Primeval Origins: Light of Honor (Book 2 in the Primeval Origins Epic Saga)

by Brett Vonsik

  Anders pulled her close as the stern area of the ship flashed in a blinding brilliance. This time, Aren was knocked backward onto the deck as countless bluish-orange fragments flew in all directions—except theirs—from less than twenty meters from them. Nikki felt a little heat from the muted explosion though nothing she would expect from a weapon detonation in their faces. Very little pressure from the blast reached her and Anders, despite them standing only a few meters away. She then realized Aren shielded them and absorbed most of the energy of the explosion and deflected the shrapnel. They would all be dead if not for him.

  Aren groaned as he struggled to regain his feet. He rolled about, raised himself up only to fall back to the deck. He seemed disoriented. He’s alive and awake! Good! Nikki felt relieved. She and Anders helped him to his feet. When upright, Aren pulled away from Anders when he realized it was not Nikki touching him. There was an odd silence between the three of them for a few moments. Aren’s emotions felt to Nikki somewhere between thankful and indignant.

  The reports of mini-cannon gunfire from the sea and ricocheting bullets all around them forced the three to retreat back away from the stern edge of the helipad and to duck down.

  “The Ghost Gliders.” Anders said what was on all of their minds.

  “Sum!” Aren angrily swore, then stood up stiffly.

  The uncontrolled rage building in Aren made Nikki uncomfortable, then concerned for her and Anders. She didn’t know who Aren intended to receive the swirling red-yellow glows of what looked like superheated plasma around each of his hands. She hoped Aren’s declaration of “Enough!” was for the bad guys. Aren then deliberately stepped to the edge of the helicopter platform as a hail of bullets from the burp of a minigun somewhere astern vaporized several feet in front of him. Aren raised his right hand at the Ghost Gliders, striking one of the craft with a glowing ball of hot plasma. His right hand now looked normal. The craft still maneuvered as flames in several locations defied being extinguished. Aren raised his left hand at the same boat with the result being the craft erupting in flames, forcing its riders to abandon the craft by jumping into the water, most of them burning until they were completely submerged.

  The second Ghost Glider fired a burp from its minigun at them. The bullets again vaporized in front of Aren, except for the last couple in the burst. They struck Aren with enough force to knock him down on the helipad. Nikki felt all of it . . . the glee of unrestrained use of his Agni powers and the pain of exhaustion and having been hit by bullets despite his desire to maintain the wall of energy he erected in front of himself to absorb the weapons’ fire.

  Nikki crawled over to Aren, afraid he might be dead. “Aren, Aren, are you alive?”

  Aren lay unmoving. Two bullets struck him in his right thigh and shoulder. Both wounds bled and needed treatment, but neither looked lethal.

  “Marr zu zisagal?” Nikki asked Aren again, this time in Antaalin, if he lived.

  “I still don’t understand how you know that language, Nikki,” Anders stated as he applied pressure on Aren’s shoulder wound.

  “I told you, but you dismissed me,” Nikki shot back. “It came to me when I was inside that broken travel gate. I somehow became aware or linked to Aren and Rogaan and . . .”

  A groan came from Aren. Without opening his eyes, he spat words tenaciously at Anders in English. “Don’t touch me!”

  Anders held up his bloodstained hands in the air. “Okay—then bleed to death. I try to help you, and all you do is complain and give me that evil-eye thing.”

  Aren placed his hands on himself, right hand to right thigh and left hand to right shoulder. He took a deep breath, then his Agni stone glowed slightly as he trembled and gasped. “Ul sum.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not enough’?” Nikki asked, concerned what Aren meant by his words.

  “I need to renew,” Aren answered her in English. He looked exhausted, and he trembled with every move. “I’m without power to help if attacked again.”

  More burps of mini-gun fire erupted on the starboard side of the stern. Bullets riddled the walkway below them. The crew were yelling to each other trying to coordinate return fire at the attacking Ghost Glider.

  “Uzal,” Aren commented as he lay on the helipad.

  “What’s a waste of time?” Nikki asked him.

  “Your weapons against that boat,” he answered in English. “Too much fortified.”

