to play from Gage’s phone, causing Adrienne and Joey to give each other silent stares.
“Y’all act like you’ve seen a ghost or something,” Gage joked, pressing the answer button. “This is Gage.”
The voice on the other end sounded frantic; the rest of them couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. Judging by the expression on Gage’s face, the words weren’t good. After ten minutes of talking, Gage ended the call and stood up. He let out a long exhale through his nose, lips clenched together tightly.
“That was Quileth,” he told them, his voice filled with uncharacteristic distress. “Dajjal was detected in Austria and is now advancing on Bulgaria as he makes his way to Megiddo. It seems that Drogir and Timothy tried to stop him, ordering the Iliad to strike.”
The rest of the team soared to their feet.
“What? Did they think that would actually work?” Ty asked. “Knowing what Dajjal had in his possession.”
“It might have worked with non-magical weapons,” Adrienne said, “and cutting the head off that snake would have definitely caused the body to die. The Noctis would be lost without him, though I gather, baby, the assault didn’t work?”
“Drogir and Timothy thought they had a chance and took it. I don’t think we can blame them one bit for trying to end the loss of more life. After all, Dajjal has already mowed people down that were in his way all the way from Paris to Austria.” Gage looked out at the fields and the tree line past them. “All we’ve done is stand by and watch. No darlin’, the strike didn’t work. The mission was a catastrophe; the Iliad is a total loss.”
“Total?” asked Joey, fearing any clarification Gage might have.
Gage nodded.
“The ship is gone, probably a pile of ash now. A majority of the crew too. The only ones that were rescued were Nathaniel and Sean. Apparently they were teleported to safety by –”
“Gabriel,” Adrienne gasped. “So he, and everyone else is…”
“Dead or missing in action, though I think we pretty much know they mean the same damn thing when it comes to Dajjal,” Gage replied, looking livid and hopeless. “There’s one more thing. Nathaniel had a message just for us. He says: don’t give up the fight. No matter what, we have to see this through to the end. That end, my friends, is now. Once we get back to New York, everything we know is going to change.”
“It already has been changing,” Ty said, kicking a chunk of debris down the path. It bounced a few times then settled by what looked like a burnt stuffed animal.
“Giving up isn’t something that ever crossed my mind,” Joey said, “even in my darkest hours. I don’t think anyone else has either.”
“Agreed, buddy,” Gage replied, though he had barely a hint of a smile.
“Okay then, let’s end this,” Adrienne said, taking Gage by the hand and extending her free one out toward Ty.
He grabbed hold of it, looking her right in the eyes.
“Together.”
TYROL BURST INTO the room, the door slamming behind his towering frame as it crossed the threshold. Looking left out the windows, the mid afternoon light reflected off the buildings and straight into his eyes. Grumbling, he raised a large stack of folders to shade his eyes, turning his head into the room. It was full of shadowy figures and as his vision adjusted, he could tell that all of the councilors were there except Jane, who was hurriedly wrapping up another meeting on one of the lower levels.
“Someone shut those damn blinds!” he boomed, casting a beady stare at Drogir.
“Someone has obviously had a grand day,” Quileth observed, puffing on his trusted hookah again after finding a stash of tobacco hidden in one of his many robes.
“Shut up, cat,” Tyrol snapped, confirming that he was not in the best of moods. Tossing the documents onto the conference table, he placed a clawed hand on each side of the stack and hunched over it.
“What are those?” asked Timothy. His voice was edged with regret as his normally confident self was straining to show. “They look like…”
“Dossiers,” Tyrol replied, sliding the topmost one across to him.
It came to rest right in front of Timothy and he looked down, meeting Gabriel Shepard’s smiling face. A black and white photo was clipped to the front, looking out like a ghost of the past. ‘DECEASED’ had been stamped across the middle in vibrant red letters.
Tyrol wasted little time sliding over another, then another, until all thirty-eight records were now in front of Timothy or on the floor. The old man was speechless, looking incredibly aged from distress.
“Tyrol,” Drogir growled beside him, “are you trying to intimidate Timothy for the decision he made? You know that I’m the one that motioned for this to happen?”
“Oh, I am fully aware of your part in this, Drogir,” Tyrol said just as menacingly, “but no, I am not trying to intimidate anyone. Just giving a face to those all those who were sent, needlessly, to their deaths.”
“Such a funny thing that is,” Drogir replied, rising from his seat. He stepped toward Tyrol until he was mere inches away from his face, nails scraping across the often abused tabletop. “I do not see the faces of the thousands Dajjal has slaughtered while we wait lining the walls of this chamber, or the halls beneath us. Surely if you were being honest with yourself, you would not try to pass your own guilt onto others!”
Tyrol’s nostrils flared and an icy blast came out of them. His eyes glowed a chilling blue and if the skin beneath his fur were visible, it would have been red with rage.
