Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  Dazed, confused, I look over to where I pushed Greg. He looks all right. Well, alive.

  How am I alive? I look at what’s left of Yayne in my hand.

  “Yayne? You there,” I say absently.

  Nothing. No response. I turn around, and it comes to me why I’m still standing.

  The ground is charred, except for the clean patch behind me in the shape of a snow angel. I examine the wave of devastation that went in this direction. There are smoldering bones, wreckages of God knows what.

  I do a three-sixty, taking in the line of destruction. I hear the metal building creak. It’s surreal. I look down and see a charred head and shoulders. That guy from the portal was scary. I only saw him for a moment, but wow.

  I’m rather pleased he’s in burnt pieces now.

  I fall down to my knees.

  “Thank you, Dory. Thank you.”

  The thought flashes through my mind: If she didn’t save me, we might be together. I shake it off; that kind of thinking is no way to show appreciation.

  Greg coughs, taking my attention.

  “You did it, Greg. You did it,” I say.

  I mean every word. He pushed himself past the point of exhaustion. I can’t know what he went through or what his ability costs him. I just know this couldn’t have happened without him. Now it’s up to me to get him out of here.

  I laugh at karmic implications: in-out.

  There’s the sound of crashing coming from the wreckage of an office on the other side of the hangar. Crap, we’re not alone. The last thing I want to do is tangle with some pissed-off, stronger-than-strong Dzemond soldier.

  The door to the office starts to rattle, being partially blocked. I shove what’s left of Yayne through my belt and pat myself for a gun. I find one of my shoulder holsters and pull out the 9mm.

  The door to the office blows open. That’s dramatic. The silhouette of a slight figure walks through, stopping to survey the wreckage. Oh, it’s only a female Arix.

  Crap sticks, it’s a female Arix. That’s not good … that’s not good at all.

  Chapter 64

  Lady Arix looks around at the devastation left by the gate’s explosion. Her face is twisted in anger. She sees me and gets even angrier.

  She yells something at me in what I think is Chinese. That third eye opens.

  I open fire, ignoring the pain it causes my ears. The rounds wink off her. It at least took her off balance.

  Crap sticks, she’s warded. Of course she’s warded, that’s what they do. Quickly I eject my spent magazine and insert another one before she can burn me alive or attack me with undead insect missiles.

  She says something to me in Dzemond, and I’m sure it’s not nice. She smiles and calmly begins her casting. I have a glimmer of a plan. I run at her muttering words to the spell, shooting with one hand and shaping the spell with my other. The bullets wink off her smug self until they don’t. No ward lasts forever. Smug look becomes a realization of pain. Pain interrupts her casting. I get one more round off, then “click.”

  Obviously, these weren’t the special ordinance, but they bought me the time I needed. She turns her hateful gaze toward me, and I throw the gun at her.

  I stop, raise my left hand, and scream “Tznok!” at her and watch as the wave of force blows her legs out from under her and deposits her violently face-first into the rubble.

  I keep running and jump on her back. She tries to flip me off and mostly succeeds. I grab her robe at the back of her neck to keep from complete separation. She tries to break free, but I slam into her, pushing her to the ground, reclaiming her back. She pushes up, and I use that space to wrap one leg around her waist and snake my arm under her chin.

  Immediately I regret that decision as she grabs my thumb, dislocates it, and peels my arm back. I growl and respond by sticking my other thumb in one of her regular eyes, hard. She lets go of my hand to go for the thumb in her eye. I pull it away quickly. She flips herself and, thanks to my leg lock, I just get the pain of being slammed on my back.

  So many very hurtful spells require line of sight with the target. A little bump and bruise beats immolation. But when she starts with a chant, I have to figure something is being conjured that doesn’t require line of sight. I reach down and grab Yayne’s severed hilt, and shove it into the side of the bitch’s neck with impunity.

  Her screaming tells me that pain stopped the chant. Better yet, I drew blood. Her hand reaches back and gets a hold of my arm. I quickly realize I am about to lose that arm.