  Without warning, Aren grabbed Nikki and pulled her to the helipad deck with a thump of her head and a statement of protest. Her head throbbed in pain. Anders made to protest just as a deafening boom and pressure shock wave passed over them, knocking Anders off his feet and sent him tumbling forward on the helipad. The shipborne railgun round from the closing U.N. frigate ripped through the Wind Runner’s bridge superstructure, exploding on the other side, sending countless burning fragments of metal and other materials flying in all directions. Nikki instinctively rolled toward Aren to try to cover him and protect him from the shrapnel. They collided to both of their surprise as shrapnel rained down all around them, some burning, some not. After the metal rain ended, they inspected themselves for injuries. Neither was hurt from this latest attack.

  Nikki looked for Anders. She found him lying at the edge of the helipad unmoving. She tried to stand up, but fell when she put weight on her right foot. She tried again. When she fell, tracer fire passed just over her head from a burp of bullets expelled by the minigun of the remaining boarding fast craft, that Ghost Glider.

  “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Nikki felt herself trembling as she remained still on her hands and knees, paralyzed with fear. This all was too much to take. She shouted out in anger and desperation, “Stop it! Stop it!”

  A groan with Nikki’s name in it came from the edge of the helipad. Nikki looked up to find Anders half-crawling, half-stumbling toward her in the dim light of the dusk. Most of the exterior lights of the ship were either destroyed or without power. The almost-full moon provided more illumination than the ship’s lights now. Tracers ricocheted off the starboard side of the helipad as others flew just over Anders before he dropped back to the deck. He crawled to her the rest of the five meters.

  “Are you okay?” Anders asked with a desperate tone.

  “No!” she replied. “They’re shooting at us, and we’re going to die.”

  “Calm down—” Anders tried to instruct her how to control her emotions.

  “Calm down?” Nikki cut him off as she glared at him. “The ship’s been torn up. It’s no match for whatever that ship is out there and its big gun, Ghost thingies and drones and Tyr soldiers. Aren’s saved us a couple of times, but he’s in no condition to fight, and Rogaan is lost to us.”

  Anders had nothing to counter her assessment of their situation. He opened his mouth a couple of times to refute her, but comforting words escaped him. “I have nothing.”

  Nikki looked over at Aren. He was smiling again, as he lay there on the helipad. His casual attitude was totally wrong for their situation, and it angered her. “What in the hell are you smiling at?”

  “Sud inaa Im, seher Nikki!” Aren stated in Antaalin, no longer phrasing his words as a question. Aren sat up looking to the stern of the ship.

  “What is he babbling about?” Anders asked.

  “He wants me to feel the wind,” she replied.

  “That’s stupid,” Anders scoffed. “Feel the wind at a time like this? What’s he thinking? He’s lost his mind.”

  Nikki did feel . . . something. It was that sensation of a presence both intelligent and powerful. She could feel it without Aren having to help her. Where is it coming from? She looked off the stern of the ship. A light below the surface of the water approached fast. Her heart sank. Another weapon from the U.N. frigate?

  Nikki feared she was really going to die in this attack. A strange sense of urgency struck her. She thought to sp
eak to God in her last moments . . . pray to Him and ask Him for forgiveness . . . for not going to church . . . and not praying to Him, and not being a good, loving person her Bubba asked her to be. Tears welled up in her eyes. And Nikki wanted to thank God for taking her Bubba into heaven. She missed her so much and hoped she was in a better place. She had regrets too deep for one simple prayer to wash away. It was too late for more prayers Nikki realized, as the submerged light was about to strike them . . . end their lives. No! She wanted to fix the things wrong in her life. She wasn’t ready to accept her death.

  The white light burst from the water a rock throw from the stern of the ship. A splash of water soaked them as the light, now turning into a glowing elliptical disc with four or more white vaporous tendrils hanging from its underside, passed over them. The glowing disc banked and turned to the starboard side of the Wind Runner’s superstructure, then descended to just above the waves racing back to the ship’s stern going head-on with the U.N. Ghost Glider as the craft’s minigun blazed tracer fire directly on the white glowing disc. As the disc passed, Nikki saw the topside of it. It had a seat and console in front of that, all white from the glow coming from the disc surface below. The disc had a rider, a single rider, flying directly into the hail of tracers and bullets that were being vaporized orange-red as they touched the white glow.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me . . .” Nikki looked at Aren. The Evendiir had a knowing smile along with his now casual stance on the helipad.

