Star Angel: Rising (Star Angel Book 4)

by David G. McDaniel

  Galfar took a few steps out of the throng and turned, looking back up for Jessica and Haz. The two had been avoiding each other. Earlier Haz found other things to do as Jessica followed Galfar to the hold and retrieved Erius. He saw her now—not easy to miss with the towering Erius, a head above everything else on the gangway—making her way down. Every few steps she took time to rise above her melancholy, to pat Erius and reassure him. The big gray did not like the sea journey and was more excited than anyone to finally be heading for solid ground. Jessica worked to share his enthusiasm, to keep him excited despite her own mood, and Galfar continued to be taken with her degree of empathy.

  As she reached the bottom of the gangplank Haz showed up at the top, looking aloof. His usual mood these days. Galfar could hardly recall what it was like to be that age, but he was pretty sure acting like that was normal.

  Except for Jessica. Maybe she was like that once, but already she’d aged so very far beyond her years. She wasn’t much older than Haz yet had a bearing about her beyond any adult. Far beyond. Galfar thought her a peer, in fact. An equal. She’d endured so many trials. More than many people did in their entire lives. She’d told him of some as they traveled, relating bits and pieces of events that brought her there, painting a picture even Galfar found incredible. The things she spoke of, these other places where the fantastic was routine, where machines gave one force … it reminded him of legends. That Jessica made it here at all, to his world, alive and whole through all that, further confirmed his confidence in her. It was no wonder she’d been mostly calm and unflappable during the journey, once she came to grips with the reality of her situation. She’d been through far too much already to be easily phased.

  Galfar studied her as she, in turn, continued soothing the mighty Erius.

  In her short time with him she’d absorbed more than the Other ever had. More than Haz, in his entire life of (often grudgingly) listening to what Galfar had to teach. Haz, whom Galfar had always seen as a prodigy. Jessica was beyond them. Beyond anyone Galfar knew, beyond any of the Fist, the so-called Masters—anyone. At first he’d worried she might not be strong enough, might not have the courage for what lay ahead.

  Now he knew better.

  She is the one, he thought, watching as she spoke soothingly to Erius, stroking his snout. The priestess was right all along. The herald has come.

  She glanced back, toward the slowly approaching Haz. The rift with Haz was part of her sadder mood right then, Galfar realized, but only part. She and Haz fought and were angry with each other, but it wasn’t that. Something else had shifted for her.

  She will find the way.

  To do that, however, she must be ready for what came next. The path ahead was perilous. And though Galfar had every faith in her, his fear for her was just as great.

  **

  The evening sun was low in the sky as they looked for a place to stop. Jess noticed the land had been changing on this side of the sea, becoming more and more forested until, by now, the slopes of the hills they headed toward in the distance looked to be completely covered with trees. Thick with them. Beyond the wooded hills were mountains, tall mountains, snowcapped and everything, making it look less like the mid-West of the lands they left behind and more like Germany. Even the air was cooling. On their current heading the sun was off to the left, the giant blue mother planet directly ahead and absolutely dominant. A flock of what Jess knew to be large birds flew lazily across its face, taking minutes to span its breadth. The sun and giant planet made for a spectacular but odd pairing, which also kind of hurt her head. Knowing what she did about planets and stars it had become difficult to look at the unique combination. The host star, certainly hundreds if not thousands of times bigger than the blue planet, yet smaller in the sky; two celestial titans, seemingly side by side, the planet so big all of it didn’t fit in your vision at once, the sun next to it a small orange disk. The perspective was all wrong and it was hard to disregard.

  But there was no way to really look at anything else. That entire half of the sky was filled with planet and sun. This whole leg of the journey had them aiming toward it, unlike any stretch before, and it had begun to fill her with a low-level agitation. A desire to be away from it. Therefore, in a way, she was glad when Galfar called them to a stop for the night, though there was probably a good hour or more of daylight left. Which made her wonder if he had more training in mind.