“Firstly,” said the beast, “do not assume for a second that I do not feel for every single one of those deaths you speak of. The main difference is I nor the Order perpetrated them. Dajjal did! Secondly, the Council exists in order to weigh the best interests of the both the Order and the Earth across the bigger picture. As such, we cannot mire ourselves the minute details of every decision, lest they and the associated guilt overwhelm us all.”
Evans and Allete remained silent, watching from their end of the table as the two monsters shouted insults at each other.
“Gentlemen, please!” Timothy yelled. “Tyrol, if we are indeed so aloof, especially during a time of crisis, how can we claim to be any better than Dajjal?”
He was truly seeking an answer.
“We are better than him because our choices are to help the worlds, whereas his only serve to make them suffer,” Tyrol replied. “The demon has said so much himself. It may seem cruel for us to be indifferent, but we must stay objective in our decisions in order to accomplish something, otherwise we get mired in nothing. It is not easy, as you know Timothy. Being on the Council may have certain privileges, but it comes with a price, to both our lives, our conscience, and our hearts.”
“Of course you would say that!” Drogir shrieked, thrusting his arms in the air. “You would use any ‘objective’ reason to justify letting all those people die…”
“And yet it is something that still weighs on us all,” said Jane crossly as she stormed into the meeting.
There was an entourage trailing after her, garnering baffled stares as the other councilors realized it was the Odyssey crew, and that Gage was amongst them.
“Drogir, I must say that I am appalled to see us sinking to the
same levels of depravity that we saw from the department heads,” Jane said, her nose upturned as if she’d entered the men’s room outside the café. “We got rid of one headache only to generate another for ourselves. This stress is getting to us all, but the good news – if it can be called that – is the end has come.”
Drogir tried to speak, but Jane slashed her hand through the air so quickly he stammered, then fell quiet.
“You have said quite enough,” she continued, tersely at first but then in a kinder tone, “and trust me when I say that I fully understand where you are coming from. It’s not like the majority made the decision lightly to focus on recovery, nor did we flippantly condemn everyone to death. However, in the larger scope of things, you know that we were not ready to strike and deliver a final blow. That became clear when Dajjal hit Paris and we lost the upper hand, along with five of the six artifacts, and Gage.”
Drogir’s eyes sank momentarily with Timothy's before joining the rest in staring at Gage; they all found his lack of tattoos and scars puzzling.
He stood and stared right back, giving them a little wave and a smirk.
“Anything we attempted after that would likely have failed,” Jane said gravely, “just like what happened with the Iliad. Dajjal could then just take whatever else he needed from our dead bodies, rendering the Earth to ash.”
Adrienne, Joey, and Ty settled into the chairs lining the windows, Joey shifting around in his uncomfortably.
“Pssst. Ady. Don’t you think we should engrave our names on these things, since we spend so much time in here?” Joey whispered with a serious look on his face. “Or maybe just the initials.”
“You can’t be serious,” Adrienne muttered back, rolling her eyes the instant Joey produced what looked like a paring knife from his pocket. “Why do you have that? Actually, don’t answer; I want to maintain plausible deniability.”
Gage had yet to down, hardly ever content. It was making Ady nervous, especially coupled with Joey’s ongoing craziness. Gage felt that the room was too dark, oppressive and downright depressing. So, being a good Samaritan, he moved to open the blinds and let in some light, which immediately stuck Tyrol in the face.
“Everyone, please take a seat,” Jane requested over Tyrol’s grumbling. “As always, we have a lot to talk about.”
Many things were discussed and debated about the world’s events, especially the carnage seen across Europe, but also pockets of action in twelve other locations around the world.
The conversation then shifted to Gage, and all listened as he recounted a cringe worthy story of Dajjal’s brutality, his death at the demon’s hand, and subsequent time in and rescue from the Astral Plane by the Grim Reaper. After deliberating on Death’s motives, all came to the agreement that the reaper must also want Dajjal dead, using his scythe to end the apocalypse once and for all.
The Council continued with the topic of demons and despite their convictions, decided they couldn’t focus on so many disparate locations while also maintaining stability. Instead, now that they had the blade and could organize an effective plan to use it, their forces would pull back and regroup, meeting Dajjal head on at Megiddo.
“So, we know for sure that Dajjal cannot open the portal with what he has,” said Allete.
“Correct, unless he takes the weapon from Gage,” Quileth said, casually blowing a smoke ring. “Yet, something tells me that is going to be quite a difficult task for him.”
“Damn right; that task that is gonna fail miserably,” Gage replied, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. He looked assertively at his team, then across the Council table. “That demon is going down. No matter what, we need to end this.”
Silence fell on the room almost immediately at Gage’s final words, broken only by a soft scraping from Joey as he was carved the letter J into the armrest of his chair.
Gage looked around, from one person gathered in the room to the next, and realized as he stared at their faces they were thinking the same thing he was: this was it. It would be the final time all would be in this room yelling at each other, discussing reports, or how to take care of Dajjal. Now, they were on the cusp of actually getting out there and doing it.
