Faith, no matter how much he and his kind might loathe it, was still a powerful well for akasha. He contemplated that as he watched Groa climb the ladder of the next house to check on its residents. Nothing was ever achieved by inactivity, so turning, Wisdom strode across the village towards the far edge. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the thick clouds skidding across the marsh. It would be another warm, wet day then.
Haemon and his young colleague were sitting watch by the submerged walkway and had been since the previous evening. It was a thankless task, and they had to be extremely hungry by now. Sitting watch was a thankless task, where the guard spent half the time bored and wishing for excitement. Only when it came did they hope for boredom once more.
He saw the young warlock standing among the reeds and called out his name. Haemon turned from his post, his face lighting with relief. His mind reached out, a pulse of joy running through the akashanic atmosphere towards Wisdom. He was indeed ravenous.
That was the exact moment the alligator progeny leapt from the water. Wisdom observed the creation as it hung before him with the young Zoeker not yet aware of its presence. Wisdom grabbed for the akasha around him just as the young warlock's bright smile began to turn to surprise. The progeny was at least five times larger than a normal reptile of the swamp. The alligator had been warped and twisted until its teeth were as long as Haemon's arm, and it too was hungry.
The progeny moved swiftly for something so big. A tremendous wave of stinking swamp water hit Wisdom knocking him off his feet. With nothing to hold onto, he fell backwards, but Haemon was not nearly so lucky. As Wisdom scrambled to regain his footing, he saw the young warlock snatched up between the triangular jaws of the creation. The crunch that followed was not quite drowned out by Haemon’s screams, who had no time, and not enough control to dive into the akasha. Death was upon him in an instant.
The progeny shook the warlock's body once and then threw it aside. The feeding instincts of a normal beast were lost to the warped version of nature. Its creators used hunger to motivate their constructs, but never let them actually feed. The progeny was Hathorian, massive, and somehow made no ripple in the akashanic atmosphere around them. The theists had not only bested Vervain's mind scramble of their progeny, but also found a way to conceal them.
Certainly there was no time to consider how that was done. Wisdom controlled his breathing, pulling in akasha around him, and then leapt for the creation. The air thickened around the Zoeker, pulling him up just as the progeny snapped down. The creation crunched on the soft soil of the marshes, snapping and snarling, for a moment unaware it caught nothing. Meanwhile Wisdom tumbled over its broad, stitched back, and he had plenty of time to admire the skill of the priests.
The progeny had six legs rather than the usual four, and the skin that gleamed a strange phosphorescent green was not native to the alligator. He landed atop the beast, just above the first set of legs only to find t the skin was also slick. Wisdom had to grab with his fingers, and latch on as best he could to the thick corrugations on the progeny's back, even as the rank odor of the thing assailed him. It smelt of unnatural death and rot only barely held in check.
Just as he did so, flashes of blue light almost blinded him to his left. They were coming from the house close by, so Groa had not been caught unawares by the attack. That reassurance was smothered by what else he saw; another four progenies pulled themselves from the water only a little further down the length of the village. Keelun, with her gifts of mind-control, might be able to hold them off from the rear of the village, at least for a while.
For now, Wisdom knew he had to concentrate on holding them back from the walkway; it was the only retreat they had out of the village. Haemon's spear had been thrown clear, but Wisdom spread his hands and called the wood to him. As the progeny finally realized it had not killed Wisdom and he was riding on its hide, it twisted around, snapping those formidable teeth. The engorgement, which had grown it to such size, was not slowing it down at all; it had all the sudden bursts of speed of the creature it was made from.
Hanging on with one hand, Wisdom flipped the spear around in the other and plunged it down directly beneath his feet. He knew the spine of the beast had to be below him, but the hide was thick as well as slick. A primal howl erupted from him, even as the progeny flicked back and forth, bending its back like a bow trying to get him. Wisdom caught a glimpse of teeth longer than his arm and dripping with marsh weed, so he pressed the spear deeper into the progeny's flesh as hard as he could.
