Dragon Over Washington (The Third War Of The Bir Nibaru Gods) (15 page)

“I understand you came in right after the storm?” Ellis asked.

“Yes. The storm. It’s something that has been difficult for me to accept at first. But now -” Allan stopped talking.

An insistent whining noise came from behind them. They turned around. Far down the road were several specks, coming into town fast. They grew rapidly into a pack of roaring motorcycles, several riding one beside the other, blocking the road. The noise of their engines increased as they approached, the distinctive whine drowning everything else. The bikers wore leather jackets of various colors. Several headed into town while three slowed down and cruised next to Allan and Ellis. One pulled up his opaque visor.

“Hey! Pretty lady! Wanna a ride into town?” he shouted. Allan turned to him, but Ellis put a hand on his shoulder. They turned back and continued walking, the bikers cruising next to them.

“Come on, baby! Leave that dork!” the man hollered.

Allan and Ellis just walked on. The biker laughed.

“Too bad, baby! You could have been with a real man!” The biker gunned his engine, raising a cloud of exhaust smoke and raced on. His front wheel rose up and he rode that way for a time before coming down again. More riders swarmed from behind, their bikes roaring.

Allan and Ellis turned right onto Academy Street. A group of shirtless - despite the night’s chill beginning to set in - and barefoot people were lifting one of the street lamps. One was busy arranging the electrical wires while the others were lifting the huge pole up and fixing it in place. None was using tools or gloves. A man standing next to them, wearing shoes and a wool sweater, waved to Allan as they approached.

“Some of yours?” Ellis asked.

“Yeah, they are some of the people from the group. Like I said, we believe in trying to help other people. There was a lot of work to do when we arrived here. I hope we managed to help this town. Committing to something is a good thing. Trying to make the world a better place is also a good thing.” Allan glanced backward towards Route 38, along which the bikers had gone.

“Why aren’t they wearing shirts? Trying to impress people with their muscles?” Ellis looked closer. “And some of them sure have interesting tattoos,” she added.

“All manner of people follow the storm. It is said that everyone who accepts is welcome. Everyone helps out the best he can. Some have to atone for past sins. No one is beyond redemption,” Allan said heavily.

Ellis watched the men grunt as the pole was forcibly inserted into place, a lot of hands supporting it. The man who had waved to Allan directed them, and then, when they had finished, came to inspect it from close up, testing to see whether it was steady. Then they moved on to the next toppled street lamp.

Ellis didn’t comment on the one thing that all the workers had in common: an oval symbol on their chest - a bull’s head with huge curving horns. The symbol appeared, glowering and staring forward menacingly, as if it were branded on the men’s chests.

“It sure looks uncomfortable walking around barefoot,” Ellis said as they passed the group.

She noted some of the people looked at the ground as Allan passed by. A low murmuring rose after them, quieting quickly when Allan glanced back at them.

“Everyone does what he feels he needs to do. Sometimes redemption has its price,” Allan said, without looking back.

“What’s did they say? Harbinger?” Ellis asked.

“It’s nothing,” Allan said quickly.

“What’s a harbinger?”

Allan sighed. “A harbinger is one who heralds the coming of -” Allan stopped talking for a moment. “A harbinger receives power and accepts a pact, but he must pay the price and the price is high indeed.”

They walked in silence till they reached Susie’s place.

“Well, thank you very much for the tour, Allan,” Ellis said, smiling easily.

“It’s my pleasure,” Allan said. There was a moment of silence.

“Tell Susie I treated you well or I’ll never hear the end of it!” Allan said.   

“No problem, just don’t tell her I went out without a purse!” Ellis said, her grin widening. Allan smiled back.

“Well, try to come around to the diner, if you have the time,” Ellis said.

“I will, I will. Give my regards to Susie,” Allan said.

“Sure,” Ellis said. There was a pause.

“So, bye for now,” Allan said.

“Bye.”

