Dragon Over Washington (The Third War Of The Bir Nibaru Gods) (7 page)

A frigate much different from the ships the demon had previously passed circled the maelstrom. It was not designed for stealth or skulking, but announced its presence proudly, presenting its colors boldly. Its sails were bright red and its flag flew fearlessly high. The coat of arms on the flag exhibited a hugely fanged, black war hound rampaging across a red background; a small, blue fort on the top of the heraldic device showed it to be the symbol of the first heir of an important dignitary; and the mantling for the coat of arms consisted of a simple, two-handed sword brandished by two armored gauntlets.

The demon passed the large ship, barely glancing at it. Even so, the demon’s gaze lingered on a row of large, square portholes along the ship’s hull, noting that this ship was heavily armed with war engines. The demon also noticed the screen of blue light surrounding the ship. Though barely visible, the power of the faintly glowing barrier was sufficient to repulse the entity, causing it to swerve in its flight.

The demon surged on, borne on great wings of molten sulfur. It continued its flight towards the blue and green gem, plunging straight towards the sphere. The gem grew and expanded in size rapidly as the demon approached it, fluffy white clouds covering it in several places. By the time the demon reached the gem, it had expanded from a mere gem into a full-sized world. The demon watched carefully as it was drawn forward into the green blue vastness. A huge expanse of ocean appeared before him and an inverted triangle-shaped continent appeared. The demon closed its wings and plunged into the maelstrom, engulfed by the green and blue world.

The Sand Sea of Calanascio is an expanse of sun-bleached sand dunes stretching for hundreds of miles on Libya’s border with Egypt. Little has disturbed the ancient desert for thousands of years.

Al Jaghbub is a dusty, Libyan town of medium size, one of the last human settlements of the Tubruq municipality before the desert. One enters the desert south of the town at one’s own peril. There is one major road through the desert, reaching the oasis of Gialo. The road was built during the fifties and its black asphalt is now cracked, the white road marks almost totally erased. There is little in the desert beyond that road. It is a place of sun, sand and the occasional barren rock.

This night something changed. Sand swirled. A faint rainbow of colored light appeared, glowing, its radiance flickering. A small, localized storm grew out of nowhere, covering the star-lit sky with thick rainbow-colored clouds. Lightning bolts flashed with mounting urgency and peals of thunder shook the desert, rolling across the softly undulating sand dunes.

As if a giant curtain had rolled aside, the Veils opened. The huge twinkling stars of the Skyriver, moving along their intricate, mysterious paths, became visible. The maelstrom on the Skyriver lane twisted and turned, right on the edge of the desert.

Something flashed, flying down from the alien vista in the desert skies. A yellow star passed into the world, expanding and becoming a brimstone cloud. Another peal of thunder rolled across the sands as the curtain in the skies closed, concealing the Skyriver and the gigantic stars above it. The rainbow-colored clouds began to disperse, quickly disappearing.

The demon drifted soared, scanning the land it had reached. There was not much to see. Mainly sand dunes, a few hardy desert plants and, rarely rock jutting out of the sand. The enormous demonic wings spread wide open and the demon shot across the black night sky, plowing through the air. It flew up, reveling in its freedom, its power. It closed its wings, plummeting downwards, spinning round and round faster than the eye could follow.

The demon’s huge, round eyes closed while it deeply inhaled the clean, sharp air. It spread its wings scant moments before it reached the desert sand. It surged across the desert, its sharp wing tips leaving long, flaming furrows in the dark, grainy sand of the desert.

All life in the desert recoiled from the presence of the demon. Two sidewinder snakes buried themselves under the sands as the sulfurous being flew by, its long wings beating. A badger, caught right in the path of the demon, screeched and dashed madly away, its short, stubby feet carrying it up a sand dune, trying frantically to move out of the shadow of the demon.

The demon soared up powerfully, rising into the sky. Its laughter echoed around for miles. It had been too long since it had flown in a sphere’s open skies!

Suddenly the demon’s eyes narrowed as a sound buzzed across the desert. It was a mechanical, man-made sound. The half-transparent entity headed northward, attracted to the old road leading towards Al Jaghbub. The demon’s insubstantial form gathered around it, its great sulfurous wings half-closed as it swooped down. The buzzing vibration surrounding the demon grew stronger, almost as if its own heart was beating faster.

A single headlight was cutting through the darkness of the road. The headlight belonged to a car: an old, seventies-model, black-and-white Citroen 2CV taxi. Only its right headlight worked. The taxi swerved from side to side, the driver caring little if he crossed into the opposite lane. The car’s windows were wide open.