The creation flung him about, and it was only by holding onto the spear he was not thrown loose and devoured. The mouth snapped closer, and Wisdom twisted every which way to avoid it.
Being thrown around like wet laundry meant gathering the akasha was far more difficult than when he practiced under Setna's watchful eye in calmer moments.
Muscles on fire, Wisdom planted his feet on the strangely gleaming hide of the progeny and put all of his strength, both physical and akashanic into the spear. The amber foci around his neck flared, and suddenly his weapon took on a life of its own. All through his body, Wisdom felt the shudder of its power as the spear punctured the spinal column.
All through his body, Wisdom felt the shudder as the spear punctured the spinal column of the beast. Not even the power of the theists could keep a beast moving when its spine was broken in such a way.
The progeny's legs spasmed, and it arced back in its death agony. Even in that moment Wisdom felt a twinge of guilt at causing pain to a creature twisted and made into a weapon by the theists. It was not the fault of the alligator that it had been abused and used as a weapon against the villagers.
As if in sympathy to Wisdom's outrage, the thick, ominous clouds he saw earlier finally opened up. Rain began to soak his hair as Wisdom slid down the progeny's twitching back. Every muscle in his body sang, and he felt the kiss of akasha over his skin. It was an exhilarating feeling he would pay for later.
In the suddenly grey world the sheets of rain wrapped themselves around, he might have been the only Zoeker alive.
Moving around the head of the dead progeny, Wisdom trod carefully, looking right and left for any of its fellows that might be nearby. As he pushed hair from his eyes, fire flared to his right. Nafari was still alive and in control of his gifts. Abandoning his kill, Wisdom moved in that direction.
As a Zoeker of the Higher Knowledge, he could not let his fear overwhelm his intellect. Yes, Wisdom was surrounded by death, but he was still himself. As the rain began to fall on his head and shoulders, washing the blood of the progeny from his fingers, he took some comfort in its cool relief.
Drinking from the ocean of akasha made the human body run hot. Too much and it could burn out altogether.
On the odd occasion, Wisdom Nicht thought it might be nice to believe in a deity or two. This was one of those moments. It would have been a great crutch to have an all-seeing overlord to draw strength from.
Moving towards where he last saw the fire, Wisdom took long deep breaths, calming his thoughts and fears, trying not to smell the burning buildings behind him or hear the wails of the villagers of Jaarhalt all around.
The village, which only moments before had been so familiar, was rendered a stranger in the envelope of heavy rain. He leapt back, saber drawn, when a woman pushing three small children bolted from the nearest hut and ran past him.
"Get to the walkway," he yelled as the hut burst apart.
Another progeny toppled through it, jaws snapping blindly and eyes gleaming gold with evil purpose. No, not evil, Wisdom reminded himself, with the purpose of the Hathorian priest who made it.
The six-legged creation shoved itself forward, remarkably swift for a creature supposedly out of its element. Wisdom stood his ground, pushing back with his akashanic gifts, trying to hold back for at least a moment to give the villagers time to flee.
The Zoekers of the Higher Knowledge never meant to be defenders; only seekers of truth and knowledge. However,
on their personal quests they found their strengths that could be put to good use.
As Wisdom concentrated, the world narrowed to just himself and the progeny with its teeth, claws, and nasty breath. He felt every stitch in its flesh, heard the torment of the creatures cut up and killed to enable its construction. It was a living, breathing disservice to the natural order.
The progeny's six legs ploughed up the ground, smashing the remains of the hut, as it strained against Wisdom's restrictions. Its mouth snapped, loud enough to hurt his ears, and it was slowly inching towards him.
The Zoeker glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw that at least that group of villagers made it to safety. It was just a moment's inattention, but it cost him a great deal.
