Affinity for War

by Frank Morin

  As he shot down and out of Aifric's sight, Dreokt turned to face Kilian, scowling. His attacking flames whisked away, as if caught in a sudden cross-breeze.

  "Stop it, Son, or I'm going to become peeved."

  "You're going to become dead, like you should have three centuries ago," Kilian growled.

  "So long?" She looked surprised, and Aifric had to wonder what state she'd been in. Had she been trapped under the quarry somehow?

  A twisted rope of water leaped up the north slope from the Upper Wick behind the queen mother and seized her by the waist. She actually yelped, looking worried for a moment before swatting the water aside.

  "You're weak, mother," Kilian snarled. "You picked a bad day to arise."

  "I hate getting up early," she growled.

  She made a beckoning motion, and Gregor's stone bonds began dragging him across the floor of the quarry, then up the stepped levels toward her. At the same time, a giant grasping arm of stone erupted out of the quarry floor toward Kilian.

  He somersaulted away, his fiery tornado pedestal sliding sideways to catch him again. Two more stone hands erupted from the western rim and swatted at him. He dodged and spun, easily avoiding the deadly elemental attacks.

  Mister Five nodded, his expression hopeful. "I've heard that returning from the embrace of the elements is an arduous experience. Kilian is right. She is weak."

  While Kilian was distracted dodging her stone hands, Dreokt drew Gregor to her. She cupped his terrified face with her hands and spoke softly.

  Aifric snatched at the sounds as they drifted from her, but Mister Five caught them first. He drew them across the quarry, then surprised her by sharing them.

  "You will ascend and fight my son."

  Dougal looked shocked, and when he spoke, Mister Five drew his words to them as well. "How is it possible? My sculpted stone lacks enough power for an ascension."

  "This is what the world has come to?" Dreokt asked, frowning over at Dougal. She pressed her hands harder against Gregor's face, and his terrified expression faded to one of rapt ecstasy.

  "She has taken his mind," Mister Five growled.

  Suddenly a wave of water erupted over the western rim of the quarry and formed into a giant octopus. Its many-tentacled legs seized the stone limbs still chasing Kilian around the quarry. They dug into the stone and snapped the limbs to pieces.

  "I thought stone was stronger," Aifric said with a frown.

  Mister Five shook his head. "Kilian is in his fury, while his mother is weak and distracted."

  Dreokt tossed Gregor off the rim and into the quarry. Instead of bouncing off the hard stone when he struck, he sank into it, then rose on a pillar of stone. He looked into the sky and shouted, a cry of exultant joy as he threw his arms out wide.

  "I should still be sleeping," Dreokt grumbled as she turned to face Kilian, who was again approaching on his fiery tornado.

  "You'll get eternal rest in a minute," Kilian said, striking again, this time with intertwined fire and water.

  His mother staggered back from the assault, slapping the elements away. Her annoyed expression turned to one of concern as he pressed the attack.

  Aifric silently urged Kilian on. Everything she knew about Dreokt screamed at her to beg Mister Five to release her so she could flee. She applauded Kilian for daring to stand against his mother, but she wanted nothing more than to run.

  With an angry shout, Dreokt threw her hands out wide and the elemental assault shattered, filling the air with glittering droplets of fire and water.

  Even as Kilian seized them again, Mister Five rose and brought his hands together, his expression one of utmost concentration.

  "He isn't strong enough."

  "Don't you dare kill him," Aifric cried.

  He shot her a disgusted look. "Have you forgotten all your training? Kilian doesn't matter. The Matron of Evil is our ultimate target and ever has been."

  "Let me help you," she urged.

  "You could do nothing but die." He made a shooing gesture, and the water binding her began dragging her back up the cliff. "At least one of us must bring word to the clan."

  Aifric stared in mute astonishment. She had never imagined Mister Five might have a heroic streak. As her bonds dragged her back up to a higher shelf and out of sight from below, she grabbed the sound of his words and tucked them into a pocket to listen to again later.

