by Ivan Kal
Kane nodded his head in solidarity. The command from Earth did not understand, of course—they might have clearance to know about Ethorria, but the only thing they knew about magic was from reading reports on their desks. It was the people living in the compound on Ethorria, and those from Earth who had dedicated their lives to understanding and learning about magic, who had the understanding to know how hard it had been to integrate magic and technology. The magitech profession was a young one, still evolving and improving almost daily.
And he knew why O’nga had come to him. He was technically the Commander of the fighter group. The UEF had twenty Havoc class fighters—a pinnacle in magitech, capable of feats fighters using only Earth tech would never be able to achieve. A fighter utilizing magic which did not need someone with magical ability to fly it. But the four mech-frames that he and his squad piloted were something else. The decision to develop the fighters came after the UEF realized that they would never be able to build a starship capable of taking on the aliens in Earth orbit. Not only because they knew very little about the aliens’ technology, but also because there was no way for them to get the starship in orbit unnoticed. The aliens might have only one starship in Earth orbit, but they had many satellites watching the ground. And there was no way for the UEF to hide the development of something large enough to take on their ship from the aliens’ inspections.
The fighters were the next idea, one that had been abandoned for a long time. The greatest problem had been that they had no way of building anything fast enough to be a threat to the alien warship. The missiles that Earth defense fired when the aliens first arrived posed no threat to the ship. But even if they could make something fast enough, there was no way that the pilots could survive the g-forces required for maneuvering at those speeds. And then they broke through to Ethorria, and discovered magic. Combining magic with their technology allowed them to solve those problems, as well as to get a few other advantages.
The Havoc fighters were the latest designs, the third class of fighters that the UEF had built in the last thirty years. The first had been more of a learning experience, but once the deal with the Wanderers had been made, and they came on board with the UEF and shared their magical knowledge, things progressed faster. The second class of fighters had been a good step but the five prototypes that had been made still left room for improvement. And as people with magic from Earth grew up and started studying both Earth tech and magic, new ideas and solutions showed themselves. The Havoc fighters were the culmination of that, and the UEF, confident in their capabilities, had ordered twenty fighters to be made.
The mech-frames, on the other hand, were even more experimental. The fighters were always supposed to be proven Earth tech augmented with magical spellscript. The mech-frames were something else, a true hybrid of technology and magic. Designed to utilize as much of the advantages that magic gave them in order to compensate for the Earth technology’s weaknesses. And that required pilots that had magical ability, like Kane himself.
And it looked like the UEC was finally ready to challenge the aliens.
“The mech-frames are battle capable,” Kane said to O’nga. “If you trust my opinion you may tell the command that they are ready.”
“Thank you, Commander, I will tell them so,” O’nga said and then left the room, leaving him alone. After a minute, once he had allowed the reality to truly seep in, he left the room heading to Admiral Jenkins’ office.
EXCERPT FROM MY FANTASY SERIES
ETERNAL PATH – ETERNAL SOUL
My sight showed me a time yet to come, and no matter how hard I try, all I see is fire and death. Every possible turn of events ends the same—with the end of everything. My peers laugh at me: the Council of Magi have rejected my prophesies as nightmares, a thing the Gods would never allow to come to pass. Yet for decades, in my dreams I have seen mortals and gods fighting side by side, and dying side by side. A terrible darkness is coming, and no one but I can see it. I doubt myself constantly, yet I dare not ignore my sight. No other seer can see as far as I can, nor is any one of them as powerful as I. If I see truthfully, all will end. I’ve pushed my gifts as far as I dare without burning my magic out, scouring the rivers of time for any possible future that does not end in darkness.
And, last night, I have found one. I cannot see it clearly, but I know only that there is this one slim chance for something other than the end of all things. In this future I see only moments, and they are unclear to me, as if I am looking through a fog. I see myself standing on a balcony looking over a city, and the sea is filled with ships of strange builds and unfamiliar colors. I see myself standing before a massive gate with an army at my back. I feel happiness and pain, and so many things that I cannot understand.
Yet how could that be? I will not live long enough to be there, and none of my efforts to extend my own life have borne fruit. My time nears its end, and I have one last gamble to attempt. It is an insanity that might doom my soul, yet I know that I must try. For if there is a chance for survival, that chance is only there when I myself am there to meet whatever is coming. I leave this journal of my prophetic dreams as a warning to others, in case that my plan fails. Perhaps I did not see all. Perhaps my dreams can be of use. Perhaps there is still hope.
- Excerpt from the Journal of Vardun Con Aroch
The god walked through the radiant halls of the Nexus, each step taking him further through the golden arches and star-filled pillars that held the weight of the sky, which was awash with every color imaginable. He wore clothes in a style no mortal had seen in millennia. A blue-black coat with the gray fur of a magic beast he had slain long ago was laid around his shoulders, stretching behind him to graze the floor. Glyphs of power along with elegant golden embroidery adorned his trousers and silken shirt. He was in his true form, that of a man with golden eyes—the same color as every god, with short dark horns bent backward that framed his long, midnight-colored hair. Perched on his shoulder was his loyal and ever-present companion, the red-and-white-feathered phoenix.