  I start my own chant for the death coil, letting my thoughts go completely black. An elbow slams into my ribs. I feel them break.

  I don’t stop with the chant. I don’t stop feeling the hate. This is Arix, I can be doing this to him. He let Jerry die. Lady Arix thrashes, then starts with a chant of her own. It’s a race.

  I extend two fingers from the hand with the dislocated thumb and jam them into that damned third glowing eye. At no time do I let up with my incantation. This is will versus will. I feel the arm she has a grip on break. I plunge my fingers deeper into that eye socket.

  She thrashes violently, and I squeeze my legs while continuing the chant.

  She screams in frustration.

  I say, “V’naam” into her ear, and release the death coil into her, pushing as hard as I can.

  Violent thrashing turns to more convulsing. I sense she’s mounting a defense so I flip us over. Now she is face-first on the ground, and I start dropping elbows on the back of her head with my other arm while sucking back on the coil through the hand in her eye.

  So much power. It’s intoxicating, but I can’t lose focus. I drop another elbow and feel my arm healing. My thumb feels like it’s coming back to its socket. I jam my fingers as far as they can go in the big purple eye socket and pull her life from her. Another elbow jars her concentration away. I see Yayne’s hilt and bring it down hard on the back of her neck.

  Her life floods into me. Then it stops.

  I rip my hand from her now-dry eye socket.

  “Bitch, I want more,” I yell at her dead body.

  I drop Yayne’s hilt, get up, and kick the emaciated body; it cracks because I’ve sucked the life from it.

  I look over and see a wingless red-skinned Dzemond soldier. I dare him to come to me. He bolts away. Damn straight, run.

  I am a god.

  This realization is broken by Greg’s groan.

  Crap sticks … I have to get Greg out of here. Greg.

  I take to a knee and begin the invocation for spiritual cleansing upon myself.

  After I feel it take hold, I run over to Greg.

  I reach into the pouch and feed him one of the healing potions. That’s when I realize he’s not as much injured as exhausted, as he doesn’t bounce back as strongly from the healing.

  Wasted resources.

  “Mac?”

  I run my finger along Arix’s sigil to dismiss him. Then I summon him to me.

  “My wielder …”

  “Ward Greg,” I say, cutting him off.

  He begins the casting.

  I dismiss Vets and then recall her.

  “You two are going to have to help me get him to safety, understand?”

  I feel the crystalline enclosure of one of Arix’s wards.

  “One suicide run is enough for a day, my wielder,” he says.

  “Thanks for that, Arix.”

  His third glowing eye opens. He looks me up and down.

  “You need healing; please attend to yourself. We have him.”

  “We do,” says Vets. “I suggest a camouflage.”

  “Please don’t presume to tell me my role, Vetisghar,” Arix says back to her.

  “Is she wrong?” I ask.

  “Fine, as if I wasn’t going to do that anyway.”

  I take a knee and cast my largest healing spell. It’ll be three hours before I can call on that spell again. It doesn’t matter. We are getting the hell out of here.

  Chapter 65 />
  I summoned Hjuul and tell Greg to just ride him. Hjuul never minded giving rides to the grandchildren or great-grandchildren. Though the great-grands only saw him as a wolf.

  “My wielder,” Arix says, “While you have delivered quite a blow, please know that there are still many, many Dzemond warriors about. We are actually not in a bad position. They will search out the others; we can retreat to the neighborhoods.”

  “Bull-pucky,” I tell him. “We don’t run away.”

  At the far rear of the building, there is a commotion. Something, someone is trying to come up from the wreckage.

  “I’ll hold them back,” I tell Arix, while taking Greg’s HK MP5A3 and what magazines I can. “Get him out of here, camouflage, do whatever … He has to live.”

  “So it shall be done,” Vets says.

  “It’s always so nice when the Vetisghar speaks for me. We will get him to the main group.”

  They fade away to a virtual ripple, thanks to Arix’s spell, and take off across the tarmac.