  The rider of the glowing disc held in his right hand what looked to be a dark-hued sword. He held it out to the side as he passed to the left of the Ghost Glider . . . the tracers and bullets never-ending from the attack craft until the sword sliced through the craft’s armored hull and gun mount. The Ghost Glider slowed as it came apart on its topside. Tyr soldiers emerged from the craft, all searching for, then firing on the white glowing disc as it turned back toward them. Again a hail of bullets along with mini-missiles rained on the disc, all vaporizing orange-red as soon as they touched the white glow. A single projectile with a glowing trailing tail emerged from the white glow as it closed rapidly on the damaged Ghost Glider. The projectile passed through the three Tyr soldiers standing on the craft before ripping through with electrical arcs of what Nikki took as the pilot compartment. All three supersoldiers collapsed to the deck, then fell off the sides of the Ghost Glider into the roiling waters. The Ghost Glider suddenly jerked to the left before collapsing sideways into the waves and quickly started sinking. The glowing tail of the projectile continued on, allowing Nikki to follow it as it turned back toward the disc. It slowed as it closed on the approaching disc, then flew into the white glow.

  “What just happened?” Anders asked Nikki.

  “I don’t know . . . a miracle maybe,” she answered, still stunned from the turn of events.

  The glowing disc slowed as it approached the Wind Runner’s stern. It took up a position a couple of meters astern of the ship just under the elevation of the helipad. Nikki urged Anders to help her quickly get to the edge of the helipad. He was apprehensive but unable to slow her encouragement. Aren was standing at the edge of the pad when they caught up to him.

  “You waste time enough before arriving,” Aren chastised him in Antaalin. Nikki understood every word. Anders stood watching, but wasn’t demanding for her to translate word for word. “We endured the hammering work.”

  “Lacking my help, old friend?” Rogaan wore a smile as he stood on the disc surface straddling a seat that looked as if it was an extension of the disc surface below. He too spoke in Antaalin. Still in the white sensor gown with his bow case and sheathed blue sword strapped over his shoulders, he held his blue metal bow in his left hand while engulfed in the white glow coming from the disc surface under his feet. The disc hovered in the air, matching the speed of the ship that still cruised at its meager clip propelled by its noiseless propulsion system.

  “Forget that!” Aren sounded cranky and in a hurry, still in Antaalin. “Place yourself three strides lower and face that other ship. Hurry!”

  Rogaan had a confused look on him as he complied with Aren’s instructions. Aren grabbed Nikki and had her kneel down on the helipad. Anders followed suit.

  “What now?” Rogaan asked in his native tongue while keeping his eyes fixed on the gloom behind the Wind Runner.

  “Dung!” Rogaan growled in Antaalin as blue metallic tendrils from his left forearm guard attached to his bow, reshaping it into an oval-shaped shield for Rogaan to brace himself behind.

  “Crap!” Nikki saw it too . . . a flash from the U.N. frigate . . . its big gun or a missile. She understood what she was looking at now. But Aren can’t stop or deflect this one! Nikki cringed as she held her breath and Anders even more tightly. An electric current surged around her making her feel as if insects crawled all over her. She shivered. It came quickly. She barely saw it before it struck. The entire stern of the ship exploded in a brilliant light, a blast of pressure and a deafening roar, a clang, a thud. An explosion somewhere behind her told her she was still alive and that somehow Rogaan defected the hypersonic projectile. Probably into the superstructure again. This is the stuff of science fiction and myths and legends and fairy tales, she thought to herself. Worried Rogaan was injured or likely dead, she looked for him on his disc as soon as her eyes recovered from the bold flash of light.

  “I swear by the fire sands of Kur!” Rogaan jumped up from where he had been slammed into the seat from the impact of the railgun projectile when he deflected it with that shield of his. He started dancing about . . . in pain, his words flowing in his ancient language. Nikki couldn’t keep up with his unsavory expletives as her cheeks reddened. Amazingly, he was still on the disc, though he was in a lot of pain and trying to shake his left arm as he groaned and growled and danced about. Nikki would have thought his display overdramatic if it hadn’t been for him deflecting a weapon designed to sink a ship.