Ellis went into the diner. Susie was busy cleaning the tables, so Ellis grabbed a rag from the counter and started cleaning a table. The big woman glanced at Ellis out of the corner of her eye for a moment, then returned to her table. There was a moment of silence, punctuated only by the squeak of rags on plastic.

“Well?” Susie finally said.

“Well, what?” Ellis asked.

“You know well enough what I mean!” Susie demanded, gruffly. Ellis laughed.

“We went around the town, Susie. It’s a very nice town. I did right coming here,” Ellis said.

“That’s all good and well, but that’s not what I asked!” Susie said.

“Yeah, okay. He seems a very nice man, Susie. I had a very nice time,” Ellis said.

Susie stopped for a moment, scrutinizing Ellis. Seeing that nothing more was forthcoming she turned to the table she was cleaning, attacking a stubborn stain.

“And yes, I’ll see him again. I did invite him to come to the diner again,” Ellis said, smiling.

“That’s a good girl,” Susie said.

Ellis looked around.

“Susie?”

“Yeah, sugar?”

“What’s this symbol?” Ellis pointed to a sign behind the counter, above the door leading to the kitchen. It was a bull’s head burnt into the wood, very similar to the symbol on the workers’ chests, its long horns touching the ceiling. Susie glanced up and then returned to her work. She dipped her rag into a glass filled with soap and water and moved on to clean another table.

“That’s something I got, just today.”

“What is it?”

“Well, I gave away some of my keepsakes, you know, things I didn’t really need anymore. I gave some money too. And I got this. A man came to draw it, with a bit of fire. Silly, I know,” Susie said.

“Yeah, but what is it?” Ellis asked.

“They said it was the sign of the Stormgod, or something like that. It means the Stormgod is looking out for me. And the diner,” Susie said.

The big woman looked a little sheepish.

“What do you need it for?” Ellis asked.

“Well, sugar. I figured anyone could use a friend high up, if you know what I mean. If another storm or something comes, it can’t hurt, that’s all I’m saying,” Susie said. Ellis glanced at the symbol again. The bull’s head somehow seemed robust, fat and healthy.

Working together, they finished tidying up the place in fifteen minutes and Ellis went up to the room she rented. She didn’t ask any more questions about that symbol.

“Hey, honey, how are you?”

“I’m fine, just fine, sweetie. I’m in a great place, clean sheets, great landlord, everything is great.”

“Wait. Wait, wait.” An electronic ear-piercing shriek sounded, forcing Ellis to hurriedly push away the handset.

“Okay, everything is clear. No taps. You sure took your time before calling, Alpha!”

“Guardian, I’ve been busy. I sure hate that tap-detection thing.”

“We need to ensure that you’re not being tapped. Alpha, your situation.”

“The cover holds. I’ve been through town. Guardian, we sure have a cult here. It’s strong, too. The cult members walk through town as if they own the place. Even my landlord put their sign in her diner. Our suspicion that the police is compromised may be valid.”

“Are you in any danger, Alpha?”

“Negative, Guardian. My cover holds perfectly. I’ve even been on a date with a cult member - seems to be a high ranking one.”

“Date, Alpha? We sit cooped up, ready to come to extract you, and you go out on dates?”

“That’s life, Guardian. Some people are born to sit in vans while others experience life.”

“What’s the tactical situation, Alpha?”

“Guardian, I am one hundred yards from Route 38. In case of extraction, have one van come from Endicott, from the south, and the other from the north. I don’t see any danger for now.”

“That can change really fast with a cult, Alpha.”

“Yeah. Guardian, the cult came here after the storm. From New York. Check any intel on strange gatherings in New York not long ago. I’ve seen some of the cult members. They look tough, like ex-convicts. In addition, they use a horned bull’s head sign. They also mentioned something called a Stormgod. I was told they have a compound near the west end of town. I’ll try contacting the local police tomorrow. I haven’t seen any sign that they work with the cult, yet.”

“Roger, Alpha. I’ll have it—”

“Wait one,” Ellis said. There was a single knock on the door and Susie barged walked right in.