  Mister Five again turned to face the quarry and brought his hands together. When he threw his hands out and released the fiery ice bolt, Aifric willed it to strike true. The bolt flashed across the quarry, so fast she caught little more than a hint of movement.

  It stopped a hair's breadth above the Matron of Evil's heart.

  She turned and stared up the mountain, her expression furious. "You dare strike the one who created you and gave you purpose?"

  Mister Five stood defiantly, already bringing his hands together again. His voice boomed across the quarry, magnified by the strength of serpentinite as he intoned the heart of the Mhortair creed.

  "Tainted blood to purge, evil hearts to pierce!"

  Dreokt waved away another attack from Kilian and scowled up at Mister Five. "You have fallen so far. I don't have time for this."

  She made a flicking gesture, and the bolt of compressed, burning ice seemed to pierce the air as is sped back the other way.

  Mister Five threw his hands out to stop it, but it drilled right through his palm and punched through one eye. His head exploded in a shower of gore and water.

  Aifric's bonds dropped from her wrists and she stared in mute horror at Mister Five's corpse. She was no stranger to death, but she couldn't believe he could fall so easily, and from one of his own specialty bolts.

  Her fear intensified and she shook and cringed against the stone. Had Dreokt seen her? She didn't dare look for fear of catching another of those bolts in the eye.

  Mister Five's last words rang in her mind. She had to warn the people, had to rally them to fight the return of this greatest evil. Did Sir know that she had broken with Mister Five in Altkalen? If he did, she'd be branded an outcast and executed if she returned home.

  She had no choice.

  The mountain shook, the ground rolling underfoot, and an intense sound erupted from the quarry. It was as if an avalanche had swallowed a hurricane. Aifric dampened the sounds to protect her ears and had to see what was happening.

  Gregor was gone. In his place, rising from the floor of the quarry, was a giant elemental made of precious Alasdair White. Unlike the monstrous elfonnel that had attacked the Carraig, this one was roughly man shaped, its face still carrying a shadow of Gregor's image. The four silver eyes, spaced across its wide forehead, were completely devoid of humanity.

  On the opposite side of the quarry, a flood of water boiled over Kilian, obscuring him in clouds of churning spray. A heartbeat later, a giant man rose in his place, formed of rippling waters, with flames for eyes.

  Aifric's heart sank. Two elfonnel, and they were about to fight directly below her.

  As the earth-bound elemental roared a challenge, the queen mother nodded in satisfaction. "Nothing like elemental fury to brighten a woman's day."

  The earth-bound elemental shot across the quarry, sliding across the smooth stones, and slammed into the watery giant. It split apart, allowing the earth-bound to crash right through, then formed behind it and slammed ice-covered arms onto its back.

  Aifric focused on the queen mother, dragging the bits of sound waves to her as the woman spoke softly.

  Dreokt snatched the quailing Dougal off the stones and stared into his eyes for a moment before nodding again. "Yes, you are a servant who may prove useful. Come, linn."

  "But, I'm--" Dougal objected.

  She slapped him, snapping his face to the side and bruising his cheek as blood sprayed from his mouth. "Hush in the presence of your betters."

  She glanced at the titanic battle raging in the center of the quarry and smiled again. "This is more like a f
itting homecoming." Then she tapped her foot once on the stone, which rippled at her touch. "No longer will lesser Petralists benefit from my slumber."

  Humming a happy tune to herself, she leaped into the sky, still clutching Dougal by the throat, and soared away over the mountain on a whistling wind. The rippling of the northern rim intensified, then faded away.

  Four seconds later, the ground started to shake in an unmistakable earthquake.

  "Rith, I need you!" Aifric shouted, and started to run.

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  “The student who reads only every fifth word knows less when they finish than when they began, but even the mindless bee finds nectar inside a flower.”

  ~Ilse

  Connor became aware that he was floating in the Wick.

  He wasn't drowning. Even in his semi-comatose state, and despite the trauma of getting blasted right off the plateau, he still had soapstone flowing through his blood.

