Dragon Over Washington (The Third War Of The Bir Nibaru Gods) (19 page)

Ellis, standing nearby, heard a rhythmic chanting slowly mounting. The cult members walked on, chanting, Allan leading them, straight into the bikers. The blond biker raised his front wheel as he approached Allan, the whine of his bike turning into a howl, as the bike speeded up. Allan kept walking calmly, repeatedly saying something that Ellis couldn’t hear.

The biker applied his front brake at the last possible moment. He leaned to the left with his feet on the motorcycle’s pegs and swerved sideways. The biker turned his bike around and headed back to the rest of the bikers. By now there were completely surrounded by the cult members.

The bikers started circling, their movements and their steering becoming increasingly agitated, but there was no break, no outlet in the human cordon tightening around them. The blond biker with the red helmet, obviously the leader, stopped his bike. He shouted and waved his hands, gathering all the riders to either side. The bikers rolled their throttles, revving the engines and filling the air behind them with black smoke. Wheels skidded on the hot road, as the riders kept the metal beasts tightly reined. The bike belonging to the rider in the red helmet was directed straight towards Allan. The blond biker’s hand fell, and with ululating shouts, the bikers charged, their bikes wailing, heading straight towards the unarmed men and women walking towards them. The blond biker, riding a heavy Yamaha bike, rode straight at Allan.

The chant grew stronger. Ellis still couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it seemed to be one, single word, perhaps a name, repeated again and again. The bikes roared, covering the distance to the approaching cult members in seconds. Suddenly, one of the bikers lost his nerve and tried to swerve around. But he was too close to the others. Screeches filled the square as bikes skidded on their sides and bikers were thrown everywhere.

Ellis rushed forward. The cult members grabbed the struggling bikers, two or three men for every stunned biker. They pulled them roughly to their feet and dragged them towards the cult’s compound. Other workers were clearing the road, removing the bikes. A few tenderly gathered the pieces of the sign.

“What are you going to do with them?” Ellis asked Allan who was watching the people working around him.

“Ellis! Are you all right?” he turned towards her.

“Of course! What are you going to do with the bikers?” Ellis asked. Allan’s gaze went towards the cult members taking the bikers with them and then he looked around.

“Let’s move out of the street,” he said. They moved to the pavement. Traffic resumed a few moments later. Some of the drives honked in salute at the cult members, waving to them as they passed.

“We will hold a trial,” Allan finally said.

“A trial?”

“Yes, they will be judged.”

“Why not leave them to the police?” Ellis asked.

“The police? They did not commit a crime against the State of Man.”

“They hurt that man!” Ellis said. Some of the cult members were still tending the shirtless worker who had been hurt by the bikers. A woman was bandaging him, another man was checking his left leg for fractures. Most were returning the sign to its place.

“That’s nothing. But they dared raise their hands against the symbol of the Stormgod. Those who carry the Stormgod’s name on earth will judge them,” Allan said. He looked at Ellis, hesitating for a moment. Something of the ire in his eyes disappeared.

“Look, we’re not unreasonable. We don’t care that they raised their hands against us. But here they hurt something we think is very valuable. This, we cannot ignore.” Allan looked at Ellis, who looked distraught. “Do you see now? Do you see why we need the power? And these Akrabu are nothing. There are worse things coming, things that feed on humans and wear their skins.”

“Do you really believe in the Stormgod? Do you really believe he’ll protect you?” Ellis asked. Allan took Ellis’s hand and held her.

“Belief does not come into it. We do not believe. We know. We have seen.” Allan let go of Ellis’s hand and turned towards the sign of the Stormgod watching all who come to Owego over the bridge, its horns rising higher than the trees behind it.

“Why does it have to happen like this? Why must Man be Man’s worse enemy?” Allan asked the sign, receiving no answer. “We must stand together as one people against the things that are coming. Why must it be so hard? Why can’t people understand that we must stand together? Why must people prey on each other? Is the Harbinger’s pact unavoidable?”

Allan turned back to Ellis.

“Look, the trial is open for the townsfolk and anyone else who may want to come. Why don’t you come?” Allan said. Ellis looked back at him.

“Well, sure, why not.”