“Oh, sorry, sugar! Thought you were in the shower! Brought some sheets!” Susie started spreading them on the bed.

“Thanks, Susie. I was just talking with my brother, Bart. He’d love to talk to you!” Ellis said. She offered Susie the phone. “Just talk slowly. He’s a little dense,” Ellis said, loudly, as she handed Susie the phone’s handset.

Day 11 after Earth Barrier Breach.

The fast brigantine “Poison Dagger” on approach to Earth. Thursday, 23:00.

“Captain, two more sailors have come down with illness. I’ve put them with Kennard,” the first mate said, apologetically.

The captain said nothing.

“I thought I put Kennard in the cabin before his illness could spread, but it was too quick.”

But the first mate did not say what was foremost on his mind: Kennard had become ill only after the summoning.

“Man the ship! All watches on deck!” The captain suddenly barked.

“Captain?”

“Do as I say!”

“Aye, sir.”

The first mate of the Poison Dagger yelled his captain’s commands and sailors started to run. The captain watched the ship and the Skyriver lane. The ship remained on the twilight lane, partly hidden in the shadowy darkness of the lane, hiding from its target, the Luguvalium frigate, which was still circling the sphere within the maelstrom.

The captain’s face was white. The sky was darkening around his ship and the huge stars, immense balls of light, were twinkling, fading, and disappearing. The captain glanced around him, but the ship was not slipping into the nightside lane.

“Put the ship at battle quarters. Eyes in the ship!” the captain snapped.

“Aye, captain.”

“Furl sails, make the lines. Secure the bolt throwers. Smartly!”

“Aye, sir!”

The captain watched as a storm of activity engulfed his small brigantine, sailors running about and lines groaning as they were secured to their belaying pins. A small island of calm remained around the captain.

“Captain, the ship is ready!” the first mate reported.

The captain grunted. His eyes were focused outward, on the luminous waters of the Skyriver lane. The light was being sucked from them, the colorful flashes of light in the waters disappearing. So the captain was not surprised when his ship suddenly went deathly silent as the witch came on deck for the third time since the journey began.

The black-robed figure walked straight towards the mark it had carved on the wooden deck. It took out a small pouch from within its robes and tipped it carefully over the nonagon’s boundary. A fine black powder flowed out, filling the deep indentations of the symbol on the deck, and then spilling over the entire nonagon.

The witch bent down over the deck, a strange bowed black thing crouching down in the unnatural darkness that filled the ship. It checked the nonagon carefully, making sure that the powder was distributed correctly. Finally, satisfied, the witch stood up.

“Bring the sailor. Make sure he brings the iron plaque I gave him. His life depends on it,” the witch said without looking back.

The captain didn’t even try to protest. Two sailors dragged with them an almost comatose Kennard with them, clutching the iron plaque with a death grip.

“Put him inside without disturbing anything,” the witch whispered. The sailors put Kennard on the scorched and blackened logs, without disturbing the black powder symbol. Then they hurried away, almost running, casting frequent glances at the black-clad witch. They resumed breathing only when they saw that the iron mask ignored them completely.

The black athame was brandished and held high, clearly visible even in the darkness as if its iron blade was somehow luminous. The black-robed witch raised his hands. The captain, standing on the aft castle, closed his eyes.

“
Sin-Shar-Ishkun Adar Hejaat
!” The shout exploded, echoing out over the sea longer than it should have.

Out of the sky came a thin brimstone cloud, drifting out of the endless expanse of the Skyriver. The sense of an enormous presence concentrated itself into a small cloud of fuming brimstone, round black eyes staring at the black mask, a nebulous entity contained within the iron-powder-filled nonagon. The sailors moved sluggishly, a great weight pulling them down. Even down in the bowels of the ship, men crouched, feeling their limbs powerless and heavy.

“Master!” The inhuman voice hurt the ears, the smoldering notes hurled at the black-robed witch.

“What of your task, demon?”

