Crystal Warriors

by William R. Forstchen

"Yes."

  "This bastard thinks I'm a traitor for making our alliance. Give the word and I'll blow his fucking brains all over the ground."

  Mark prayed that he had judged Ikawa correctly. He knew the Japanese were watching and hoped that through this act he could convince them, while at the same time show his own men how serious their situation was.

  "Go on, Captain Ikawa, decide."

  Giorgini was trembling, and Mark prayed that he wouldn't start to beg, for he would lose face for all of them if he did.

  Ikawa sensed it as well and acted quickly.

  Coming up to Mark's side he pushed the automatic away, and spoke to Giorgini in a loud voice so that all could hear.

  "Many of my men feel the same about me, Sergeant, but our war is gone―somewhere on the other side of that," and he waved towards the smoldering pentagram. "I want you to live to help us survive."

  He turned away from Giorgini, and walking back to his own men, explained what had transpired. There was a murmur from the Japanese ranks.

  "All right, men, get ready to move out in ten minutes," Mark ordered. "There was a hell of a lot of action here and maybe the friends of those stiffs over there will come by to check up on it. We've hung around here too long as it is."

  Mark left his men and went over to where Ikawa was standing on the crest of the hill. Beyond them the broad open valley was bathed in silvery light.

  "We better get a move on, Captain."

  "Yes, you're right. But to where?"

  Mark was silent.

  "I remember a movie I saw in your country. What one of the characters said seems appropriate for this situation."

  "What was that?"

  Ikawa smiled, looked over to Mark, and extended his hand. "It is an alliance then, until we return home?"

  "Yes, until borne," Mark replied, and grasped Ikawa's hand firmly.

  "You know, Captain Phillips, somehow I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

  Mark gaped at him for a moment and then a smile crossed his face.

  Chapter 4

  They had walked for several hours, crossing a terrain of gently rising hills covered in waist-high grass and occasional groves of small windbent trees. The twin moons, low on the horizon, were still shining brightly over the plains, and ahead on the horizon there was the faint glimmer of the coming sunrise.

  Kochanski found himself wondering what color and type of sun he would see. He was now firmly convinced that at the very least they were light-years, if not galaxies, away from home. The star fields were different, and even with the brightness of the twin moons, he could see glowing star clusters arcing across the heavens, spanning the sky like beads on a necklace―most of them far brighter than the Milky Way.

  Kochanski no longer shared his thoughts with the others. His comments only frightened them, and after the first hour he learned to walk in silence and helped with the carrying of Jose, who drifted in and out of consciousness.

  Someone nudged him from behind: Giorgini.

  "Do you see something over there?" Giorgini asked, pointing behind them.

  "Where?"

  "There, low on the horizon."

  He followed where Giorgini was pointing and saw what appeared to be a darker blackness moving across the far horizon. He didn't want to say anything yet―the others would simply say it was his crazed imagination.

  "Naw, you're seeing things." But he kept his eye on it―something was there. It seemed to be headed towards the place they had come from. Moving low, it disappeared, came back up, then disappeared again as though it was hugging the valleys to avoid detection.

  Kochanski moved forward to Mark's side.

  "Say, Captain," be whispered. "Giorgini and I think we've seen something moving in the sky behind us."

  Mark looked off where Kochanski pointed but now there was nothing.

  "What was it?"

  "Couldn't tell. It seemed to be flying and was like a dark cloud moving across the sky low to the horizon."

  Mark thought for a moment. The bogey could be their exhausted imaginations, but after that character with the lightning bolts he wasn't taking any chances.

  He scanned the terrain in front. A quarter mile ahead there was a small grove of trees, their forms silhouetted by the twin moonlight. If something was looking for them, it would be as good a place as any to make a stand.

  "Captain Ikawa, there might be something behind us."

  Kochanski explained what he had seen and the Japanese captain's reaction was instantaneous.

  "Quick march," Ikawa cried, and he directed his men towards the grove.

  Several minutes later there was a flash on the horizon behind them; then another. A rumbling boom like thunder washed over them.