“It will be tonight. Susie knows the place. It’s outside of town, on a high hill. Soon the House of the Storm will be rebuilt, but we must use that hill for now,” Allan said. He looked at the place where the sign stood.

“Don’t worry. Even though they have declared themselves Akrabu, there is still hope for them. Their fate is in their own hands. They can still bow down before the Stormgod. I hope they will not have to pay the price,” Allan said. Ellis just nodded.

***

Not far away, something was hovering, wearing a body it was not fully comfortable with and lacking sufficient strength to alter it to its needs. It sensed its designated prey not far away. It was not exactly a smell, but a feeling, an internal longing, pulling it in a particular direction. It knew it was very close to its prey now.

Something was in the hunter’s way, some force blocking it. Yet it didn’t think. It had the capacity to do so, but it also had a hunger, a black, gnawing abyss in the middle of its being, a hunger that left no room for anything but craving for that which would satiate that hunger.

It circled around that barrier, a barrier that it did not dare to cross. It would never be able to satisfy the hunger within it if it was hurled back to its place of origin. So it persevered, moving round and round the barrier, suffering the torment its clumsy body inflicted upon it. Its prey was not far now. Quite the opposite. So the hunter waited, not having any other choice. In an hour, a day, or a week, its prey will leave its protection and its hunger will be satisfied.

Its prey was Ellis.

Day 13 after Earth Barrier Breach.

Village of Avebury, North Wiltshire, England. Saturday, 12:00.

The black-robed figure stepped out onto the grassy plain and the day was darker for its coming. The sun was high above, shedding bright light all over the gentle rolling hills. The figure looked around, its iron mask swiveling. Several, perfectly ordered small houses with tiled roofs nestled in a green meadow, trees all around them. Roads passed near the houses, widening here and there into wide parking lots. People congregated around large stone monoliths, obviously marveling at their structure, size and the age radiating from them in an almost palpable manner.

The witch patted its robe, feeling the iron-bound tome inside. Kennard and seven other sailors stirred in their locked cabin back aboard the Poison Dagger, warped limbs twitching, newly formed beaks raised up, eyes full of pain.

“There is always a price to be paid for dealing with demons. The trick is not to be the one paying it,” the witch hummed.

The witch looked sideways, quick as a snake. A vehicle was approaching, belching smoke and moving much faster than a carriage. The vehicle, some sort of horseless carriage, carried several passengers inside it, visible through the transparent glass windows. The vehicle pulled left into a parking lot, coming to rest near other similar vehicles, yet of different colors and slightly different builds. A family - a big man, a fat woman and two kids - left the vehicle, the kids running towards a row of vertical stones, the man shouting after them. The woman picked up various foodstuffs from the vehicle’s trunk and headed after her children. Their joyful cries created a gay, festive atmosphere.

Some tension left the black-clad figure.

“Carriages indeed, demon.” The witch walked slowly away, pulling the black silk cowl over the iron mask. The day was bright, the grass was green and the people visiting the ancient site wore colorful clothes. The witch brought a cold, dark feeling, draining some of the happiness out of the air.

The witch reached a shallow earthen bank encircling a ditch. He looked around him, descended into the ditch and placed his silk-clad hand on the ground, as if trying to sense something in the earth. He rose up a moment later and looked right and left, considering. The ditch formed a huge circle, almost a mile in diameter. The ditch had seen better days, thousands of years ago. Grass grew in the moat and trees grew near it. It had been cut in several places by roads passing into the small village, partly situated inside the circle.

The witch climbed the earthen bank and stood on it, at its southern section, looking into the great circle. The village, whose houses where all inside the circle, had the serene, relaxed appearance of a rural community whose people had achieved some prosperity and viewed life with half a smile - people of leisure. There were trees near the houses and small, green, meticulously cultivated gardens. The witch scanned the village houses disinterestedly, its invisible gaze tracking the earthen bank that had been eroded by the passing centuries that had flattened them. It had stopped serving any defensive role a long time ago. Two roads met roughly in the center of the circle, cutting into the earthen bank in two places.

The witch, standing on the earthen bank, was on the circumference of the great circle, facing inwards. He cautiously extended his black-gloved hand forward. Instantly, a wall of iridescent light sprang up, its multicolored brilliance rivaling the sun. The wall of light blocked the witch’s way, preventing him from entering the circle. The hand was pulled back immediately, and the wall of light blinked out. It would have left multicolored spots of light floating in the eyes of any observers of this phenomenon.