“Master! It takes time! The mortals of the realm, too, are searching for the mortal I am to hunt!”

“Time, demon?”

“Master! A few more days!”

“Then he has not been dealt with?”

“Master! His wards protect him! I cannot attack the mortal directly! I lack strength and sustenance. I need meat to gain and retain strength. Give me the meat and your enemy’s skin will fly in the wind like an empty flag.” The scalding words grew weaker. Small tendrils of yellow fog crept towards the nonagon and faded before they could cross its perimeter.

The witch watched the brimstone cloud grow transparent, losing some of its cohesion and becoming smaller. He shook his head once.

“You disappoint me, demon. I thought you were stronger. Three times you have been summoned. There will be no fourth,” the black-robed man said calmly.

As the witch raised the athame and drew it back, a yellow explosion suddenly blossomed all around him. A sulfur cloud, larger than the ship and rising higher than its mast, encompassed the entire deck from bow to stern. The demon shrieked, rendering men deaf and snapping ropes in two. However, try as it might, the demon’s sharp appendages could not penetrate the nonagon carved into the ship’s deck.

“Give me that!” The witch snatched the iron plaque from Kennard’s hands and then the black blade flashed forward, faster than a striking serpent. The iron plaque was cleaved in two, and the engraved name started to fade off the thin iron surface. The round eyes floating inside the cloud widened in surprise. Then the brimstone cloud reddened and started to spin; an extension of the cloud moved towards the black-robed witch, clinging to the deck, making it smolder.

“
Sin-Shar-Ishkun Adar Hejaat
! I revoke my conjuration! I revoke your claim to the meat!”

The yellow fuming tendrils could not touch the witch as if what he yelled now protected him. The yellow cloud began to evaporate, losing coherency. The eyes filled with yellow light, then red, burning with intensity, darting every which way to find a way to escape.

Gradually, the toxic yellow fumes flowed away, billowing out into the Skyriver, the cloud dispersing. The red eyes finally focused on the witch, even as they lost their substance, becoming ethereal.

Screams were felt rather than heard as the sentient fumes coming from within the demon disappeared. Remnants of the cloud clung to the deck, raining boiling corrosive brimstone down on the stout logs of the deck, trying to burn their way through. But it was too late.

With a final shriek, the last tendrils of the yellow fumes evaporated, forcing the red eyes to wink out, their last gaze directed at the black-robed witch. Several small fires burned inside the nonagon, the demon having succeeded in burning through the thick deck logs in many places.

The witch looked at the carved nonagon carefully, then raised a hand. A finger gestured for the captain to approach. The captain, his wide face white with fury, walked stiffly towards the witch. The wide, stocky man stood next to the black-robed figure, taking care not to enter the smoking symbol on the deck. The captain’s breath was rapid and shallow. He looked at Kennard, huddling inside the smoking nonagon, barely breathing.

“You told Kennard - if he let go of the plaque -”

“The plaque held the demon’s name. He had to hold it to prevent the demon’s summoning ending.”

“You told him he would die! He held that plaque in his hands for five days and nights!”

“I would have killed him if he ended my summoning.”

The captain stared at Kennard.

“Captain, have one of your men erase the mark. Use a metal tool to erase it completely. Do not merely polish it over,” the witch said, looking at the nonagon.

He turned to go without even looking at the captain.

“You would have me damage my own deck?” The captain asked. The witch stopped.

“Choose, captain. The demon’s name was inside the circle. Demons are tricky entities. It might try to find its way back from the Pit Lands. It might succeed,” the witch leered.

The captain watched it go, his fists clenched, trembling with fury.

“First mate!”

“Aye, sir!”

“Have the carpenter cut that section of the deck! Throw it overboard!”

The captain stormed off, climbing towards his place on the aft castle. He could barely recognize his own ship. The few lamps he allowed the sailors to light were dimmed, casting almost no light around them. There were deep impenetrable pools of darkness everywhere.