  He was one with water, and it would never kill him. His senses flickered through the river, and in an instant he recognized his position near the southwest corner of the plateau, floating downriver.

  He was no longer a rampager. The truth startled him. He didn't remember transforming, but he was happy his thoughts were no longer clouded by the purple haze of fury that came with porphyry.

  He was out of porphyry.

  Connor only barely bit back an animal howl. His body trembled with a sudden fierce need to consume more and return to that glorious form.

  He rose to stand upon the surface and slapped himself in the face. The sting helped center his thoughts again. What a grouted fool he was. He didn't want to ever touch porphyry again.

  And yet, part of him did. A dark corner of his soul, hungry to taste hot blood and feel the thrill of the kill.

  "You know, if your dad didn't hit you hard enough, I'd be happy to slap you some more." Mattias stood atop the steep, stony bank leading back to the plateau, about thirty feet away. He would have been nearly invisible in the darkness, despite the bright starlight, but of course he lit up his face like a Sogail lantern.

  Connor rose on a pedestal of water, sorely tempted to drag Mattias into the river and drown him. Enough people had been hurt already though, so he fought the urge and instead lifted himself up to where he could step onto the stones beside Mattias.

  Only then did he realize he was barely clothed. His pants were ripped to shreds, his boots were gone, and he'd removed his battle leathers before transforming, so his torso was bare.

  "You're a mess," Mattias said. "Your mom's got your jacket and that pendant. Are you up for some healing?"

  With a rush, Connor remembered. He grabbed Mattias's arm. "Is Verena all right? Hamish? The others?"

  When Mattias hesitated, Connor's heart sank, and he flung himself north along the plateau on a boiling wave of water, dragging Mattias along with him. He felt more naked for lack of power stones than lack of clothing. He'd lost everything but the final vestiges of soapstone. He needed his battle jacket. His stores were attached to it.

  "What's wrong with Verena?" he demanded as they flowed toward the knot of people about a hundred yards away. He lacked quartzite to enhance his vision and scan for her.

  "She won't wake up. Jean's been tending to her and reported several broken bones." After a brief hesitation he added softly, "She might have cracked her skull."

  Connor wanted to howl with rampager fury. That was the only sound that might do justice to his terror, but at the moment he'd just sound like a lunatic. So he just cursed under his breath and drove them on faster.

  "Hamish will be fine," Mattias offered. "He'll have some impressive scars unless you tend to him soon. He seems more worried about his shredded battle suit."

  Connor grunted, but his entire focus was on finding his mother and the sculpted sandstone pendant so he could treat Verena. He spotted his father first, leaning on a spear and waving. Lilias stood beside him, with the children clustered close by her. Most of the other villagers were milling nearby, and they all turned to watch him approach.

  Most of them, including his younger siblings, backed away as he drew closer.

  The sight of their fear tempered his impatience and he stepped from the waters with a heavy stride. "I am so sorry."

  His mother rushed up and gave him a fierce hug. She kissed his cheek and draped his battle jacket around him. "I'm just glad you returned to us, Son."

  His father approached and Connor couldn't meet his eyes, but stammered another apology. Hendry gripped his shoulder and forced him to look up.

  "Connor, you did what had to be done. We're alive because of you."

  "But, I nearly killed you all."

  "But you didn't. The stroke that never fell can't be counted against you."

  Hamish was sitting nearby, with Mhairi tying a bloodstained strip of someone's shirt over the last of his wounds. His battle suit was destroyed. All that remained were the leggings. He gave Connor an enthusiastic grin.

  "You always said you wanted to feel your father's hammer. For a minute there, I was worried you felt a little too much."

  Connor dropped to one knee beside his friend. "Thanks for doing that. I needed someone to knock some sense into me."

  "He needs a tonic," Mhairi muttered.

  Hamish grimaced. "What I need is about a dozen smashpacked pot roasts."

  Connor's mother handed him the sandstone pendant. "I'm told you can heal with this, Son. There's lots who need it."