The driver leaned his left elbow on the windowsill, trying to light a cigarette. He lit a match, but by the time it got near his mouth the wind had blown it out. The driver tried cupping another match with his hand and carefully brought it up to his cigarette. The car swerved wildly from side to side and the fire died down again. The driver threw the match out, followed by a long stream of curses.

He lit another match but this time protected it with both hands, letting the wheel go free. The car swerved wildly again, but the cigarette was finally lit. He protected it with both hands and drew in deeply, making sure it was properly blazing. Only then did the driver place his hand back on the wheel and threw the match out.

The match flew back and entered the yellow cloud following the car. It flared once and was consumed in a brief flash of fire, instantly turned to ashes. The driver never noticed. He whistled tunelessly: he had turned off the radio because there was nothing but static tonight. He leaned back, passing his fingers through his thick, well-groomed mustache. He took more care of the mustache than his hair, maybe because there wasn’t much hair left.

Half an hour later, the driver entered Al Jaghbub, driving across its main street, Shari Al Fatih, and continuing to his home. He never saw the yellow cloud following him out of the desert into the town, spreading its wings wide and soaring up into sky. The eyes of the demon tracked people as they were walking around, driving, talking. A black, triple-tipped forked tongue emerged and tasted the air.

The yellow cloud was gradually drawn to the city’s north, to the richer neighborhoods. The demon moved on as if following an invisible scent. It finally came to hover over a large mansion, located on Al Sour Road. The demon’s eyes narrowed as it took in the lavish, alabaster, domed building, the horseshoe-shaped swimming pool and the rich gardens, surrounded by high fences, surveillance cameras and armed guards. The black tongue snaked out again to feel the scent the demon followed, the scent of power and luxury surrounded by fear and the overwhelming need for security. The demon’s maw gaped open with hunger.

The only things that noticed the sky that day were the city’s cats. They stopped whatever they were doing and stared up, cringing, their eyes glowing pinpoints of yellow light. By morning, not a single cat remained in the city. Every last one had fled into the desert.

Day 6 after Earth Barrier Breach.

Brooklyn, New York City, New York, United States. Saturday, 13:48.

He stood in front of a raging fire, the conflagration throwing flames high above him. The fire flickered and spat glowing sparks everywhere. The man standing in front of the fire was tall, but his posture was stooped as if heavy burdens lay upon him. His eyes were shadowed, though the fire was reflected in their depths. He was unshaven and unkempt, wearing an expensive black shirt and navy blue Armani pants that sported quite a few smudges. He clearly didn't change his clothes for quite some time. Now, he held his ground defiantly.

Something stood beyond the fire, hidden by the flames. Though its features remained hidden, it was clearly big. The man tried his best not to look at it, keeping his gaze on the floor. It seemed as if a large number of people had moved through the bare apartment not long ago. A radio played nearby, a loud and furious tune penetrating the apartment’s thin walls with ease. The huge bonfire rose up from the middle of the empty living room, black smoke pouring out the open window.

The man finally hardened his resolve and looked up. The huge figure beyond the fire remained mostly obscured. Dull flashes shone from time to time as flames were occasionally reflected on gray metal. The man sighed and lowered his weary eyes to the floor again. He clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and raised his eyes one more time.

“Please. Hear my words. There must be another way. Those who carry your sign multiply, yearning to earn your favor. The numbers of those who accept you as their patron rise daily. Even the unruly have been bound to your service. It is -” the man stopped talking. His voice was loud yet timid. He sighed again and looked down, opening and closing his mouth. He paused, considering his words.

“Please. The way can be found - must be found - to spread your domain peacefully, without bloodshed. The strength of Man must be preserved until it is needed. Bloodshed and war will only -” the man said. He closed his eyes and a sigh escaped him. “Man resists. He ridicules that which he does not understand. Man must come to understand where his salvation lies. There is only one path for us if we are to survive. I have seen this. In time, Man will come to see this as well,” the man said. He looked back into the fire again and his voice rose in volume.

“Man can come to see the truth. He can be led gently. He can come from love. Man will learn to bear your sign in pride!” the man said. For a moment the fire in his eyes almost rivaled in intensity the conflagration in front. He gazed through the flames, staring right at the large figure, his eyes trying to penetrate the fire, to see beyond it. The figure beyond the blazing bonfire appeared to grow even larger, indistinct limbs stretching all over, touching the walls and the ceiling. The man lowered his eyes. The volume of his voice decreased, becoming a whisper. The radio from the apartment next door almost drowned out his words.