As they walked, the god couldn’t help but feel sorrow at the sights around him. He remembered a time when the Nexus had been filled with gods from both the lower and the higher planes—a time that had long since passed. The halls he walked now were desolate. The massive city complex and its realm were hollow, empty. Now the rest of his kind had started their own the pantheons and had built their own realms, had made their own wonders, yet in his eyes all of them paled in comparison to their mother’s creation. Memories of the Lifebringer, mother to them all, came to him unbidden from the furthest reaches of his mind. Memories of him walking by her side through these same halls, waiting on her every word, basking in her brilliance and warmth. Her laughter at his insane ideas and observations, at his attempts to goad the others into his schemes: Ah, Ban, you are a scoundrel with no equal, but I love you dearly for it. The memory of her voice echoed through his mind, making him feel all the more hollow now for what had happened to her afterward. He pushed those memories aside, carefully, delicately—they were his greatest treasures, after all.
Shaking off the past, he continued walking until he reached a stretch of the hall with smaller archways on both sides. He approached one of them and stepped through, and he was instantly transported to another place. He stepped into a round room with a large circular table in the middle with a hole in its center. Above it, there shined the stars of the mortal plane. The god walked over and sat in one of the chairs in front of the table, while his companion flew away and found a place to perch above one of the archways. With a short burst of anima he made the connection with the ancient table and the stars changed, flying past with increasing speed until they finally came to a stop at a small moon orbiting a large gas giant. The moon grew larger and larger, until he could discern its mountains, and eventually its people. A large gate stood in the side of the mountain, and all around it two armies fought, the small world’s defenders and the invaders. He had made it in time, it seemed.
>
He guided the viewing table with his magic, seeking a single person in the chaos on the small world. The defending army was smaller, but for every one of them that fell, they took ten of their enemies with them. Their tenacity and skill was impressive, even to a god. Then a large flash of light caught the god’s attention, and he focused on it: there, before the throng of large beast-men, stood a warrior wearing resplendent gold-and-blue armor and carrying a spear bathed in golden light. His eyes blazed with energy, and all around him the air shimmered with power. The man gave a loud battle cry, rallying his warriors, and jumped at his enemies. Moving faster than mortal eyes could follow, he zipped through the throng of the large, winged beasts, cutting them down before their axes could reach him.
He jumped into the air and flew like the wind, striking at those in the air, and then with the wrath of lightning he slammed back to the ground, throwing dirt, stone, and beasts away from him. A dozen of the invaders’ mages stepped forward; these were of a race called the darji. The same race that the god himself had once, long ago, belonged to, except now their skin was red and their horns larger. The mages started casting their spells, drawing power from the gems on their staffs or the anima-wells around their necks in order to power them. They had no other choice, as the world they had attacked was a low-magic one; there was not enough anima in the air for any of their spells to be cast without anima-wells, which they’d brought through the gate. But the warrior gave them no chance to finish their spells—he moved faster than even Sao Ban’s eyes could follow, slaying dozens of the mages in moments. The warriors he led followed close behind, using power unlike anything the god had ever seen to repel the forces invading their world.
The god reached inside his coat and brought out a small leather-bound book before carefully, almost reverently, removing the bindings keeping the book closed. He parted the pages delicately and found the passage he was looking for. He read through it again, even though he now knew it by heart:
Oh how they break you, my Golden Light,
How your heart weeps for those that deserved you not,
The light of your soul hurts my eyes,
As brilliant as a star.
An unyielding will keeps us whole,
Keep to the spear and the staff, and look not at the golden lies wrapped in red,
Your heart will never be broken in our care,
Stand proud at our side.
The passage depicted a future that the god believed had something to do with the warrior fighting on this world, and if he was correct it spoke about him refusing an offer from the enemy. There was another passage which the god believed talked about the same person, except that this one spoke about a much different future. He turned the pages until he found it:
Oh, Golden Light mine, how deceived your heart was,
How you look at us now with red in your eyes,
Right hand of the deceiver.
Come back to us, follow the soaring blade,
Leave the lies the golden eyes gave,
Drop the spear seeped in blood,
Stand not against us at the summit of the dark.
He shook his head in frustration. That was the problem with prophecies—they were always contradicting themselves. Lost in the journal, he almost didn’t notice when another archway activated, making him no longer alone. He took his eyes off the book and looked up at the new arrival. A tall and wide white-furred wolf-man walked toward the table. He looked over to the god’s companion and dipped his large head, greeting the phoenix first before turning his golden eyes back to the god.
“Sao Ban,” the wolf-man greeted in his guttural voice.
“Vanagandr,” Sao Ban said in return.
