They must believe she was still in it.
She felt hugely vulnerable, out there in the open beneath the dark sky, watching as the guards at the gate prepared for impact. Would the airship shoot the car?
It didn’t, and as the roadster went charging right into the gate, the guards not shooting and diving at the last instant to the side, she got the idea they must want her alive.
Too bad.
BOOM! the car barreled into the barricade with amazing energy—way more than expected—pieces flying, exploding impressively in a tremendous ball of hot steam. Guards scurried, the airship circled, huge clouds of vapor poured off the hulk of the car and the scene was quickly obscured.
Jess scrambled to her feet and ran.
Hunched and sprinting, trying to create a low profile, rain-drenched ground soft and slowing her down. On the one hand the soft ground probably made the impact of her leap less damaging—no broken bones and everything seemed to be working—but on the other it would clearly mark her passage. If the airship came back along the road, which saw with alarm it was now doing, it would see the rut of her body’s impact and the trail of holes created by her feet as she ran.
But there were no other options.
She ran harder. Legs and arms pumping. Rising more erect so she could fly. Sprinting at top speed, skirt snapping loudly as her heels kicked her forward in a mad rush, curving toward the perimeter where the enemy waited and, in that moment—completely incongruous with the drama unfolding around her—she thought back to middle school. Where she’d been a minor track star, winning State in the 100- and 200-meter dash. Events that seemed so long ago; an entirely different life.
But she could be fast when she needed to be. Her running legs shook off the rust; inspired, absolutely whipping back and forth as she made crazy speed even in the muck. Maybe it was the dark, maybe it was the fear, but she was hauling ass faster than she ever had. The sounds of the airship and the remains of the car explosion and everything else receded behind the noise of wind rushing past her ears, the sound of her breathing and the rapid slap of her feet against the muddy ground. The only thing she could think was to head for the looming city wall. If she could find cover she might be able to sneak back along it to the gate. She snapped her head to the right to catch a glimpse. Faraway the guards were peering into the darkness, past the steaming wreckage of the roadster. Giant spotlights had come on atop the wall, scanning the road. The airship flew behind her somewhere, hammering the air with its thunder.
So far no one had anticipated her fantastic rush away from the road, nor with certainty where or if she ditched. If they possessed IR scanners or thermal imagers they weren’t using them. No sign they had any clue where she was.
But that, she thought, couldn’t last.
The wall drew closer. In such proximity it towered, rising so high, stretching to the horizon in both directions. Up ahead, now that she was close enough to see, short shrubs and scrub grass crowded along it. Not tall enough to conceal a standing person, but perhaps thick enough to cover her if she crawled.
Her focus narrowed and she picked up the pace.
Maybe she could actually make it …
Whump! her head jerked as she was hit from the side. For an instant everything went black and she hit the ground in a tumble, tackled in the grip of a heavy body—one thought burning instantly in her mind:
It was over.
* *
Satori flexed her stance in the tank’s cupola as it raced across mounded earth back toward the battle, field goggles scanning the fiery horizon. And there, dead ahead, she spotted the localized conflict; a small group of powered armor and tanks focused on a target far too small to command the attention of such a force.
Kang.
If she dialed up the magnification she could make him out. A lone, shirtless man, throwing himself in a blur into the fray.
“Four-eight, nine-six!” she hollered down to her driver, calling out the coordinates in the viewfinder. The tank bore on at speed, grinding the ground beneath it in a rush.
The Venatres MBTs were fast, legendary even, but not fast enough in that instant for Satori. She ached to run down the marauding Kazerai, pin him beneath the tracks of the behemoth’s mass of steel and armored composites and run the tracks round and round in circles, grinding him to paste. Forget shooting him, which only seemed to knock the Kazerai around—even with the giant main guns of the tanks. No, she wanted to squash him. Strong as the Kazerai were she doubted even they could do a push-up with an MBT on their back.
Of course, she frowned, if she managed to run over him at all, Kang would just dig himself out of the ground, leap from beneath the tank and be right back in the fight.
And that was precisely what made the Kazerai such threats. Not necessarily because of the damage they dealt; rather, because of the distraction they provided. Tremendous resources committed to keep them at bay. Resources that could not then be used to engage the larger elements of the Dominion host.
“Fara Twelve!” she called into her stalk mic.
“Twelve here!” came the reply. It was one of her other MBTs, engaged dead ahead against the Kazerai. She watched that tank pivot left and right, turret swiveling on its mount, tracking the Kazerai, laying in shot after thundering shot, giant plumes of earth fountaining into the air with each impact, each shot a miss. Kang dodged the lumbering behemoth with ease. Twelve’s commander kept up a withering volley with the machinegun in his cupola, tracers striking Kang more than missing, but the bullets were only enough to push him back.
A third MBT already had its forward drive wheels punched off, immobilized, though its main cannon was still working.
“Pull to your right!” she ordered.
The Kazerai had more or less the mass of a normal man, coupled with the strength of God knew how many men. Hundreds. Thousands. This created a surreal fighting style, where they had to find an anchor for their strength or risk being thrown. Which happened more often than not. Kazerai flinging themselves from the fight through their own miscalculations was common, or being flung by blows against them, scrambling each time to return and continue the attack.