  He did.

  “Let’s practice,” their elder leader spoke while dismounting, voice straining as his joints protested. Jess and Haz rode around in circles a few times, sizing each other up, neither wanting much to do with the other. Galfar had chosen a nice little clearing, trees surrounding it on three sides, small hills bordering the trail.

  Jess couldn’t shake the sadness. She’d been feeling it since the argument with Haz and it was no longer that she was mad at him directly, though she definitely was, it was because that little spat had inflamed all the other things she’d been keeping at bay and now she was stuck right in the middle of an aching despair she could no longer find a way to manage. Haz was probably right; she was probably never going to see Zac again. There were too many unknowns between her and ever getting back, far too many—there always had been but now they were weighing on her like never before. Before, at least, she’d managed hope. Foolish hope, maybe, but hope nonetheless. What was hope, after all? Emotional fortitude, whether realistic or not.

  Now it was gone.

  Maybe that was part of why the interminable, inescapable view of sun and planet had been beating her up so badly. What might before have been a beautiful backdrop, amazing, breathtaking, now served only to mock her. To remind her, quite starkly, she was a long, long way from home.

  “Come,” Galfar hurried them. Reluctantly Jess heaved a leg over Erius and fell the distance to the ground. With a pat on his rump she sent him off to forage and went reluctantly over to stand near Galfar. Haz walked his horse around a bit more then got down lithely, no hands, giving a show of his athleticism. His horse followed Erius.

  Galfar waved Haz over. “Come,” he motioned. “Come. Practice.” Haz came with lazy, deliberate steps. Anything to not appear interested.

  “Practice,” Galfar clapped his hands and moved aside. Reluctantly Jess bent her knees and took up a stance.

  One thing she’d noticed in all this was that neither Haz nor Galfar had any training in the fighting arts. Whether anyone else on that world did, whether ninjas or boxers or Kung-Fu experts or whatever existed she had no idea. All she knew was that these two examples, Haz and Galfar, did not. Galfar had taught Haz to manipulate the forces of psychic energy and Haz did it fairly well, but he clearly had no idea how to fight a real fight, with fists and feet. If she and Haz were pitted against each other hand-to-hand she would win. Interestingly she found that, in these little psionic sparing sessions, it gave her an advantage. Though she and Haz were, technically, fighting with the mind, the body was the conduit—and the target—and both her control of her own body and her knowledge of bodies in general was better than Haz’s. As a result she displayed a better mastery of the telekinetic energy when used for these purposes.

  Abruptly Haz pinwheeled his arms and threw them out, telegraphing his intent badly. He wasn’t into it.

  Too bad for him. Neither was she but she wasn’t about to let herself be knocked around by someone being lazy. She saw the focus of his attack, moved in that instant of release—just a little slip to the left, feet sliding as one in the dirt—and wasn’t there when the spot rippled. She felt her skin crawl in proximity but the impact was nil.

  In that same moment she was curling her own hands, mind on the flow, on Haz’s chest, feeling the charge zip down her arms like a pulse, out the fingers and through the air: Pow! Haz staggered like he’d been punched in the chest. Which was more or less what happened.

  Before he could regroup she was stepping toward him, stance tight, another focused blast wound up for release—

  �
��Ow!” he shouted as that one knocked his shoulder around and nearly spun him to the ground. He twisted back toward her, angry, but never had a chance.

  “Nnnnn!” a grunt escaped her as she let another go, relentless, hitting him in the gut—harder, this one—doubling him over. All his breath left him in one violent exhale and he tumbled in a poof of dirt, hitting the ground, holding his stomach and gasping for air.

  “Good,” said Galfar, meaning to stop her.

  But she wasn’t done.

  Suddenly alarmed, Galfar saw her rising determination and raised his hands: “Enough!”