The stocky captain folded his arms across his chest. The witch had gone below deck, but the ship was still dark and cold. The few sailors that dared to venture out were walking slowly and carefully. The captain had trouble recognizing these men as the tough fighters that had fought alongside with him in numerous naval engagements.

The witch entered its small cabin, locked the door and sat down at the wooden desk, opening the iron-bound tome. He studied the ancient parchment yet again, reading the old text.

“‘
Scorning the efforts and achievements of man, the Bir Nibaru Gods descended, scattering those who were blinded by noble causes. Beset by forces they could not yet overcome, the wizards of old hid their secrets, their Kernel Conjurations, waiting for the time of their return. Way stones were placed, pointing the way, the Veil Fluxes leading towards the places of power
.”

“‘
The Gods unleashed their anger, raining down fire and raising the sea against those that dared to fight against them. Eretz was severed, man cast down, all hope squashed for millennia. Thus, the second Bir Nibaru god war continued, the gods wrestling for supremacy, without knowing that their own weapons were about to turn against their creators.
”’”

The mask was directed at the parchment. Even though its iron features were fixed, it seemed the sardonic smile on the mask grew a little wider.

“Is it possible? Could the simpleton Azure Empire noble have stumbled on the sphere where legendary Hamazu lies? Did he discover lost Eretz? Did the gods’ barriers fall? How fitting for a representative of an empire sworn to erase everything magical to find the sphere where the greatest work of the ancient wizards are said to be.”

The black-gloved hand closed the tome, and replaced it on the desk. The witch rose, and walked to the door of his cabin, then turned and walked back.

“It is highly unlikely, though. Searches for the Kernel Conjurations have found nothing for three thousand years. There is no chance this is the sphere. I refuse to believe it! Guided to it by a foolish duke from the Empire!”

The witch continued to pace, the long black robe swirling about as it moved faster.

“Ha!” it chuckled metallically. “Can I ignore it? If it is the sphere that has been sought after for millennia, can I allow the wizards to regain their power of old? Challenge the witches in their power?”

The witch continued to pace. Finally, it stopped near the desk, the mask directed toward the iron-bound book.

“I have seen the Veil Fluxes flow into the sphere. A huge amount of power flows into it. It is hard to imagine the sphere as the place where mighty conjurations await discovery. Yet, there are pyramids here. Someone tried to harness a great deal of power, or emulated others. It is curious.”

The black glove traced a small drawing on the bottom of the parchment. Even though the parchment was ancient, the colors almost faded and the leather brittle, the drawing was still clear: a small blue-green gem, a world mostly covered with water and surrounded by white clouds.

Up on deck, the captain watched his ship with a wary eye. It was still engulfed in a darkness that hung over the ship like a cold mantle. He watched with wary eyes as the impenetrable pools of darkness lurking on deck and in recesses started to move, flowing around as if made of liquid.

There was a spreading feeling of alarm on the ship and the captain turned, looking towards the stairs. He did not have long to wait. The witch was coming on deck again. The captain’s hand was on his short sword’s pommel, grasping it as if it could give him some reassurance.

Fear entered the captain’s eyes. The black-robed witch walked straight towards the forecastle, reached the forecastle stairs and started to climb them. A sailor was trapped on the forecastle as the black-robed figure approached it. The sailor whimpered, realizing he had no way of fleeing. The captain could see the sailor’s deathly white features as the dark witch passed him and went to stand near the bowsprit, the black iron mask directed forward.

The captain climbed to the forecastle, passing the seemingly frozen sailor. He touched him lightly and the sailor slumped down. The captain ordered the sailor to leave the forecastle and turned towards the witch. The captain swallowed. The witch’s arms were spread wide, hands opened, the mask moving from side to side, slowly.

“How very interesting. There are Veil Nodes, pulsing with power, visible on the sphere even from here. Yet power flows only into the sphere, not out. I do not understand it, but I think a little visit might be in order, ere the noble is sent to meet his forefathers.” The soft voice coming out of the iron mask sounded hollow and metallic, but also amused.