With a flex of its back legs, the progeny surged forward, breaking the bonds Wisdom placed on it. It was a wall of moving, hungry flesh charging at him with its massive mouth open wide seeking him.
Jerking himself to the right, Wisdom knew his focus was scattered, and though he missed being swallowed the foremost of the progeny's legs raked him sharply from shoulder to knee. The pain was sudden and violent, but Wisdom managed to put it away to be dealt with later. Hours of meditation at least gave him that ability.
While he lay gasping on the ravaged, muddy ground, barely able to roll away from the body of the progeny sliding relentlessly onwards, he tried to find his focus. Rolling to one side was the best he could manage, but blind luck favored him a fraction, and he found himself dropping into one of the small drainage ditches of the village. He hit the bottom hard enough to knock the wind out of his body.
He only gave himself a moment to lie there, hearing the screams and cries of the villagers. He wanted to get up, defend the people that cared for them for so long, but the blood pumping from his leg was not slowing, and his vision dipped in and out. It was entirely possible he might die right then and there with the sounds of Hathorians success ringing in his ears. The thought that if he had only been a theist the blood might well have been useful seemed momentarily amusing to him.
Despite all the pain and despair, he reached out for the other Zoekers through the akasha. Caritas and Eyfura were no longer to be found, there was only a deep sadness there, but he felt the others nearby. Groa and Nafari were close, and others, all of them fighting their own battles. Several of them winked out while he tried to connect with them, dying on the teeth of more alligator progeny. The lines of protection all of them so carefully constructed were fractured; nothing remained to keep the theists from swarming over the village.
The submerged walkway was their only hope—their only way out. Wisdom closed his eyes, willing himself to get up, protect that walkway, get out those who could be saved. His limbs twitched, but even with a slow grunt of pain, he didn't have enough energy in him to raise himself up.
Wisdom didn't even flinch when another body dropped into the trench next to him, but would have turned on it with a knife had he not recognized the tall gangly shape of Groa. Blood seeped down the tracks of her weathered face from a wound somewhere under her dark hair, but she still looked determined enough for a whole troop of men—even if her eyes were floating in tears.
As she glared at Wisdom, she brushed them away with the back of her hand. "They're gone," she intoned without inflection. "The progeny overran the village hall and killed all the children in the school. Every single one." She pounded on her thigh with a clenched fist. "How can they call themselves followers of any kind of deity? I mean, would you want to worship someone who demanded the death of the young?"
He had no answers. Wisdom tilted his head back and contemplated the horror of that. He had no grey in his beard, but he had already seen so much pain caused by theists: the murdering of bystanders, the devouring of the dead, the mindless killing of villagers with nothing but their own tiny lives to give. The Zoekers fought a losing battle to keep the free lands just that for generations, but in the last few years, with the number of theist cults dwindling and the power of the remaining ones growing, they finally turned their might towards those they called 'unbelievers'.
"And our brothers?" he demanded, even as the roar of the progeny echoed through the mist.
She shook her head in a sharp unforgiving gesture. "The Prime signaled immediate withdrawal." When Wisdom opened his mouth to protest, she snapped, "What point is there in staying here? Most of the villagers are dead already. We can't just keep throwing ourselves at these progeny..."
While Groa was in mid-sentence, she leaned over and pressed her hands around his thigh. He would not have had her waste her strength on him, but he knew that was exactly why she had not told him her intention. The warmth of healing stole over him as she aligned her akasha, pouring into his body the power to do what it could already do over time. Flesh mended and knitted itself under her hand. Groa might not be the best in a fight, but she kept those around her alive.
"There," she said, with a slight tremble in her voice, "now we can both get out of here." Perhaps it gave her some comfort to know she was able to save one person in the whole massacre.
Both of the Zoekers were weakened by the exertion, but she was still stronger than him, and her ability to channel the akasha more focused. The human body did amazing things, but forcing it to do them on an accelerated scale came at a price—one he could put off paying for a little while.