Vanagandr glanced at the battle still raging above the table almost disinterestedly, and then looked back at Sao Ban. “Please tell me that you didn’t call just to show me mortals fighting.”
“Well, yes and no,” Sao Ban said.
“Ban…” Vanagandr growled. “Do you have any idea how far away my realm is from the Nexus these days?”
Sao Ban thought about it for a moment. “Actually, no. I hadn’t been paying attention to the other pantheons’ affairs in the last…oh, I don’t know…ten or eleven thousand years.”
Vanagandr closed his eyes in annoyance. “That explains why I haven’t seen you around.”
Sao Ban shrugged. “I never felt the need to join a pantheon. I hate the politics.”
Vanagandr nodded his head in understanding. “I know what you mean—but there is something to be said about power in numbers. The gods-well alone is worth joining a pantheon for.”
“I never felt the need for it, as you well know. There is more to strength than brute power,” Sao Ban said.
Vanagandr snorted. “I swear, when you speak like that I wonder why you haven’t moved to the lower plane yet. You sound just like them.”
“There is some merit to what they believe in, old friend. I just don’t agree with their core principles,” Sao Ban told him.
“So, what is so important that you needed me here?” Vanagandr asked.
“Look at this battle. Tell me what you see.”
Vanagandr turned his predatory eyes to the table. “That’s a low-magic unclaimed world, and there is a battle between mortals. Nothing new or interesting.” He had dismissed it without really looking closely, as Sao Ban had half expected.
Sao Ban sighed. “Those are the Arashan. They have invaded that world.”
“Arashan? Those are Khalio’s followers, right?”
“They are, and he hadn’t moved beyond the borders of his worlds for a long time. Until now.”
Vanagandr shrugged. “Still, he attacked an unclaimed world. None of the pantheons will care, especially since it is a low-magic world. It’s almost as useless as a completely non-magic world.”
“Look closely at the Arashan, at their anima,” Sao Ban insisted.
Vanagandr put his hand on the table, then let his anima reach out to the table and to the world in the mortal plane. Sao Ban watched Vanagandr as he looked over the darji invaders, until he finally saw what Sao Ban had seen. Vanagandr turned back and frowned. “That anima that is fed into their souls—is that a tether?”
Sao Ban nodded. “I don’t know where Khalio obtained enough power to actively feed it to his followers. But it is worrying. Not only would that require an insane amount of power, but it is also one of the things that Mother warned against. Feeding power to a few mortals is dangerous enough. Khalio is doing it to all of his followers as far as I can tell. And that, coupled with this journal”—Sao Ban tapped the book in front of him—“is making me very nervous.”
“What is it?” Vanagandr asked.
“It is a journal of a powerful mortal mage. A seer, among other things,” Sao Ban said hesitantly. “This is a collection of his prophecies, dreams, and visions.”
“Ban,” Vanagandr growled, “you know that prophecies cannot be trusted.”
“I agree—most of them. These ones seem different.”
“You have spent too much time among the mortals,” Vanagandr said.
“I know, but listen to me,” Sao Ban pleaded. “The prophecies started losing their accuracy around the same time that Mother died. Yet we have seen some come true, from time to time. And always they had been about important events. This,” he said, pointing at the book in front of him, “is important. I know it is. I feel it in my soul, Vanagandr. Something is coming, and we need to be ready.”
“You really think that a mortal could’ve seen something that we could not?”
“All of us had been mortals once; the only difference between us and them is that we have more knowledge and power. And the human that had made these prophecies was very powerful.”
“The others won’t give credence to mortal prophecies. You know that. Nor will they care, particularly, that Khalio is conquering worlds. Not unless he hits their own prime worlds, and even then it’s a coin toss. He is still only one god, and no matter wh
at the gods of the lower plane believe, he can’t possibly threaten a pantheon. Not unless he somehow managed to unite the courts,” Vanagandr said.
“Will you help me?”
Vanagandr sighed. “Of course, old friend. What do you need me to do?”
“I was hoping to warn all the pantheons, but they don’t like me all that much,” Sao Ban said wryly. “Nor do they care for anything outside of their realms and mortal territories, as you said. But if the prophecies are right, then the next world the Arashan will attack is Enosia, a neutral, unclaimed world that I had been spending some time on. But if Enosia falls… Well, the future the seer saw is grim. Khalio is abiding by Mother’s rules, which means that I can’t interfere too much, but rather only nudge and guide. I don’t want to risk interfering directly and provoking Khalio to act in person. I have no idea what that would do to the future.”
“So, what, you want me to go around Enosia, nudging people to go where you want them to?”
“Well, you aren’t really subtle enough for that task,” Sao Ban said sheepishly, “but there is something else you can help me with. I need you to go to the lower plane and see what you can find out among the courts. About Khalio and his expansion and anything else that seems strange.”
Vanagandr smiled, showing the rows of his sharp teeth. “That I can do. I haven’t had a good fight in centuries.”
