Yardi shrieked and left ten deep furrows through the soil as his fingers clawed the ground in protest.
Vyrm dropped to the soft soil like wraiths in the jungle. They were barely visible beneath camouflaged outfits similar to the cloaks the intruders wore.
Claire yelped and turned to fire her weapon. Jenner already had his rifle shouldered; his rapid-fire burned through the foliage and scattered the nearly invisible enemies. In the thick growth, they couldn't be found without help.
Pointing to a nearby green patch Claire reached out with her senses and detected their thoughts. She could barely find their attackers’ minds through the overwhelming evil of Akko Soggathoth’s presence. “In there!”
Jenner blasted the area while Zabe concentrated his lycan senses on the trail ahead of them. Something ahead stalked them. The youth’s blasts flushed the invisible vyrm out of hiding.
Spireth snap-fired a trio of pulse bursts and a scaly body slid to a permanent stop on the path. “At least they’re not shades,” he muttered. “We’d never find them.”
Like a flash, the snarling abyssal auraphage cut across the trail. It lashed out with the vicious barbs retracted within the powerful mandibular tentacles; the spurs sliced through Zabe’s torso as if his thick hide were made of paper.
Zabe roared in pain—the beast disappeared so quickly that he couldn’t react. Flesh hung from his pectoral muscle and exposed the bones of his ribcage. He was uncertain that his armor, damaged by the earlier rocket explosion, could have withstood the insanely sharp claw even were it intact.
Claire wheezed as she felt his pain on the psychic plane. She stepped forward to try and help but he warned her back. She was too important to let the alien beast near her.
He whistled through his teeth and stretched his muscle back into place. Sensing the predator’s opportunistic hunger Zabe stepped back just in time to avoid its next lunge even as his muscle fibers began to stitch together solidly enough to hold the wound closed and cover his ribcage.
Jenner fired another burst into a vyrm that Spireth drew into the open. He oozed satisfaction when the attacker crashed into a heap against a tree, ripping a collection of dolls from their age-old perches.
Something hissed all around them as if the dolls’ spirit grew angry at his irreverence.
Zabe keyed in on something with his instincts and slashed the Stone Glaive just in time catch the bestial predator and turn it to stone, stopping it in its tracks. But it wasn’t the source of the hissing.
A vyrm dropped from a high branch, driving a spear through Jenner's midsection, lancing through him shoulder to hip. The polearm pinned the young corpsman to the ground where he howled in agony.
The hissing assailant cackled. His laugh ceased immediately as Spireth’s short sword flashed from behind the sneaky enemy and severed head from neck.
Jenner’s teammates rushed to his side and provided medical attention. Unbelievably, the weapon missed his vital organs. While he would survive, the torment he would endure until they removed the spear remained almost intolerable—and it was too risky to do it in the wild.
He downplayed his anguish and spoke in halting, breathless speech. “Go on. You’ve got to complete the mission,” he urged them. “Just don’t leave me here too long!”
Zabe nodded and dosed him with a powerful painkiller that helped the wounded soldier relax slightly. “We’ll be back for you,” he promised, turning to move towards their goal. Zabe glanced at Claire. “Still going the right way?”
She nodded dizzily after stretching her mind into the ether. “Yes. He is close.”
A radio clipped to the headless vyrm’s belt rumbled with a squelchy voice. Spireth snatched the device and turned it up. Only Claire cocked her head with understanding at the vyrm dialect they spoke. Bithia had been well-versed in linguistics—including those used by the enemies.
Claire took the communicator and spoke with raspy, hissing words and in as gravelly a voice as possible. The other end responded and signed off.
“They think we’ve all been neutralized.” She grimaced. “All other targets are down, they said.”
Zabe’s face darkened. “Then we’re all that’s left. We must succeed or all is lost.”
***
Idrakka staggered through the darkened belly of the frozen temple. He dusted the frosty detritus from his scaled face and activated the chemical light sticks which burned brilliantly. Using so much of his power had grossly overexerted him—even though the climate had helped sustain his abilities for longer than he’d ever thought possible. The vyrm warrior badly needed rest.