  “Why not tell me . . . you work ass!” Rogaan yelled at Aren in Antaalin. Aren put on a simple smirk as he waited for Rogaan to finish his tirade, which Rogaan continued, “You bastard!”

  “That is without politeness . . .” Aren wore his smirk proudly as he replied to his friend in English. “I have a father.”

  “Say something before it takes place,” Rogaan scolded Aren while continuing his dance to shake off the pain. He also spoke in English, matching Aren’s linguistic abilities. Nikki suspected they now spoke in English so she would not misunderstand, or maybe they were competing with each other by the way they were exchanging quips.

  “They are getting ready more heavenly barbed arrows,” Aren stated as calmly as if giving Rogaan direction to a bathroom.

  Rogaan stopped his dancing and shaking his left arm. He stood unmoving, giving Aren a long look of disbelief, then a head shake in disgust, or I cannot believe this. He then took up a solid stance, left foot forward and right foot back, at the left side of the disc’s seat as he stared into the dusky gloom, breathing with an even rhythm. The night hadn’t fully engulfed them yet. The sun’s rays still touched the superstructure of the distant Watchman making the ship visible through the gloom. The U.N. frigate had quickly closed on them and now was less than a mile away, if Nikki judged the distance right.

  “Curse me with violence in Kur if that ship strikes us again,” Rogaan vowed. Nikki didn’t know to whom he vowed or was talking to. Rogaan then spoke loudly with a motion of his head meaning his comments were for her. “The ship is three thousand and six hundred strides from us.”

  “How can he know that so precisely?” She looked at Aren.

  “He is superior at evaluating distant places,” Aren spoke with amusement in his voice.

  “Why are you not afraid, Aren?” Nikki found his mannerisms out of place. It worried and angered her. “What do you find so amusing?”

  “Feel the Wind . . .” Aren said in a carefree manner as he raised his arm
s high. He looked around as if expecting something to happen, then dropped his hands. He shrugged his shoulders and raised his arms to the sky again as he spoke with a louder voice, “Feel the Wind.”

  Moments passed and nothing happened. Nikki tried to suppress a snicker at Aren’s antics. He looked the part of an actor on stage . . . in a failing production. Aren’s expression turned frustrated.

  “Nothing?” Aren sounded a bit put out as he asked the sky.

  Nikki watched Aren, not knowing what to think. She looked to Anders and agreed with his earlier assessment. “You’re right. Aren has lost his mind.”

  Aren’s cheeks turned crimson as his face soured. Again, in English, he barked at his friend, “Burn you, Rogaan. Make disappear that demon ship out there!”

  Nikki felt Aren’s frustration with Rogaan and his desire to play one-upsmanship with him. She saw Rogaan’s serious face and determined eyes acknowledging his friend’s impatience before he looked back to the Watchman. More so, Nikki felt Rogaan’s determination and focus. So focused, that nothing else existed for him other than his bow and the Watchman . . . and that presence, its intelligence . . . its power. Nikki shivered. The blue metallic shield on Rogaan’s left arm reshaped back into his bow. Nikki watched awed by the ancient artifacts and Rogaan’s command of them. Rogaan raised his bow at the Watchman. When the fingers of his right hand touched the metallic bow string, an arrow formed from the flow of blue metal from Rogaan’s right forearm guard. A faint glow engulfed the arrow. Rogaan released the arrow, so calmly and without moving any other muscles than his fingers. He held his position as if a statue while the arrow streaked in a slight arc toward the Watchman. The arrow flew far faster than any she ever saw . . . and she never heard of anyone making a more-than-three-kilometer shot . . . with a bow. She followed the arrow’s faint glow to its target over a span of a handful of seconds. Nothing happened. Did it hit? Where’s the explosion? Nikki waited a few more moments for something to happen. Rogaan lowered his bow, then stood with eyes fixed on the U.N. frigate. Nikki wanted badly to ask if the arrow was a dud, but was afraid of the answer and what it would mean for them. A flash from the Watchman’s deck told Nikki another railgun round was on its way to them. We’re doomed! Nikki lost hope as she agreed that Rogaan was going to Kur.