  Connor took it eagerly and draped it around his neck. Gripping it with his left hand, he tapped the wondrous, concentrated healing power of sandstone. It thundered into him, a warm tide that eased his pains and filled him with peace that helped drive out the last lurking bits of rage left over from porphyry. He placed his other hand on Hamish's shoulder and let his senses flow into his friend along with a river of healing warmth.

  Hamish's eyes widened and he sat straighter, his tension draining away. Mattias was right. Hamish was bruised, battered, torn, and burned, but all of his wounds were superficial. Connor bound healing power to each of them, then rose, leaving Hamish's body to get to work.

  "Rest. You'll start feeling better. I'll finish the job when I can."

  "You should leave me a couple scars. Maybe that one running over my shoulder. I think Jean would be really impressed."

  Mhairi slapped him lightly on the side of the head. "She'd be more impressed with less of an idiot."

  Hamish's good humor helped ease some of Connor's gnawing worry, but he couldn't delay any longer. "Where is Verena?"

  "Jean's tending your girl," Mhairi said in that gentle voice she used to share bad news. She did not try to hide her concern.

  Mattias led him down the line of injured. Each one looked to Connor with hope of relief. He hadn't realized so many people had gotten injured in the brief, intense fight. As he hurried past, he promised a quick return, but did not stop.

  Verena lay on a blanket that someone had brought up from the bolt hole. Her skin was pale and clammy, her hair matted with blood and dirt, her clothing torn and battered.

  Jean and Dierk knelt on either side of her. Jean had already set Verena's broken right arm and right leg, but the sight of her many wounds made Connor want to howl.

  Jean looked up and smiled with relief. "Oh, Connor. I'm so glad you're back. She needs you."

  She had cleaned Verena's face. Connor dropped to the ground on the opposite side of her and cupped Verena's bruised cheeks, leaning his forehead against hers as he poured his healing senses into her.

  Verena was broken.

  Connor silently wept tears that dripped onto her eyelids as he scanned her many injuries. In addition to the obvious breaks in her arm and leg, she'd broken six fingers, four ribs, and cracked her spine. Her internal organs were battered, but seemed whole. He didn't feel real fear until he scanned her head.

  She had indeed cracked her skull and bruised her face and head badly in the wild tumble across the plain. Without the pro
tection of her helmet, she might not have survived.

  Connor lost track of time as he gently wrapped her hurts with sandstone healing, binding broken bones and mending torn tissue. He straightened her broken limbs and filled her with a flood of healing power. He didn't know what to do about her mind, had never tried healing a brain before. All he could do was hope that her body knew how to heal itself if he but gave it the tools to do so.

  A gentle hand shook him some time later and he blinked, becoming aware of himself for the first time in a while. He mumbled, "I'm sorry. I know I took too long, but I had to be sure."

  Jean kissed his cheek, tears in her eyes. "You've done so much, Connor. Her vitals are so much stronger, and her injuries are already healing. You're amazing."

  His mother crouched nearby, her expression tender. "We understand your concern, my boy, but some of the others are pretty badly off too, particularly a couple of those fighters Ilse brought with her."

  Connor rose, glancing one more time at Verena's unmoving form. "Jean, will you come with me? I have healing power, but you have the knowledge I don't. Together I think we can accomplish more."

  Mattias, who stood nearby, as if on guard, frowned and held up a hand. "Do you hear that?"

  Connor turned, feeling a rush of worry. He felt sure they'd destroyed all the rampagers, but was there something else Dougal had planned that they hadn't anticipated? He fumbled with the straps of his battle jacket and began securing them. His store of power stones were still attached to the waist.

  A moment later, he felt more than heard the ground beginning to shake.

  "Another tremor," his mother said with a frown.

  "It'll pass," Hendry said, limping to join her.

  It didn't.

  The shaking of the ground intensified and Connor shared a worried look with Hamish, who had approached. Already he looked much stronger.

  "Remember what Kilian said?" Hamish muttered.

  "Gregor was summoning the elfonnel," Connor said. He'd forgotten during the fight to the death with Martys and the rush to heal Verena. "We weren't there to help him. What if. . ."