  I look around and hide against a girder of the building, pointing the HK toward the commotion. I check the weapon and make sure automatic is off. Ammo is precious. Every round needs to count.

  The commotion under the debris at the far end of the building continues until I see a basketball explode up through the debris. It expands, scales covering its body. It finally stops expanding at about five feet in diameter. It spins around slowly. There is a huge menacing eye in the middle of the sphere. It only takes a moment to realize that the eye is less menacing than the gaping shark-like maw of this thing.

  The thing spins around, then locks in on me. I look at it and try to duck back behind the girder.

  Suddenly it’s in front of me. I flip the HK to automatic and spray the hell out of this hellish abomination. It turns and flies through the air, spins around, and its hellish eye fixes on me.

  I can’t move. I’m paralyzed. I want to shoot this thing. I just can’t move. I can’t look away. It opens its great-white-shark like maw, and I know I’m going to end up thing-chow. It lurches forward like on a catapult then stops as silver arrows penetrate it.

  Sheyliene.

  Able to move now that it’s not staring me down, I give it four rounds while running to a more open position. Being stuck at the wall and girder gives me limited evasive options.

  The thing doesn’t respond to my fire, and I notice that Shey is falling from the sky. Fairy wings don’t work when you’re paralyzed. I squeeze off two more rounds, and it responds by extending several bulbous stalks from its carapace. The stalks flip around, and there are more eyes. I make sure not to look directly into them and skitter to the side.

  Wait, the little eyes are glowing? Crap sticks, I dive to the ground before rays skewer the air where I was. I flip the HK to auto and hope it doesn’t seize. By that time, the damned thing has taken off again toward Sheyliene, who I see is frozen in place from trying to pick herself up from the ground.

  The orb crashes into her, and I don’t have to see it to know she just got bit in half. But there’s something Mr. Deathball doesn’t know – I can bring her back.

  And with a run of my finger along her sigil, I do.

  She wastes no time going for the bow and launching arrows in the thing: no cussing, no fussing – all business.

  “Don’t look in its big eye,” she says, taking to flight.

  The thing spins around and bellows. Going from peripheral vision only, I start squeezing off rounds, my ears thankful that the weapon is suppressed, unlike my pistols. The thing responds by shooting straight up in the air out of sight above the hangar’s wrecked entry.

  “Get ready,” Sheyliene says, her eyes darting back and forth from the entry to the wrecked and blown-out rear of the hangar. “Behind us,” she shouts.

  I spin around to see the thing charging way too fast with its main eye closed, which I presume is to protect it from gunfire and arrows. One of the little eyestalks shoots its energy ray, and I am clipped in my vest. My world turns to disorientation as I am flipping over myself from the impact.

  Once I’ve stopped by hitting the ground hard, I pop up to see Sheyliene falling from the rafters. She had to look. My HK was thrown from my hand. It’s getting ready to eat Sheyliene again, but she dashes to the side. The falling must have broken the eye-lock. It turns to go after her.

  I have to do something.

  I pull my lucky Ka-bar and charge. One of the mini-eyestalks turns to me, but too late. I leap into the air, landing atop the thing, and grab another eyestalk for a grip. The thing rears up to lose me. I shove the Ka-Bar in between the scaly plates covering it.

  It really doesn’t care for that.

  It spins around, dropping me to the ground, but I’m still clutching the eyestalk and knife. I shake the knife back and forth and tug on the eyestalk, causing a gush of fluid. The thing roars.

  I roll quickly because I know that shark-toothed mouth is coming my way.

  It does what I expect, spinning to bring its mouth down on me. That’s when I notice that it’s starting to look like a pin cushion, thanks to Sheyliene’s arrows. Unfortunately, that’s also when I noticed that huge eye staring into my eyes.

  I can’t move. I am pretty sure the damned thing just smiled.

  Sheyliene is yelling, “Hey! Over here. Ugly thing! Over here!”

  It’s not taking the bait.