Lifeless bodies lay strewn across the chamber, stretched out upon the floor or heaped in mounds with blaster wounds still smoldering. He shook his head at the wastefulness of it all but could merely shrug—his kinsmen had died for their beliefs… yet he believed there was a better way: a better leader. But for now, he obeyed his orders and they came only from Caivev until he was instructed otherwise.
The icelord grimaced at the rotting Fifth-Son of the Winnowing. The cadaverous man-goat monstrosity sneered at the vyrm who assessed the damage. Akko Nuggezeth hovered around the fallen, worm-like atrocity that had caused the cave-in. He dotingly checked it for life signs, appearing to care more for the vile creature than for the ranks of fallen devotees.
Satisfied that the fallen creature had surpassed his ability to resuscitate, Akko Nuggezeth joined Idrakka near the fallen body of Caivev. The timeless denizen of the Darque stretched out his hand and forced the corpse to relax. Its skin sagged momentarily and then tightened back into the visage of Jarkara. Only the blackened hole on the shade’s head remained the same as the shapeshifter regained its true form.
“Pity,” Akko Nuggezeth hissed. “I was beginning to find him intriguing. Then again, I always find traitors so interesting.” He fixed Idrakka with a knowing gaze.
Idrakka frowned sorrowfully at Jarkara but held his emotions in check—he could mourn for him later, in private. He thumbed the communicator on his shoulder and the LED flashed as it reached out to establish contact with their support team. He didn’t bother to verify or ignore the goatman’s accusation. “Do you have the book?” Idrakka reached out his empty hand and beckoned for the second half of the empty, blank tome just as Akko Soggathoth had instructed him.
Akko Nuggezeth gave him a wry smile and held it up teasingly. He showed the vyrm Akko Thakkanon’s sigil where he’d made his mark, but he did not surrender the book. “It was difficult to force him into the book. The eldest will resist even further.”
Idrakka flexed his hand and beckoned for it.
The goat man curled his lips contemptuously. “I know what lies in your heart, tarkhūn.”
Idrakka shrugged as the collapsing superstructure rumbled. “I don’t care what you may or may not know.” He pulled a folded paper from his hip pouch and grinned. “And I don’t have time for your trickery.”
Akko Nuggezeth’s eyes widened in unexpected fury when Idrakka produced the page where his name had been bound. Before he could say anything—either use his wicked magics or beg and barter, Idrakka licked the charcoal cleanly from the seal.
The beast burst into a cloud of thick black mist with no discernable form, like a cloud of frenzied carrion beetles he faded into a thin mist which the mystic page inhaled. Ripped away from his avatar, he left behind a scared, Central American teenager to stand in the frigid Antarctic cold. Naked and shivering, the boy held the book—unsure of how he'd gotten here. His last memory was a strong hand clamping over his mouth and a blindfold hobbling his senses.
Idrakka plucked the book from his grasp. Laying the loose leaf of parchment in place upon the codex, the binding reached up from the spine and knitted the missing page back into the larger volume.
He slipped away into the blackness, picking his way through the rubble that led him back to the huddled members of the Black as they gathered, ready to rejoin their larger assembly. A burning trian
gle split the darkness a moment later and allowed him to slip away to a warmer climate, leaving the lost and confused avatar for Akko Nuggezeth to freeze to death in the heart of a pyramid buried at the South Pole.
***
Tay-lore slid out of the carriage seat of an anti-grav sled. His transport sat amongst a small fleet of others that waited for the return of the Antarctic expedition.
The android directed traffic and made sure that medical attention was easily accessible and prepped nearby to treat frostbite. He let his robotic eyes record every detail; this had been the largest inter-planar operation since the Syzygyc War.
Like strobes of lightning, the gate flashed and sizzled as his friends winked into existence in the Prime. They exited the platform single-file. Tay-lore long ago proved he was no genius when it came to body language, but even he could sense the dour mood and somber quiet that indicated a failed mission.