  I’m not done. It was a surge of anger, a surge of potential and she let it grab her. She had the presence of mind not to direct her attack at the fallen Haz; turned instead to the next object in her immediate sight. A nearby tree. Deftly she channeled the cresting flow …

  Crack! the trunk popped in the center, right where she placed the strike, strips of fresh, live wood splintering out white and pink against the bark.

  Whoa.

  That could’ve killed someone.

  Following the blow the tree, incredibly, creaked under its own weight. Rather than recoil, however, she felt overcome with power. More, not less, of a desire to unleash.

  The tree was still in her sights. The power flowed.

  “HA!” she threw out both arms—so hard her elbows popped, stomping one foot before her as she did, thumping the ground and releasing such a charge she thought she heard the air snap. Like a little crack of lightning. If it did it was caught up in the much louder, more ferocious crack of the tree as the trunk fairly exploded along the same point, bursting entirely from within. Long shards buckled away with impossible force. In her tunneled vision she caught sight of Galfar cringing, moving back. Haz remained on the ground, coming around enough to witness her fury and pull into a tighter ball.

  The tree was shifting to one side, fighting to stand tall a few last, improbable seconds; swaying … then it groaned as it tipped. The horses were spooked. Somewhere in those tense moments, maybe after the first strike, maybe the second, all she knew was that she heard them now, whinnying in the distance in fear.

  But she wasn’t done.

  As the forty-foot tree fell—timber!—she struck it again, with such increasing power she began to worry at what she might’ve become.

  “HA!” snap/stomp and another section of trunk blew in two with a louder crack, splitting into halves so that the upper and lower parts now fell independent of the other. “HA!” another blast and another break, further up and now three segments fell. Like taking apart a giant pool cue.

  She could do more.

  So much more.

  “HA!” at the top, that blast so strong the air before her actually popped blue—this time she saw it—a definite crackle of energy from her outstretched hands, fading like a glowing remnant of cobweb—as if whatever energy she commanded got so intense as to become visible for the briefest of instants; blistering away the smaller upper section of tree such that the wood completely vaporized in a shower of smoking particles.

  Yes!

  Total destruction.

  “Jessica!” Galfar was yelling. Had been yelling. He was right behind her. Afraid to touch her.

  She held. At last she held. Pose frozen, about to unleash another strike. Foot out before her, hands back and ready to release. In her killing stance. She started to breathe again. Carefully, easing the built-up charge. Slowly.

  Holding back the imminent attack.

  Shaky breaths now. She let her arms drop. Stood straight. Sections of trunk and branches and leaves and what was once a stately tree finished bouncing as they settled, smoke and leaves and wood dust in the air. She could even smell it; like a burning campfire.

  The world returned.

  She heard Erius making loud neighs somewhere far away, snorting. Other sounds penetrated her hearing. Haz’s horse had run down the road but was in sight, stopped and standing in silhouette against the mighty backdrop of the blue motherworld. It reared and brayed in fear. Haz himself remained curled on the ground, physically okay but not moving, staring wide-eyed at her. She flexed her hands.

  Turned to Galfar.

  He was just as awestruck.

  What am I?

  He was reaching a hand for her, then leading her away, up one of the hills and out of sight of the scene of the crime.

  They were moving.

  She was walking.

  Hand in Galfar’s.

  Through the trees.

  Up a trail.

  Over the small hill to the other side.

  At length he found a spot and sat. She sensed that much; that they were sitting, and that the hill was between them and where they’d just been. Galfar said nothing. Just sat and … sat there. After a while Jess realized she was staring into space. Had been, but for the first time realized it. How long? Time began to move. Galfar leaned forward beside her, looking out across the distance. Time had passed but she knew not how much. The sun was setting. Far out over the grassy plains dark rain clouds gathered. A storm was coming.

  She shivered.

  Mind buzzing. She could feel it now. Empty, no thoughts to fill it. She worried that she should be thinking something, afraid or freaked or screaming or … something.