It scared Gage greatly, knowing how ruthless this demon could be and that his friends, his family, and his life would be exposed to it; raw and without any manner of protection at all. Even the ring on Ady’s finger, a symbol of both him and his love, still meant that she would have to fend for herself, just like they all would. Yet in the despair was also hope; knowledge that they had been preparing all this time for this very moment and the monstrous hours to come. The light of life would be cast before the great shadow of the night, either to succumb and fade away into oblivion, or burn brightly to drive it all away.
After a few more minutes, the rest started to nod and there was a buzz in the air that managed to refill everyone’s confidence. It was much needed and they were better for it.
Jane then rose, everybody looking to her with respect.
“Very well. We all know what needs to be done,” she said, her nervousness waning. “Send word to our allies: the time has come.”
BACK IN THE Otherworld, the iridescent city of Dún Gorias sat beneath the amethyst peaks of the Northern mountains, its white walls masking a darkness that still festered from Fenran’s treachery.
As the sun rose, a lone rider was clad in leather armor, galloping across fields of green grass toward the city’s outer wall. Mounted on a rare, wingless bird, its swift legs bore him faster than any normal horse in the kingdom, beast and rider reaching the copper gates in record time.
They didn't have to wait long for the large doors to swing open as they did every morning for trade to commence. The rider continued through and onto the cobbled paths beyond, meandering through the commercial district on the way to the Court of the King. As he passed by shops and services, the lingering effects of the brief but deadly civil war were obvious, heavy in the residents’ haggard faces.
Approaching another set of gates, he was stopped by a group of armored sentries, to whom he displayed his leafy broach for passage.
“State your business here, courier,” said one of the guards indignantly. With the amount of effort he was putting into the otherwise routine encounter, it was obvious this was the highlight of his week.
“I come bearing a message for the Queen,” he replied at once, looking through the next set of gates at the tiled central courtyard.
“What is the nature of this message?” the guard insisted while the others swayed apprehensively, knowing it wasn't his place to ask.
“Only Her Majesty may bear witness to that,” the courier answered resolutely. His sapphire eyes darted between the guards, hoping that he wouldn’t be detained much longer. “I beg your pardon, but the message is one of extreme urgency. Time is of the essence!”
After a period of uncooperative silence only serving to support the guard’s ego, the envoy was granted access and ushered through the next set of gates. He entered the tiled courtyard at last, where the great bell tower loomed in the center and beneath it: his destination. Dismounting, the messenger handed the reigns over to a forthcoming stable elf and then continued on foot toward the throne room.
The elf’s nimble feet sprinted down a lengthy covered walkway entangled with vines. Stepping into the gleaming white hall from beneath one of its four archways, he saw Queen Meriden nearby, robed in folds of sunlit green. Her delicate crown sparkled as she sat, deep in thought on her oak and ivory throne.
“Your Highness?” the courier said cordially, so as not to startle her.
“Did you know that your feet make the same sound, no matter where I hear them?” Meriden replied tenderly, her golden hair bouncing as she turned toward the courier with a smile.
He bowed, smiling back at her.
“It is good to see you again, and know that you weathered the battle unscathed. How have you fared, my friend?” she asked, and after he recovered from her kindn
ess, he told her that things had been good, even though darkness had touched Elvendom and still lingered.
“I recall that you told me, just before the fighting in the encampment, that I helped to rekindle the fires of Elvendom that had been smoldering,” Meriden said, anxiety filling her eyes. “I know that urgent business has brought you, but before we get to that I must ask you something that's weighed heavily on my heart since the end of the battle. Have I managed to live up to your expectations?”
“Yes,” he replied immediately. “Of that there is no doubt so far. Those of us that were behind you still are, untainted by Fenran’s poison. There will always be darkness to fight, but you have handled it all with grace and civility worthy of the throne.”
“Thank you,” she said, having long sought after confirmation that she was doing the right thing, from someone other than those in the Court who would often say what she wanted to hear versus what she needed to. “That helps me more than you know.”
“Always,” the courier continued, “but Your Highness, regarding the reason I am here…”
“Yes. It's from them isn't it; the message?”
“Yes. Humanity has called for our aid in the fight against the demon, Dajjal.”
“I knew that this would come sooner rather than later,” she replied, standing tall. “And they shall have it!”
With haste, she summoned her aides and three well-dressed elves rushed into the throne room.
“Alert the captain of the guard and the stable master that I have an urgent need to speak with them,” she commanded. “Also, send word to Brennan; there is an important task I think is right up his alley.”
The aides bowed and their long hair flowed like waterfalls over their faces before they turned and departed. The courier took his leave as well, Meriden stopping him just before he got to the exit.
“Courier,” Meridian called out as if about to say goodbye to an old friend. “Twice now we have spoken and once you managed to leave, nameless after giving me comfort. It would be a dishonor if I let you pass beneath that arch without knowing the name of the elf that managed to bring me contentment yet again.”
Running on Empty (Journeyman Book 6) Page 12