“Squad six!” she ordered the group of Skull Boys surrounding Kang in a wide circle, “Close left!”
Other Skull Boy suits of armor lay motionless in the muck, broken, scattered around the small conflict. The larger battle raged across the field, stretching miles away toward the city walls. Satori directed her driver, racing up alongside the other mobile MBT, Fara Twelve, placing the immobilized unit across from them.
Pinning Kang between.
“Fire!” she commanded. “All units! Fire now!”
Thundering blasts punched with booming fury into the little man.
CHAPTER 19: THE CONCLAVE
“Sorry,” the man said, even as they rolled to a stop in the muck. Jess didn’t scream, to her surprise, but was instead about to jam her palm right into his face. Something in the man’s voice, however, gave her pause.
“You’re fast,” he commented, beckoning her to keep her head down. He was breathing hard. Then he rose. “Come.”
There was no hesitation in his manner, as if it were the most natural thing for her to follow him after he just tackled her to the ground. Her heart raced, from both the running and the fear, mind moving fast as she tried to put together the elements of this new twist. The man wore the plain black clothes she’d seen before, the same worn by the people in town, which meant he probably belonged within the city walls. He was kind of dumpy, now that she saw him, not much taller than her. Not a soldier. A smaller-than-average, middle-aged, balding man with a little pooch of a belly who’d just blindsided her in the dark outside the city walls—apparently trying to stay hidden as much as she was. Now he wanted to lead her off, winded, scarcely looking back to see if she followed.
Then he did.
“My name’s Darvon,” he said quietly, as if the announcement of his name would be enough to get her moving.
&nb
sp; Strangely, it was. This Darvon was so normal, so friendly, so obviously on the run himself, following him did make sense.
And so she did.
* *
“they’ve lost her?” Oinana spoke quietly with Ashikagi on the far side of the room, away from clerics, guards, Horus and Kitana. Her typical mask of confident calm was strained. Ashikagi could see she wanted to scream.
“It appears so, my lady,” he confirmed. It pained him to address her with such respect, but a lifetime of deference made it outwardly natural. “The vehicle impacted the barricade with no one in it. Tracks in the field were inconclusive.”
Only a short while ago they’d monitored closely the updates on the car—likely the car—speeding toward the compromised city gate, confirming it was the same car that left with Horus and the girl the day before. All attention had, for the moment, gone to the developing scene. Now, according to report, the car barreled straight into the gate and turned up empty.
The mystery confounded Ashikagi as much as it did the witch, but the fact that she so desperately wanted answers gave him a small measure of satisfaction. “We’re searching the perimeter,” he said. “Whoever left the car—very probably the girl, unless there were others—will be out there.”
“I want my Relic!” Oinana hissed, angry that her carefully concealed greed, which she’d been working so hard to control for so long, came across loud and clear. “Where is it?!” She fumed.
Then, wiping away that terrible, ugly expression, she donned her fake smile and turned from Ashikagi back to Horus.
“Good news,” she said, walking over to him. “It seems we’ve found your little friend.” Oinana searched his face, looking for recognition. “The girl you came with.”
Horus seethed within the field. Coming alive at this new bit of information. Ashikagi could see he remembered the girl vividly.
Then Oinana paused, as if struck by a thought, false concern furrowing her brow. “Oh, my dear Kitana.” She turned to her now. Kitana was distant, there in body only. “I’m sorry you had to hear it this way. But yes; your husband has a new interest. A dalliance, perhaps, but I’m afraid it can’t be ignored. He and this girl were found camping in the woods.”
Kitana’s expression remained stoic. Oinana inhaled sharply at her continuing lack of reaction but, before she could lose her temper, put her attention back on Horus.
“She is being taken to the dungeons,” she lied. “Where she will be killed.”
By now Horus was furious. Kitana was nearly robotic. So far none of the witch’s efforts were having an effect on either of them. Ashikagi could see it was killing her.
She searched the room, finding one of her senior clerics. A man named Navid, her second in command by the Council’s hierarchy; her personal assistant by the way she treated him. The clerics were, each of them, little more than servants in her mind. Ashikagi wondered that they hadn’t organized their own little coup.
“Have you prepared the images?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Begin,” she commanded, and whirled to walk away from both Horus and Kitana.
And on the wall a video began playing. It was a series of images, of Horus, in his Dominion regalia, with troops, in combat, with Kitana, with the Shogun and others, and, finally, with Oinana herself. Kitana remained facing her husband, back to the screen, refusing to turn and look. Horuses’ gaze flicked between his wife and the video. Though Horus fought it, Ashikagi could see the images, combined with all else that had happened so far, were slowly breaking through.
“You’re one of us,” Oinana talked from the side as the images scrolled. “Kitana is a traitor.” She tried to assure him: “You’re not in trouble, my dear Horus. The fault in this is not yours. You can return to your rightful place among us—an exalted legion commander.”
Ashikagi wondered what it would take. Already it seemed Horus should’ve returned to himself. Accepted who he was.
Yet his struggle seemed no less intense now than before.