The iron mask bent down to observe the hand that had touched the incredibly brilliant wall of light. Faint wisps of smoke rose from the black, silk glove.

“Yet another burn mark,” the metallic voice murmured. The mask turned towards the center of the great circle, arms spread wide, fingers open. The black figure leaned forward, as if pushed by invisible forces. Its robes started to flap though the blades of grass on the earthen bank, yet the witch remained perfectly calm. The iron mask stared forward intently and then looked up, following trails in the sky only the witch could see.

“This must be the place. All those Veil Fluxes converging into a single node.” A group of children, all wearing identical black and white uniforms, ran, shouting, out of the circle. They chased each other, yelling and laughing, following one of the roads that led off from the bank. An exasperated woman ran after them, shouting to no avail. The children and the woman passed the circle’s boundary without any difficulty.

“A conjuration, indeed. Designed to keep those of magic out.” The black mask suddenly jerked, the body tensing, the black silk trembling. The witch relaxed a moment later.

“Yes, I have no doubt you can rip it open. However, the Veil Fluxes running into the conjuration can lead anywhere. I have no wish for a warning to travel the Veils, passing the news of my coming. Thankfully, we have advanced since the old days. We have tools they did not possess then.” The athame was produced and thrust forward. A sheet of incandescent light sprang into being again, a wall of blinding light barring the way of the witch. People watched the bright light display, shading their eyes with their hands. The witch’s arm began to shake and he grabbed the athame’s long handle with his other hand, the black iron penetrating the scintillating wall of bright light. The incredible illumination began to wane as some of the darkness inherent in the midnight-black blade spread. The trembling spread from the witch’s arms to his entire body, till he was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his arms, lifting the athame high. The ritual iron dagger split the wall of light, creating a rent.

When the dagger was head-high into the wall, and the split in the wall was man-sized, the witch tentatively let go of the dagger. It remained imbedded in the wall of light. The witch hesitated momentarily, and then passed through quickly, ducking low. A fold of its robe that was caught by the wall burst into flame; but the witch was through. The iron mask considered the flaming robe for an instant and then a black-gloved hand quenched the flame immediately. The dagger was retrieved and the wall of light disappeared the instant the dagger was removed from it, tiny rainbow-like sparks all that remained from the glowing screen of brilliance. The black-robed man turned to consider the inside of the circle.

“Do you see? Brute force is not always necessary,” the witch murmured smugly and walked on.

People scattered around the site, opening blinded eyes and blinking owlishly in the after-effects of the brilliant display. Some men started to gather, joining together and pointing at the black-robed figure. One of the men, wearing leather clothes and high black boots, was rubbing his shaved head uncertainly. His eyes narrowed. More people started to gather, mothers trying to comfort children who cried at the fearful sight of the black-clad figure. After a brief, but vocal, consultation, calls were made, using static-filled landline phones as all mobile phones and radios went mysteriously dead.

The black-robed man walked among the upright stones, ancient monoliths erected eons ago by unknown builders. Avebury was the sister site to Stonehenge. The creators of this site had carried enormous, heavy stones that formed three circles. One was the great circle the witch had penetrated, its circumference being the ditch and the earthen bank the witch had followed. There were one hundred huge stones in that great circle, though many had disappeared throughout the ages. Some of the huge boulders weighted more than twenty tons. There were two smaller circles inside, one to the north and the other to the south.

The witch’s iron mask faced one of the stones. He approached it and laid his gloved hand on it. He remained that way, concentrating. Loud sirens ululated in the distance and then several vehicles, their red and blue lights blinking, entered the parking lot. As soon as they entered the parking lot, the lights and sirens started dying one by one. The witch moved away, stopping before another boulder, this one overgrown with gray lichen. When the witch placed its hand on the boulder, the lichen turned brown and dry, crumbling around the hand. Men in blue uniforms stepped out of the vehicles and were joined by the men who had witnessed the witch’s appearance. After a short discussion they all headed out towards the black clad figure, uniformed men in the front, civilians in the rear, all shouting and wearing determined expressions.