  "Bet they're back where we first came through," Kochanski ventured, and Mark grunted agreement.

  They pushed faster, and some of the Japanese sprinted ahead to secure the grove for the rest of the group.

  "Something's coming," Lieutenant Younger shouted from the rear of the column. The cloud was visible again, and moving towards them.

  The party broke into a run―the four men carrying Jose lagging somewhat behind.

  "Holy shit, it's coming in quick!" Giorgini screamed. Turning, he cocked his carbine, ready for a fight.

  "Fire on my command," Mark cried, and falling in with the four stretcher-bearers he turned with Giorgini to provide cover.

  The cloud turned, cut to one side, and then came sweeping in directly over their heads.

  Like a bursting balloon the darkness ripped asunder. A dozen flying creatures appeared, screaming with rage. They were the medieval image of demons: reddish in hue, eyes of fire, with blood-red talons extended to grasp their prey, and wings that swept out above them.

  The stretcher-bearers ran past Mark and Giorgini, gaining the edge of the grove, just as the demons soared down upon them with cries that stung their ears.

  "Fire!" Mark yelled, took aim, and shot. Shrieking, a demon burst into flames and tumbled to the ground, igniting the tall grass.

  There was a wild cry of anguish and Mark turned to see Lieutenant Mokaoto fall to the ground, several demons on top of him.

  Horrified, Mark watched as one of the nightmarish forms dug its talons into Mokaoto's legs. Mark lifted his pistol to fire―

  "Captain, look out!"

  Mark was knocked off his feet. Rolling, he found himself staring into eyes of raging hatred, talons raised to slash.

  There was a wild cry and a shimmer of reflected light as a sword hissed across his field of vision. The demon fell away, bursting into flames.

  A rough hand grabbed Mark by the shoulder, pulling him back up. It was Ikawa, his samurai sword dripping a liquid that smoldered and stank.

  Giorgini and Walker came in on Mark's side and together with the Japanese captain they pulled Mark towards the protection of the grove.

  "Mokaoto!"

  The Japanese soldiers screamed as two demons gathered around the struggling lieutenant, and with wings flapping, lifted him into the air.

  Goldberg took careful aim, and his shots slammed into one of the monsters. It tumbled from the sky, but the other demon soared, bearing Mokaoto into the darkness. Above the crack of the rifles and jeers of the demons, the men could clearly hear Mokaoto's screams, which grew fainter as the doomed lieutenant was carried away.

  "They're coming in again!" Goldberg cried, slamming off several rounds. The Japanese machine gun opened with a high staccato shudder, catching one of the demons and cutting him in half.

  "Something else coming in!" Kochanski shouted, and pointed towards the sunrise. The dot of movement soon resolved into three men flying in formation.

  "Jesus Christ!" Mark yelled in astonishment. "Captain Ikawa, hold your fire on those men, there's something about them. If they're a threat, let them make the first move."

  Maybe it was the way they were flying around like Superman that made him hesitate. Hell, he was almost past the point of astonishment anymore. Batma
n and Captain America could show up right now and he wouldn't think twice.

  "Can you beat that shit?" Kraut cried in amazement. "In formation, no less."

  The demons, seeing the formation, turned as one and pulled back. They attempted to reform into the ball of darkness, but it was already too late as the three flyers closed in, cutting off their retreat. The air crackled as bolts of light slashed into the demons. One tumbled from the sky, wings torn, and the rest scattered. The triad followed two, bringing them down in explosions of fire, while the rest escaped.

  The triad came back towards the astounded soldiers, circled the grove, then alighted thirty yards away.

  The three human forms stood their ground as if waiting for something.

  "Think they want a parley?" Ikawa asked.

  Mark looked at him. "With power like that we damn well better hope so. You with me?"

  Ikawa nodded. They started out, avoiding the spreading circles of flame caused by the fallen demons. Ikawa stopped briefly to examine the ground where Mokaoto had been taken, then rejoined Mark as they approached their three deliverers.