In fact, at the mention of the strange girl it seemed more so.
* *
Darvon led Jessica through a door hidden at ground level, in the shrubs against the outer wall. Like a secret basement or something, through a lit tunnel hewn into the rocky ground then up the other side. Near as Jess could estimate the tunnel traveled further than the width of the wall, well underground, before letting out into a small room.
“Where are we?” she whispered as they stepped into the quiet, empty space.
“In the city,” Darvon confirmed, in a normal voice, and it was clear the danger—at least for now—was behind them.
Jess straightened and took a look around. The room appeared to be a receiving room, probably leading to another, though she could find no second door. There were a few chairs, a light in the ceiling, but she saw no other way out.
“We’re heading to one of our safe houses,” Darvon explained. “Others are waiting.” This made Jess nervous. It was starting to look more and more like Darvon’s interception of her was no accident. Either he’d been lying in wait or he was sent out to bring her in. Whichever the case, she’d definitely been his objective.
Discreetly she took a look around the room. For cameras or any other sign of surveillance. Hopefully whatever this Darvon was up to he was one of the good guys. So far he seemed harmless. So far her instincts told her he meant to help.
So far.
“Come,” he beckoned. She followed to the other side of the room, watching him carefully as he in turn watched her. In a way it seemed he was overwhelmed to be there with her. As if she were someone special. The more he admired her the more she realized he wasn’t looking at her as a simple curiosity. Something stranger. Almost like … he acted as one would in the presence of a queen. Or some kind of holy figure.
It started to feel very, very weird.
He opened another hidden door and admitted them to a larger room where waiting, as promised, were others. About a dozen more people, both men and women, all dressed in the same plain, black uniforms, and when she and Darvon entered the small group rose to their feet—a respectful rise, many regarding her in the exact same way. As if she were royalty.
She froze. Old fears came out of hiding, making her suddenly nervous to be standing there with so many people looking at her. Each of them staring at her in wide-eyed wonder. The feeling was temporary, however, a flash of old emotions, and like all the other fears so recently beaten back by extraordinary circumstances, this too vanished in the face of necessity. Far more was at stake than the fear of being looked at by a bunch of people.
“Were … you guys waiting for me?” she asked the obvious, wondering how that was even possible.
“We knew you would return,” one of them said, with what could only be a tone of awe. As if this was the most perfectly right thing to be happening.
“Darvon was on watch,” another added. An old woman with a kind face. “We waited to aid your passage.” To this Darvon smiled wide, intensely proud of his role in Jessica’s rescue.
“This is dangerous,” said another, to no one in particular.
“Hush, Kassy.”
“They’ll find the entrance. They’ll find us.”
“We couldn’t let them capture her. She’s with us now. Rejoice in that.”
“Yes, but what next?”
“This hardly fits the prophecy.”
“Of course it does.”
Jess searched their faces as the conversation expanded, increasingly bizarre comments, a heated debate forming and, while their reactions were curious—and their comments creepy—something more pressing demanded her attention.
“Do you have anything to drink?” she interrupted.
“Of course!” one of the women went into action; the kind-faced old lady, admonishing herself for missing the obvious. She and a few others hastened to get Jess a drink, others to offer a seat. A chair was brought. Before sitting she made an effort to wipe the mud from her feet, as bes
t she could, suddenly conscious of just how wet and dirty she was. Mud on her feet, her legs, she could feel it on her back, everywhere. Gingerly she sat in the offered chair and leaned forward, trying to touch as little as possible. She was a mess.
“We’re members of a group called the Conclave,” Darvon explained. He was muddy too but didn’t apparently care. “We saw you fall from the sky.”
Fall from the sky? Jess raised an eyebrow at the initial strangeness of the remark—then took a deep breath. Having forgotten that, last night, she did indeed fall from the sky.
It had been an eventful twenty-four hours.
“Like an angel,” one of them added and the others nodded, eagerly sharing this view. Jess studied them. The way they stared at her, wide-eyed, curious …
Did they think …
“She’s all in white,” one of them commented; not to her, more to the group. An eager sort of confirmation.
“As described in the prophecy,” said another. A certain rapture in their voices. “Like a Holy vision.”
Jess looked herself over. Filthy. Skirt and blouse ruined. Her clothes were, however, beneath the grime, white. Or had been yesterday. Unlike any other clothes she’d seen on that world so far, hers were the opposite of their uniform black.
Beautiful, pure, white.
Did that make her look angelic in their eyes? Falling from the sky and living must also seem a god-like trick. Her mere presence, for most of them, appeared to be a near religious event.
A glass of juice was handed to her, along with a plate of what looked to be cheese. She took everything with a polite “Thank you”, went straight for the juice and drank it down. Another glass was brought and she drank more; tried not to dive into the food but did, taking a few bites then, unable to hold back, began eating way too fast, uncaring of manners or the dozens of staring eyes. She looked at their rapt expressions as she chewed hungrily, anticipation in their faces. Watching. Obviously she was a ravenous, human girl, not an angel, yet none of the obvious seemed to matter. They truly thought she was something beyond them.
Star Angel: Awakening (Star Angel Book 1) Page 17