He watched with rapt interest as his shivering friends headed for treatment. The flashes began to slow in frequency and he hadn’t seen his closest friends yet return.
The android equivalent of relief washed over him when Sam Jones staggered off the teleport area; Shandra walked beside him, leaning heavily on the archaeologist’s strength. Finally, the last few flashes came; Wulftone followed Jackie away from the ancient dimensional-gate.
Tay-lore shifted nervously. He desperately wanted to know what had happened but felt wrong to ask if the information hadn’t been volunteered.
Despite her flushed cheeks, Jackie didn’t stop at the medical area. A nurse called after her for a check but the stubborn, distraught girl muttered, “It’s not much worse than Minnesota in January—and I walked to school.”
She stormed off under a gray mood. As Jackie drew close, Tay-lore gently put a hand on her shoulder. “What happened? Where is Harken?”
Jackie looked at him with such pain and grief in her eyes that the android regretted the question. He had no idea how to process the emotion he read in her, he only wished he hadn’t asked.
Exhaling in tight measures she shook her head almost imperceptibly. She shot a look back at her peers. Wulftone stood with Gita as the doctors dressed her arm; the superior officer stood diligently with his wounded troops who’d obeyed their duty at great cost.
Jackie grimaced while her heart broke—it was as brave of a face as she could muster. She only wished that Wulftone could be with her through the pain tearing her up inside. But she knew she couldn’t let him inside that world of pain and grief… maybe if she’d made a choice between the two suitors prior to Antarctica, but not now. Fate had decided… and it had eliminated Harken—not Jackie. She instinctively knew Wulftone would always resent her for that.
Her stone façade began to crack as she noticed Harken’s dried blood splattered on her forearms. A deep sense of shame burned through her veins: a great man had just lost his life and here she was wallowing in self-pity because of her love life?
If she could’ve cried, Jackie would have—but she’d run out of tears. She turned away from Wulftone and laid a hand back on Tay-lore while nodding to the auto pool. “Get me out of here… back home… wherever. I don’t care. Let’s just go.”
The android wasn't quite sure how to proceed. He didn't have enough data or experience with grief, and so he followed her lead and walked her to a transport, activated the hover mode, and took her away.
Wulftone watched Jackie leave with Tay-lore. Part of him approved, the other part urged him to chase her. He gave it serious consideration and then he looked over the chaos of the triage area. Responsibility weighed him down and he knew his presence was needed here.
With a stressed sigh he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to squeeze out whatever tension he could. He desperately wished for someone else to share his burden with in that dark moment—Zabe, Zahaben, Shardai—even Harken. Wulftone relaxed his grip and released his hair, suddenly wondering if, of all things, he might make himself go bald from the stress… would my lycan form be bald, too?
At this rate, he assumed he might find out.
***
Zurrah lay slumped in a heap against the stone wall. The musty air tickled his nose and he did his best to pretend he’d slipped into unconsciousness while the two vyrm argued nearby.
He slowly, methodically used a small piece of metal wire he’d snagged during his attempted escape to pick the lock on his gyves, just like his father had taught him. The mechanisms were tricky, but he felt certain he’d figured out how to trip the internal tumblers and free himself—as long as his captors didn’t pay too much attention.
“See! Look at this, Theera… the blood is congealing and it’s dried at the edges.”
“Not yet!” Theera argued. It had been his life that the ancient demon threatened if the Koth gate closed. “It can wait a few minutes before we bleed him again.”
The vyrm accomplice glared at him suspiciously.
Theera explained, “If the doors shut, Akko Soggathoth will kill us…”
“He’ll kill you. I’m fine.”
Theera continued. “If the boy dies, Caivev will kill us.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Don’t you know who that is?” Theera pointed at the boy.
Zurrah held his breath and made sure not to even twitch.
“It’s the other son of General Zahaben.”