  The smile opens, and I realize I’m now monster kibble.

  That is until the small figure of Pffiferil appears to its side out of nowhere with his flask to his mouth. He pulls the flask away and spits the contents of his cheeks in the thing’s huge eye. It bellows and spins backward out of control, bouncing off a girder.

  The flask’s contents may not be the tastiest, but they are damn strong.

  Pffiferil charges in, flask dropped, dagger drawn, moving faster than you’d think those two tiny legs could go. He easily hops on top of it and starts going to work, shoving his dagger under the scales.

  The creature spins backward and slams itself into the office wall, meaning Pffiferil slams into the wall.

  Now unfrozen and without weaponry, I pause at the partially blind thing blinking away and twitching as Sheyliene continues to put arrow after arrow into it.

  “Why won’t it die?” she shouts.

  Her targeting changes and she starts putting arrows into the big main eye.

  It screams and launches itself blindly at the direction of the assault like it was shot out of a cannon. Sheyliene deftly wings to the side, and it slams into one of the roof’s large metal rafters. Stunned, it drops to the ground.

  As it drops, my plan forms, and I begin the conjuration for the death coil.

  Mr. Deathball hits the ground with a thud and rolls to get its bearing. The main eye having been flasked and now skewered by arrows, it begins to push the smaller eyestalks out to see where it is.

  My window of opportunity is closing. I charge and jump on it again, grabbing the Ka-Bar still in place from my last assault. With as much strength as I can muster, I jam the knife back and forth with both hands, continuing my chant. I feel the coil in me. It has to be released, or it will consume me. An eyestalk pushes up between plates. I pull the knife out and jam it into the base of that stalk with my left hand.

  I shove my right hand into the hole I just made with the knife. It bellows. I shove my arm inside it, up to my bicep and shout, “V’naam,” releasing the coil.

  I feel the relief of that thing leaving me and going into it. It spins, trying to shake me. I hold on to the knife for dear life and grab innards.

  I ain’t going nowhere.

  I feel another thud and Pffiferil cursing this “Damn beasty.”

  It’s time. I pull on the coil to suck its life away. Then I wish I hadn’t. The times I’ve done this before, it’s been a really good, drunk-on-power kind of thing. I’m not sure what the coil is pouring back to me is even life. I feel a queasy, sick kind of feeling. It’s like the death coil is ea
ting even more death coil and siphoning it back into me. I want to pull my arm out and separate myself from this thing. I close my eyes and try not to throw up.

  “It’s working. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” I hear Sheyliene yell.

  I have the sensation of movement, then slamming to a sudden stop. My feet touch the floor. I open my eyes and see the thing is basically deflating. It makes a wet, shuddering moan. More of the sick stuff pours into me. Not knowing what this thing is, or if it may pop up again, I see it through to the end.

  I end up with a dried, oversized, cantaloupe-looking thing crusted around my hand. I slam it on the ground to free my hand, and it breaks into dry, brittle pieces.

  It’s over. Now I can throw up.

  Chapter 66

  Throwing up feels good. The spiritual cleansing doesn’t. It reminded me of how it felt after my curse episode at Jackson Square. There was less of the smoke that came from my lungs but enough that I could taste it. I cast another round on myself, and it goes better.

  I settle in to cast some physical healing on myself.

  “That’s foul magic, and you shouldn’t use it,” Sheyliene says.

  “Foul magic for a foul thing,” I say, interrupting my healing prayer.

  I set back to start the prayer from the beginning.

  “Ends don’t always justify the means. That kind of magic …”

  “Sheyliene, shut the fuck up. I’m trying to heal myself of this crap.”

  I feel bad. My response was way over the top. Her wincing reaction tells me just how over the top. Damn curse.

  “Sorry, it’s just important I cleanse myself and heal. That was the curse talking. Please give me a moment.”

  “Do what ye gots to do,” Pffiferil says.

  He turns to Sheyliene. “Maybe ye should be making sure we don’t get sneaked up on. We got us in a war.”