"The progeny cannot travel far beyond the reaches of the swamp," Wisdom said, as Groa levered her shoulder under his arm.
He saw her swallow hard, before getting them both up into a crouch, her plain face setting into the kind of determination that was the mark of Zoeker training. All of them had studied hard to channel the akasha that went so much beyond their own essence. If Groa was not going to give up, then neither was he.
Wisdom struggled to marshal his little reserves of strength as she glanced over the top of the ditch. "There is a boat of priests coming in right next to the remains of the dock," she reported. "Worrying about getting their feet wet should give us a moment to make it to the submerged pathway."
The village's secret paths, which were built just below the surface of the water, must have saved some of the villagers in the initial attack, and were the Zoekers sole means of escape too.
The two of them shared a look, but didn't need to ask each other if they were ready; akasha linked them as one. Together they surged up and out of the ditch and ducked low, ran in the general direction of the pathway. It wasn't really that far, but to Wisdom it seemed like a very long time out in the open with no one but progeny and theists all around.
At any moment he thought the alarm would be raised, and he could almost feel the snapping of the alligator on his flesh once more, but the burning of the houses laid a thick layer of smoke over the remains of Jaarhalt, and that came in very useful.
Groa and Wisdom reached the northern edge of the island that had once been a village and found the solid path under their feet. Perhaps if a theist had seen it, they might have thought it a miracle, but it was merely excellent Jaarhalt engineering.
As they ran, Wisdom stuffed down the feeling that it was wrong to abandon the place that had been their home for so long; he felt every step away from the village was a betrayal. His logic told him it was the right thing to do. All of the life was gone from it already, and now there was only the possibility of gathering elsewhere to protect those that remained.
The Zoekers had come to Jaarhalt and its people offering protection and freedom from being forced to worship gods they did not believe in. In the end however, that had been a false promise.
Vervain would have stood against the theists no matter what, with that pig-headed belief in the power of right. If she had not already been killed, she would have died on Jaarhalt.
As he and Groa ran, Wisdom knew they were foolish thoughts. The marshes had their own inherent dangers, but the Hathorians were bound to spread out and try to capture or finish off those that managed to escape. Survival was where they must focus their minds and bodies
.
"Right," he directed, holding back a groan of exhaustion.
"Are you sure?" Groa's eyes were wide with concern, but she had not left the village often and didn't know the hidden paths as he did.
Wisdom couldn't afford another word, but he nodded as emphatically as he could manage.
As she hitched him higher, she followed his direction. "Just don't pass out on me...otherwise we'll both die in the mud."
She was right; in their current state, even the normal inhabitants of the swamp, the snakes and the alligators, could have finished them off without any trouble.
They struggled along, clinging to each other, puffing, exhausted, soaked from the rain and humidity. Just as Wisdom felt he might do Groa a favor and slip out of her grip, they finally reached the great tree.
It was a swamp oak, its thick green roots deep in the rich mud of the bayou, while curtains of soft green beard lichen hung from its curved tree limbs. The trunk, knurled and wrinkled, could easily be mistaken for the face of an ancient old woman. To Wisdom it was the most welcome thing he had seen in a very long time.
If the villagers thought of the tree as a guardian, maybe for today they were right. One thing was certain: It was the location of their fallback position.
Groa let out a sigh of relief, while Wisdom felt a little of his so recently lost energy return when he saw figures standing around the tree. The surviving villagers were there, most huddling in the crook of the tree, sobbing without sound, counting their loved ones, and looking about with wild eyes. The Zoekers were far fewer in number.
Faces turned in their direction, as Groa and Wisdom staggered out of the tall reeds towards them. He looked around at the battered remains and carefully counted those who were not with them.
They entered the village as a force of twenty-five, but there were only nine around the tree. Many had their hoods up, their faces hidden in shadow, and their shoulders bowed with worry and grief.
Immortal Progeny (Fragile Gods Book 1) Page 16
