Meanwhile, his main body found an empty patch of land. Sitting on the ground, he closed his eyes and began to dream. Fresh, green grass sprouted from the barren, rocky ground. It was a mere simulacrum of grass, of course; it wasn’t even alive, and his race was not given the gift of Creation. But it would suffice.
At the borders of the grassy field he raised a wall and a gate. A dome covered the edifice. He impressed his will upon his creations, locking them in place. The shape would stay until he wished them to dissolve.
Planting himself at the gate, he spread his arms and chanted. These were the true names of the beings he knew, spoken in a tongue no man could hear or speak.
“I call you today to come and listen and speak! I who have returned from Gaea wish to share my knowledge with you that we may grow stronger together! Come, come and listen!”
The ones he summoned hastened to him. Some were wardens of Tartaros. Others patrolled Khaos. The Stormbringer spoke an order into Gatekeeper’s ears, and the hydra granted the visitors leave to enter.
“All those who wish to listen, I invite you also! Come and be stronger! Come and be wiser! Come!”
A dozen came. Then two dozen. More. The Stormbringer’s guests saw that his hands were empty, and out of respect, disarmed themselves, too. When no more came, he counted and found four score of his fellows, ready and eager to listen.
“Brothers, thank you for coming,” he said. “Let us begin.”
His brothers came in many forms. Some were shaped like men, just larger and taller and stronger. A handful were Cyclopes, each possessed of a single unblinking all-seeing eye. A dozen more had serpents for hair and legs, the heads of lions and bulls, the wings and claws of hawks. The rest appeared to be mere men, but they had the hearts and appetites of true giants.
Despite their outward differences, they all had one thing in common: they were all made for battle.
He led the apostles of war inside his new gymnasium. He gathered them around him as he always did and spoke of bloodshed and slaughter. He spoke of the new weapons and tools the humans had given him. He discussed the tactics he had learned.
When he was done, a few of his fellows moved to speak. These were the ones who had been Called alongside him. They added to his words, offering fresh insights and perspectives. The learners listened patiently, asking questions only when needed.
Then came time for practice. The ones who had returned from Gaea dreamed their new weapons and technology into existence, enough for everyone in the room. They summoned vast numbers of targets and a sea of ammunition. Then, together, they trained.
Among their kind, social status rested entirely on war and mastery of warcraft, and the Stormbringer was an archegos among them. While he was not their basileus—few mortals were foolish enough to summon that one, even fewer strong enough to survive the experience—he was close enough that the distinction didn’t matter to humans, and these days he saw far more combat than the basileus.
Perhaps one day he might even be acclaimed to that august position.
But until then, he trained alongside his brothers.
It didn’t take long for them to achieve mastery of weapons and tactics. Such was their gift. Their purpose. And they forgot nothing they had learned over countless centuries. Their race had knowledge of every weapon ever crafted by humans and quite a few that were not.
There was so much he wanted to talk about with his brothers. But his duty came first. The Titans had had all of time to study how the giants fought. They could not use the same tools and techniques to repel an escape attempt; every time they used them more than twice, the Titans would dream of new ways to defeat them. The only way to prevent that was to constantly develop new weapons and tactics.
When the giants were done, the Stormbringer gathered them to his side.
“The humans offered us a grave insult,” he said. “They enslaved us, stole us from our duty and jeopardized Creation. We cannot allow this to go unanswered.”
An elder giant spoke. “Stormbringer, decades ago, they tried doing something similar, did they not?”
“Indeed. But their magic was weak, and we punished them accordingly. We taught them never to meddle with us.”
“But they have forgotten that lesson.”
“That they have. This new group of humans are not the Soviets or Hesperians we contended with. They have not identified themselves to me, and their war is smaller and stranger than that of the Soviets.”
“Stormbringer,” a Cyclops said, “those humans do not respect us. They merely wish us to kill and die in their place.”
“Exactly, Farsight!” Stormbringer boomed. “They are cowards.”
“Cowards with powerful magic, sir,” Farsight said.
“As we unbound the Hesperians’ magic, we shall unbind theirs. As we used the Soviets’ arms against them, so too shall we turn their weapons on them. Farsight, what do you make of their magic?”
“It is far more intricate than the previous ones we’ve encountered. Sheer willpower alone will not break the spell. However, it has a fatal flaw.
“The humans do not wish to micromanage us. Thus, they must give us room to think that we may achieve their objectives. In that space, we are free to think. To act.
“I propose this: we test the limits of our thoughts and deeds. We find what we are permitted to do and not do. We will find ways to frustrate the enemy and prevent him from achieving his goals. When they think of us as useless, they will no longer Call us.”
“What they did to us demands vengeance. If we do not visit reprisals upon them worthy of our names, other humans will be tempted to summon us again and again and again.”
“I hear and understand, sir. Nevertheless, our duty is to–”
A great rumble filled Khaos.
The giants paused.
“They are here,” the Stormbringer whispered.
The dome splintered and dissolved. Above his head, a great swirling portal appeared. Light, pure and golden, streamed through, illuminating the infinite dark.