  "What do you think of them?" Mark whispered.

  "One thing is for certain; they weren't friends of those things we just fought."

  "That doesn't mean that they'll be any friendlier to us. They might be friends of the ones back at the pentagram and blame us for what happened."

  Even as they spoke one of the three lifted back into the air and flew over to one of the demons who had been knocked out of the sky by a light blast. A pale shimmer of light spread from the man, and the demon shrieked as the pulsing blue aura closed around it, so that it could no longer move.

  As the two captains approached the new arrivals, the single flyer returned and joined his comrades. Mark and Ikawa stopped about a dozen feet away from the flyers.

  Their clothing was white, or light blue; it was hard to tell in the predawn light. Their garments were plain: a collared tunic held by a broad leather belt with glowing crystals in it, trousers, and calf-high boots of black leather. They also wore wristbands set with a brightly shining crystal on each arm. Each man seemed to be covered by an aura of light, and they glowed in the fading starlight. The three men were motionless, slender, almost fragile looking, but Mark would never have said so to their faces. Mark took another step and held out his hands, palms downward.

  "Be careful not to point at them," Ikawa warned, stepping forward as though he didn't want these strangers to think him inferior to the American.

  "Do you speak English?" Mark asked.

  They were silent.

  "Damn it, you Americans always think that everyone else should speak English," Ikawa muttered.

  "Well, what else do you expect me to ask?"

  "Let's not argue in front of them," Ikawa replied, and smiling, he gave a bow reserved for a possible superior.

  The flyer on the left nodded in Ikawa's direction and then whispered to the one in the center.

  Mark correctly guessed that the one in the center must be the leader and he advanced another step towards him. Feeling foolish, he imitated Ikawa's bow, realizing that the courtesy had most likely made a positive impression.

  "Ilya na, mui vaneria na?"

  Mark locked eye contact with the one in the center who had just spoken and smiled, shaking his head.

  "Ilya na, masa du nara, Sarnak tu Allic tu Patrice."

  Again Mark shook his head, then threw in the typical American gesture of shrugging his shoulders and cautiously raising his hands.

  "Naga!" the one to the right shouted and stepped to the center, raising his hand in Mark's direction.

  "Toman bishu," the one in the center yelled. Stepping in front of his protector, he forced his arm back down. He stepped towards Mark and cautiously raised his hand.

  "Mark, step back," Ikawa warned.

  "I think it's all right. Look, Captain Ikawa, we've got to make friends somewhere; I prefer these to those demons we just faced."

  Before Ikawa could protest, Mark stepped closer, keeping his hands down.

  The man before him was light skinned, not quite Caucasian but neither was he Negroid or Oriental. It was as though the three had been blended together. His eyes were penetrating, with an intensity of power that Mark felt was somewhat superior to his own. But he forced himself to hold the gaze and the stranger smiled and held up his hand.

  He's going to strike me, Mark thought. He waited for the blow but there was only a light touch to his forehead.

  "My name is Pina, second commander of my lord Allic. This is his fief you tread upon, stranger."

  He thought this Pina was speaking English and for a moment he wanted to laugh at Ikawa's comment about English, but then he realized that the language was strangely different.

  "I can sense your confusion, stranger, by the power of the crystal." He pointed to a softly glowing crystal centered on his belt. "I have given you the power to understand our speech."

  "How?" Mark asked incredulously.

  "Let us not waste time with such talk now. There is much to do, and first I must decide about you and your companions,"

  "Decide what?"

  "Is it not obvious? You are strangers here, interlopers on my lord's fiefdom. Is that not enough to decide? Now tell your comrade that I wish to touch him so that he might speak as well, and that I mean him no harm."

  Mark turned to do as he was asked.

  Pina could sense more caution, more wariness, but also an iron control in the second outlander as he reached out, giving him the power of understanding.

  Pina could feel a slight draining of his strength and resolved that for the moment he would not waste the power of his crystal on the others.