  Anything.

  The replays began. Seeing and feeling what had transpired. As the reality of what happened settled she shook harder, a delayed reaction; emotional discharge from the furious intensity that had gripped her so tightly. Desperately she held herself still.

  How is any of this possible?

  Still she had no answers. And the absence of answers in that moment, the absence of any real understanding hit her like never before. The same questions she’d been asking all along, the same things that still had not been explained. Such a void in her mind …

  There were no explanations.

  She was doing impossible things. No reasonable idea how any of it was possible. Speaking another language. Guiding horses by thought. Knocking down giant trees with psionic blasts, wielding unseen force.

  For a terrifying instant she feared she’d slipped too far down the rabbit hole. Too far into fantasy land, past the point of no return. Like who she used to be was now such a distant memory ...

  She looked to Galfar, trying to wipe the desperation from her gaze. He wasn’t looking at her. Instead he sat patiently, his own gaze far, far afield. Farther away in time than in distance, it seemed, and it was hard to tell if he was thinking of her shocking display back there or something else. Whether she’d exceeded him in that she could not know, but he was subdued as if she probably had. As if she had, somehow, exceeded all expectations.

  As he finally spoke, however, it seemed he was on to other things.

  “Determinism,” he said, “is strong in you.” It looked as if he thought of something else, then changed his mind and reached in his tunic, pulled out a pair of cinnamon sticks and handed her one. He put the other in his mouth.

  “We all have it.” He gnawed on the stick and looked out to the distant, gathering storm. Thunder rumbled. “Determinism may seem less powerful than the force of a direct blast, or even the punch of a fist, but the power to make our own fate …

  “That is our greatest strength. It is what defines us.”

  Jess studied the cinnamon stick, put it in her mouth and got it started. She chewed until the sweet, sharp juice began to flow.

  “Not fate as you’ve known it,” Galfar held up a finger, careful to make the distinction. “The things you’ve likely known as Destiny, Fate … these are ‘Responsibility Elsewhere’. Not driven by us. Not the route to greatness. Fate, true fate, we create. Real Destiny is the destiny we make for ourselves. Determinism is true power. In the end there is no fate beyond our control. We are responsible for everything that befalls us.”

  Jess sucked more of the invigorating juice. Ready to let her mind wander to other things. “How can we be responsible for everything?” Maybe she wasn’t ready
to talk about what she’d done either.

  Galfar shrugged. “Who else would be?”

  Jess looked to the gathering storm.

  “We may choose not to be,” again Galfar shrugged his hunched shoulders. “However in the choosing we are still responsible. We are responsible for the decision not to be responsible.”

  Responsible for the decision not to be … More of his philosophical abstracts.

  “We do this,” said Galfar, “in order to make things interesting. So that we might have a surprise now and again. Like hiding something in order to have a game. It does not, however, change the fact of our causing it. It does not change the fact that we hid the thing in the first place. Aware or unaware, we make our own fate.”

  Jess sighed. It was too much. Maybe she didn’t want to talk now at all.

  But Galfar was already started. “Success is a choice,” he said. She turned her eyes to look sidelong at him, growing weary, but he just stared straight ahead and continued his thought, almost as if speaking to himself. “Why, then, would one choose to fail? Perhaps to maintain interest. We would rather, it seems, suffer tragedy, endure pain or any manner of hardship, than experience nothing at all. We may never fully understand the “why” of this, but one thing is certain:

  “We are, each of us, responsible for the condition in which we find ourselves. There is no other fault, no outside blame. No uncontrolled factor. No other challenger, no bad day or overwhelming force that thwarts us. We are the sole engineer of our fate. Succeed if you choose. Fail if you choose. But do not give credit for your failure to the rock that fell on your head. Why did you allow the rock to fall? Why did you decide to have your head cracked? Why did you decide to fail?

  “The answer, always, lies with you. Master this and your existence is your own.”