The witch sighed, lowered his hand from the boulder and turned towards the small mob heading towards it. It was the first time the iron mask was directed towards humans.

“How can one be expected to concentrate with all the noise these insects make?” the metallic voice snapped. The mob was surprised, seeing the black-robed figure turn and walk right towards them. The blue-uniformed men planted themselves in the witch’s way, though it did not look like he noticed them. The witch continued onwards, hands inside his sleeves, iron mask steady. The day had become cloudy and colder, and the dark figure seemed to emanate a cold aura, chilling men’s hearts. The men, who had witnessed the brilliant wall of light appear and disappear, pulled the officers away from the witch’s path. The witch walked on, unimpeded, uninterested in the men that parted before it.

The witch reached a car, red and blue lights flashing erratically on its roof, its headlights blinking tiredly. Shouts rose from behind as the it man pulled the athame out and held it high; the red and blue lights grew dim and died, as if that sliver of darkness had drained their light into itself.

“Carriages indeed, demon.” The metallic voice was sardonic. The athame descended into the vehicle, the iron blade penetrating its thin, metal hood. Shouts of outrage rose and the uniformed men behind the witch broke into a run. The black iron blade moved within the hood of the car, the witch carefully carving three symbols into the white metal. The witch pulled the dagger away. The three alien symbols were surrounded by a large nonagon, the Name held within the summoning polygon.

“It is time to bring over one of your legion.” The athame had been raised again. The black-robed man closed his left fist, extending it towards the car.

“
Saawantaa Nqzaazaa Aynaa! Saawantaa Nqzaazaa Aynaa! Saawantaa Nqzaazaa Aynaa!
Breach the Nethergates of the Pit Lands! A mortal is offered! A service for a prize! Obey me and you will receive meat to devour!” The shout made the men behind fall silent. The black-robed man stood over the car, arms raised high. A dark green mist started to seep out of the earth, rising up around the violated car. Small tendrils of the writhed and streamed over the ground. The mist concentrated around the car, penetrating it, flowing into it through every available crack and cranny. A moment later nothing remained of the dark, green mist except a faint luminous radiance coming from the symbols carved on the hood inside the nonagon. The athame was sheathed inside the robes and the witch walked away. Any grass touched by the mist was changing, growing, its roots stabbing the plants near them, its blades strangling every insect they came in contact with. Black, haggard-looking leaves lengthened, covering the tortured land, forming a diseased blanket over the earth.

The weather was growing worse. Clouds were already filling the sky and the sun was nowhere to be seen, even though a clear day had been forecast. Now a mist started emerging out of the surrounding hills, obscuring whatever lay outside the village. A forlorn wind began moaning slowly, filling the air with chill. The few remaining visitors did not need any order from the police to leave the ancient site of Avebury. The cheerful village of Avebury was growing darker, every shadow lengthening and deepening.

The black-robed man walked calmly between the gardens and small houses. He stopped in the middle of the great circle, roughly equidistant between the northern and southern monolith circles. The iron mask looked slowly around and then the witch squatted, a black, malevolent thing folding in upon itself.

“The conjuration has been pierced. Something broke out, long ago. Or in, of course. The conjuration is enormous. It taps into Veil Fluxes running all over the sphere, as if to lead magic wielders here. This place had two circles of protection about it, and two inner circles. This is the place, without a doubt. Where is the Kernel Conjuration?” The witch rose from the small design he had drawn on the earth, showing the stone circles. He looked around, one black-gloved hand rubbing his neck beneath the iron mask.

***

“Blast! Would you look what that loony did to our car!”

“How are we going to explain this, then?”

“Look at those gashes, some of them go straight into the engine!”

“I am telling you, I’m not going to stand for this. That bloody bastard is going to pay for this!”

“Well, it sure ain’t going to come out of my paycheck!”

“You have any idea how the sergeant will react? We might as well move to bloody Scotland!”

“Hey, would you look at that? The car’s shivering!”

“Have you gone bonkers?”

“Shut up and look!” The two policemen backed away from the car. The symbols on the hood lit up with a gloomy green light. The car’s trembling intensified and metal began screaming in torment. Two dark eyes opened, glowing with a dark malevolence. The car’s frame was being bent and twisted as if being squashed by a huge, invisible fist.