  These were not Sarnak's demons, at least. He had seen them fighting Sarnak's servants, and their performance was credible. But they were obviously not of the world of Haven, Such warriors as these must be from another portal, perhaps caught by accident in what he suspected was an attempt to bring forces from another dimension.

  Well, it looked like the attempt had turned against whomever had tried it. Now he had to decide quickly what to do with the results.

  "Where are you from?" Pina asked Mark.

  "Pennsylvania."

  "What is this Pennsvana?"

  "America."

  "Never heard of this America."

  And it was with that single statement that Mark felt a deep sense of despair. It stated to him perhaps more than anything else just how far away they must now be. In a world at war, there was hardly anyone alive from Eskimo to New Guinea native who had not heard of America. With the realization came a sudden premonition that he most likely would never see home again.

  Pina looked appraisingly at the two of them.

  "I have decided," he intoned. "You are outlanders, caught in the web of another. You seem to be warriors and that is good. I shall inform my lord and you shall pledge vassalage unto my master."

  "Vassalage? What the hell is this?" Mark replied. "Listen, buddy, I'm an American, even if I am in some other godforsaken corner of the universe, and I'm no serf to anyone."

  Pina stepped back.

  "Mark, shut up," Ikawa said. He stepped forward and spoke quickly.

  "The nation of America is very proud; there, every man is his own lord with no vassalage. He means no insult to you, I swear it."

  Ikawa turned on Mark. "Listen, we need an alliance if we are to survive. You and I made an alliance and some of your men and mine called it treason. But we did it. It's the same thing here. I am in pledge of vassalage to my Emperor, yet I live with Bushido, with pride."

  Mark, feeling calmer, nodded; and Ikawa approached Pina.

  "I can pledge alliance to you as well but my first pledge is to my Emperor, and not I nor any of my men is an oath-breaker."

  Pina nodded. These men might be useful. They had pride. He could blast them with a wave of his hand, but he knew that his lord could always use warriors.

  However, there was something
strange about these men; they did not feel like mere mortals. It was almost as if...

  Pina's eyes began to glow, probing deeply into the two leaders. In amazement he could see the Essence growing within them. These men did not have the cellular restrictions bred by the Creators into nearly all of the humans on this planet. He was looking at potential sorcerers! This was like a gift from the gods.

  He stepped back, whispered to his companions who gave him a shocked look, and with a sense of urgency touched his communications crystal.

  A moment later, he announced, "My master Allic has decided that you may be of more value than was first thought. He is willing to make terms in return for allegiance. It is now important that your men understand also, so bring them to me and I will teach them our tongue."

  * * * *

  The map still shimmered with a soft glow. It had been a long night and Allic settled into a high-backed chair, stretching his legs with a groan.

  "Well, Varma, what do you think?"

  "A game within a game, my lord. Was it Sarnak or Macha who planned us harm, and why the outlanders at this time? Is their arrival a plot within a plot?"

  Varma the jester sat by Allic's feet, for the moment comfortable in his role as soundingboard and confidant. There was no formality when the two of them were alone, no need to play the idiot jester entertaining with jokes upon himself and his deformity.

  "The Essence flowing in them is pure, unalloyed," Allic said quietly. "Obviously, they come from a world where the Essence does not exist, they aren't even aware of what is now happening within their own bodies. With the proper training these men could be powerful."

  Varma knew that only one person in a million was born with the power to control the Essence. To have so many potential sorcerers arrive on their very doorstep was unprecedented. Varma examined Allic closely, and sensed that yet again he was looking at the opportunities, and not the possible perils.

  "Remember, my lord," Varma said cautiously, "they could be a threat. Who knows what type of power they might be able to control?"

  "Yes, therefore we must make our enemies their enemies."

  "Could you one day be such an enemy to them?" Varma paused for a moment and pressed ahead with his real concern. "Could this be a ploy by Sarnak to get them accepted by us? Is there a chance they are not really from another world but are merely sorcerers hidden by Sarnak, unregistered with any guild and trained by the Accursed to deceive us? Ask Bore's descendants what Sarnak the Accursed is capable of."