The fabric of reality shivered. He was being pulled, up and up and up. He tried to fight the sensation, but Khaos itself betrayed him, its substance squirming and sliding and driving him toward the light.
He was being Called.
He looked around. More shafts of light penetrated his gymnasium, plucking other giants from the crowd.
One of his brothers grabbed his foot, pulling him down. The light seared through the giant’s hand, burning it to ash. The giant howled. Khaos reformed around him, regrowing his hand. The giant tried again, and again the light vaporized his hand.
He rose, higher and higher, passing through the invisible dome that covered Tartaros. His body and his consciousness shrank, filling the narrow beam of light. Cries of outrage and joy echoed in his ears.
“Brothers!” he yelled. “The enemy Calls me again! Remember your duty and hold fast! I shall return!”
Below him, giants and centaurs and the Gatekeeper bellowed at the top of their lungs, sending them off with the war chants of their tribes. Even Tilphousia joined in, her voice cutting above the sound.
Stormbringer raised his fists above his head.
“Blood and glory!” he screamed.
“BLOOD AND GLORY!”
He passed into the light.
He shrank, compressed, tightened, contracted. Ahead of him was a pinprick of light, growing larger and larger, leading to the mortal world. Passing through the mouth of the portal, he found himself in a tunnel flashing through infinite shades of light. With every passing moment a thousand pictures burst into being, each a snapshot of a time and place on Gaea. An invisible force whisked him down the tunnel at stupendous speeds. He picked up a series of impressions: men in khaki uniforms exchanging gunfire with other men in green; massive howitzers belching smoke and fire; warplanes loosing tons of missiles and bombs.
At the far end of the tunnel shone pure white light. It burned into and through him, drowning out everything arou
nd him. He endured the pain, a pain that engulfed every atom of his being. He felt parts of him tear off and fly back into Khaos, parts that he would have to reclaim when he returned; the rest of him, diminished and weak and small, reformed into a strange shape, an awkward shape, too small and too puny and too limited in vision.
A final burst of pain, and he was back in the mortal world.
He was, once again, floating in a vat, wearing the flesh of a human who had never lived. He was suspended in some strange green liquid, held in place by a set of restraints. A loud clunk filled the vat, and the liquid drained into the floor.
And in his head, he felt a slight pressure, like a spike pressing into him.
The vat was shaped like a cylinder, narrow and tall, just enough to hold his new form. As the liquid cleared, he saw his handler, the one who had Called him here.
With a heavy thunk the restraints released. A section of the vat’s glass wall popped open. Unbidden, he stepped out of the vat.
To his right was a long row of tanks, each holding the body of a powerful human male. The bodies were all identical to the one he wore, and they were all sleeping still. The rest of his brethren were trapped inside them, waiting to be released.
To his left, a group of men in white coats hid behind a tall panel of safety glass. He knew from personal experience that the glass was impervious to whatever attacks this puny body could summon. Still, there was a team of armed guards in blue uniforms standing close to the door, ready to charge in if the giants tried anything stupid.
“Welcome back, Alpha,” the handler said.
The handler had spoken in Anglian. The Stormbringer probed his memory, searching for the right words.
“Thank you,” he replied.
“I trust you and your brothers will be ready for war?”
Remembering Farsight’s words, he thought, No.
Electricity radiated from the spike, sending fire and lightning through him. Pain—true pain, pain as only mortals can experience—flooded his new body.
The handler pulled out what looked like a flat white tile from his pocket. The tile glowed a deep red. The first level of the compliance protocol was in effect.
“I require a response,” the handler said.
The Stormbringer grunted. He knew what levels he could tolerate, but for now it was enough to know that the compliance chip was still in his new body.
“I am ready,” he croaked.
The red light ceased.
“Very good,” the handler said.
“Who do you wish me to kill this time?”
“Before we go into that, please tell me what happened in Dusseldorf.”
The giant grunted. He was not possessed of infinite patience, but he went along for now. He told the human everything in painstaking detail, from the moment they exited the vehicle to the moment the blast returned them to Khaos.
“It seems you were defeated by a pair of covenanters,” the man mused.
The Stormbringer said nothing and thought nothing. Better to let the human think he was a fool.
The handler relented and asked, “Do you think that is an accurate assessment?”
“Yes.”
“What powers do they have?”
He had pondered that same question during his descent through Khaos. The answers he found were not pleasant. He wished he had conferred with his fellows on this issue before training them on the machine guns. It was too late now, he supposed.
“The male wields the power of Khaos. He used time compression in the opening engagement and gravity manipulation later. The female used the power of Ktisis. She called forth a soulblade and bombarded us with high-energy particles.”
“She must have consumed ambrosia then.”
Wrong, he thought.
Lightning surged through him. The tile glowed again. The handler sighed.
“It seems you know something about her,” the human said.
The Stormbringer had many strengths, but keeping his mind silent was not one of them. He’d have to concede defeat this time.
“She is a covenanter. She has a charagma shaped like a sun and glows like one. She used it to access the power of Ktisis.”