Zurrah’s wrists hurt as he wriggled the wire through the keyhole, praying that it wouldn’t break. He felt suddenly old and bone-weary as his captors argued over who was a more reviled warrior, his brother Zabe who had killed Nitthogr but not prevented the Black from scattering to diaspora throughout the multiverse, or his father who’d kept their kind so vigilantly in check, but barely turned back the old sorcerer so many times.
They kept arguing even as they walked towards the teen. Zurrah froze at their approach, feigning unconsciousness. He clasped his hands over the lock to hide the wire pick hanging out from it and hoped they wouldn’t notice.
He groaned as if being woken from slumber as they manhandled his limp body and unsheathed a dagger. Zurrah made sure not to resist as they cut him and drained a cup full of blood to keep the arcane darquegate open.
Working the knife, Theera’s friend grumbled, “We should just cut his neck and take all of it right now. One less son of Zahaben to worry about.”
Theera clucked his tongue condescendingly and then retreated to the door with a vessel full of blood.
Grimacing through the raw pain of his wound he concentrated all of his energies on the lock. The wire slowly twisted, bound tightly against the mechanisms and halted. Zurrah gave it a slight jiggle and it clicked free.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Zurrah felt rage rise up within him as he tried to silently slip out of the chains, keeping a vengeful eye on his captors.
The lengths of chain rattled louder than he liked and Theera’s companion turned and locked eyes with him while the other vyrm freshened up the door’s “paint.”
Zurrah, the other brother trained by the great Zahaben, leapt towards the soldier who reached for the dagger sheathed at his hip. They locked into a grapple. The vyrm snarled and bared his fangs; Zurrah head-butted him and busted the sharp teeth inward.
As the bleeding vyrm reeled from the feisty captive, Zurrah snatched up the dagger and slashed Theera across the chest. He turned and sprinted into the only hallway leading to the gate-room in the bowels of the ancient facility.
Blaster-toting vyrm were already rushing towards the deep chamber at Theera’s shrieks. They drew their weapons but Zurrah backpedaled before any of them could get a shot off. A siren rang out as the sentries scrambled and sent up the alarm.
Zurrah sprinted back into the room and rushed towards the Gates of Koth. Theera lay strewn on the ground, trying to keep pressure on the wound. The other guard tried to prevent the youth from entering the gate but Zurrah’s hands flashed like lightning.
The sinister vyrm trooper
who’d wanted him dead fell to his knees, holding the fatal cut across his throat as he gurgled a curse upon the teen. Zurrah stared into the condemned one’s eyes for just a second—his gaze let the captor know he’d heard the creature’s murderous threats which had now come back to roost.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor and Zurrah leapt through the gate, not knowing what to expect. He charged ahead through the darkness, plunging into the Darque.
***
Tay-lore led Jackie by the hand as they entered the restaurant in the rebuilt commercial district of the Royal City. She sat down as if she was a ghost.
The android cocked his head and watched her. She didn’t do anything. She merely was. And she was not well.
A waiter came out from the back and Tay-lore waived him off. The man nodded and watched from a distance so he could get an order whenever they were ready. With all the recent military commotion, there were no other customers.
Finally, Tay-lore broke the silence. "You are an outsider. You do not really belong here, Jackie."
That got her attention. Jackie glared balefully at her host.
“Perhaps that came out wrong,” Tay-ore shifted defensively. “You are an outsider, like me. Do you know the history of my kind—the homo diurnus?”
She shook her head, but he had her attention.
“‘Men of the Day,’ they called us when we first came into sapience… we were the next step in evolution, said the Technites who created us. But even among them, I was an outcast. I was weak and flawed—different.
“The Diurnans took control of their own destiny. They killed the Technites and began reproducing until they were capable of waging a war against Bithia’s grandfather during his reign. My brothers were strong, cold, unfeeling. They were monsters—but they were family.” His automated voice sounded almost pained.
"Unlike them, I suffered from indecision. I saw value and beauty in organic life and in emotion. They cast me out because I was weak—and I was alone."
Jackie reached across the table. “You weren’t weak,” she insisted.
Wolves of the Tesseract Collection Page 43