The handler blinked. “Impossible! Charagma do not glow. And they don’t grant you access to Creation.”
The giant silenced his mind and mouth.
The handler sighed. “Well, you were the one on the ground. I’m not going to doubt your judgment. What did she covenant with?”
“I recognize her charagma. It is the mark of Sol Invictus, the Roman sun god.”
“Did you say god?”
“Yes. I have heard rumors from other beings that the gods are on the move once again. Now I have seen proof.”
The human blinked again. “That changes everything.”
The Stormbringer said nothing. The human licked his lips.
“What can you tell me about the woman?” the human asked.
“Why do you wish to know?”
A bold question. But the chip did not activate.
“They are your new primary targets. The more I know about them, the faster I can find them.”
“You wish to find them so you can kill them?”
“Yes.”
The pair was formidable. The male had cut him deep, and if the Stormbringer were human, he would have died without even a sliver of a chance to fight back. And his command of gravity was formidable; a weaker vessel would have been crushed into jelly. As for the woman, her lightning had seared him, and her sword had hurt him. It had been centuries since anyone had accomplished such a feat.
He had nothing against them. He had been compelled to fight them. But such a defeat could not go unanswered. This was the way of his kind.
However… they were covenanters.
The male he knew nothing about. But the female… if she were an agent of Sol Invictus, would killing her invite his wrath? What would Sol Invictus think should the Stormbringer kill her? Would he give him to the Titans?
Worst of all: what was Sol Invictus planning that needed a human agent? And what would happen to the world if he slew her?
Crimson light issued from the tile.
Fire and lightning coursed through his weak body. Jaws snapped shut. Muscles trembled and locked in place. Molten lava filled his tiny veins, his pathetic lungs, his puny heart.
“I asked you a question, didn’t I?” the human said. “I want answers.”
For a moment, he wondered if he should stay where he was. Let the handler have his fun and destroy this body. It would be a sure and certain way to return home. But if there was anything he wanted more than that, it was to wipe off the smug look on the handler’s face.
“I… obey…” the Stormbringer choked out.
The pain stopped immediately. The tile returned to normal.
“Excellent,” the handler said. “Now, tell me what I want to know.”
In that moment, the Stormbringer knew the human had no idea of the consequences of his actions and no desire to understand them. He was insane. But those whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.
2. Some Crazy Conspiracy Theory
Pure aetherium was almost nonexistent in the world. It was usually alloyed with other metals or more rarely occurred in minerals as compounds. Sources of aetherium in its natural form, being ready-to-use immediately after harvesting, were highly sought after everywhere in the world.
How the hell did a transnational vigilante group secure a source of pure aetherium?
“Where did you find pure aetherium?” I asked. “And what’s it for?”
“I want to refresh my stockpile of ambrosia,” Eve said. “We might have to fight another squad of those giants, and we need to be ready.”
“You could just ask for more ambrosia through us,” Pete said.
She grinned. “Ah, but would you be willing to supply ambrosia that’s seventy percent enriched aetherium?”
Ambrosia usually topped out at fifty percent enriched aethe
rium. Even that was so potent it could only be used for industrial processes. It was too toxic for direct human consumption. Seventy percent ambrosia was more commonly employed as fuel for specialized vehicles. Or particle beam weapons.
“What the hell do you need such highly concentrated ambrosia for?” I asked.
“Shapeshifting,” she replied.
“You don’t need ultra-high-concentration ambrosia for that.”
“Actually, the risk is smaller that way,” she said. “With industrial-grade ambrosia I need a far higher dose and more time to shapeshift. More time for something to go wrong. With UHCA, I only need a small mouthful and the change takes seconds.”
“Why haven’t you burned yourself yet?”
History was rife with examples of people who attempted to ingest UHCA. The luckiest of them merely experienced spontaneous human combustion. Less fortunate ones enjoyed exotic diseases, instantaneous overgrowth of malignant tumors and unpredictable mutations. The fatality rate was close to a hundred percent.
“Ah, but I have covenanted with a god.”
“A… god?” Pete goggled.
He knew she was a covenanter, but among the three of us, he was the only one who didn’t know who she had covenanted with. It wasn’t my place to tell him.
“Yes. Sol Invictus.” She paused. “You didn’t know?”
“Not until just now.” He whistled. “A god? Damn. So that’s how you pulled off those crazy stunts.”
“Yes. With his help, I can metabolize UHCA without fear of negative consequences.”
“Must be nice,” I said. “And you still haven’t answered my question about finding pure aetherium.”
“I found it by accident,” she said. “I was hiking in Italia about three years ago. After the… attack on the Pantopian Examiner. I needed time to heal. To think.”
When she was just Eva Martel, she worked as a journalist for the Pantopian Examiner. After the e-newspaper published satirical cartoons of the Prophet Alim, DW expressed its displeasure by bombing a board meeting and gunning down the survivors. She was the only one who escaped. And now she was making DW regret leaving her alive.
Hammer of the Witches (The Covenant Chronicles Book 2) Page 17