“I implore you. What good will spilling the blood of Man bring before the true fight begins? The might of the Sign Bearers must be harbored against the need for it in the future.” The man raised his fist against the mute fire, but he let it fall a moment later, his strength drained.

“By moving gently, by explaining, by showing your merits, Man will come to accept. No one who feels your touch will refuse to bear The Name. We can guide. It is the way of Man to reject that which he does not know, and use force to -” The man fell silent. His eyes were downcast. “In less than seven days many have flocked to your Name. There will be no end to the number of those who serve you if we are given time. We will be ready for The War. We will have gained the strength that is needed. We will not -” the man’s whispered words were barely audible. Sparks rose up from the fire, spiraling in the air and illuminating the half-obscured figure’s large, metallic horns.

The radio next door stuttered, static gradually drowning the music. A gruff voice cursed vehemently. A metallic, whistling sound rose up as the radio’s dial was turned every which way, but there was only static to be found. The cursing intensified.

The fire in front of the man began to shrink; black smoke filled the apartment. The man didn’t move or raise his eyes from the floor, even as the metallic idol beyond the fire became visible. A thunderclap rocked the apartment, shaking the man, and then a flash of white light momentarily blinded him.

When he opened his tear-filled eyes a moment later he saw a tiny, white spark dancing on the floor, born of the bonfire. The spark grew larger, accompanied by a loud buzzing noise. Soon, a white electrical flame rose, quivering angrily. Jagged tongues of electricity rose up, touching the walls and scorching them. The brilliance of the continuous electric discharge increased. It was a lightning bolt, rooted to the floor and dancing upwards, its tip burning black marks on the ceiling. The hum of electricity was deafening, shaking the apartment. The man could hardly stand the brilliance or the assault on his ears. As the tip of the gyrating electric flame touched it, a long, neon light on the ceiling exploded, filling the room with falling pieces of glass.  

“HARBINGER!” The voice of thunder spoke, driving the man to his knees.

“SEVEN DAYS HAVE PASSED SINCE MY POWER RETURNED TO THIS SPHERE. THE THIRD WAR OF THE GODS IS NIGH UPON YOU. AS IT WAS WRITTEN DOWN FIVE MILLENNIA AGO, SO IT SHALL BE. THE THIRD WAR IS APPROACHING AS THE BIR NIBARU GODS HAVE DECREED. THE WINGED HUNGER HAS ENTERED THE SPHERE. ITS ARMIES OF THE PIT WILL ENGULF THE SOUTH WITH YELLOW FLAMES. WARE THE AKRABU THAT WALK AMONG YOU. THE STING OF THESE MORTAL TRAITORS STRIKES DEEPER THAN THE PREDATORS’ TALONS.”

The man struggled to rise up. He tried to look into the incredible blue-white brightness in front of him, but he couldn’t. He closed his eyes, the afterimage of the writhing lightning bolt burnt into his corneas.

“LIFE IS BROUGHT BY THE STORM. THE PACT HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO LIFE AGAIN UPON THE LAND. FOLLOW THE STORM! HEED THE SUMMONS! GATHER THE GODFIRE SO THAT IT SHALL BE A WEAPON IN YOUR HANDS. PUT THE SIGN OF THE STORM ON THAT HIGH PLACE WHERE THE GODFIRE CAME TO BE AND THAT HIGH PLACE SHALL BE MINE. IN THAT PLACE YOU WILL BUILD THE HOUSE OF STORM. IN THE HOUSE OF STORM THE PACT BETWEEN THE STORMGOD AND HIS FOLLOWERS WILL BE MADE ANEW. MY HAND SHALL TOUCH THE EARTH AND SET YOU FREE. MY IMAGE SHALL LEAD YOU IN BATTLE AND THE NORTHERN MOUNT SHALL COME UPON THY SPHERE.”

The man stayed on his knees, his hands covering his ears, his eyes closed. He felt electric discharges moving all around him and his hair stood on end.

“DEATH IS WROUGHT BY THE STORM. BEAR THE GODFIRE IN YOUR HANDS, WEAR THE SIGN OF THE STORMGOD ON YOUR BREAST AND UTTER THE STORM’S NAME, THAT THEY MAY BE YOUR SWORD, YOUR ARMOR AND YOUR SHIELD. THE ENEMY SHALL LIFT HIS HEAD IN SEVEN TIMES SEVEN DAYS AND WILL BEGET THE THIRD WAR. HE WHO DOES NOT BEAR THE SIGN IS AKRABU. HE WHO DOES NOT BOW BEFORE THE NAME IS AKRABU. STRIKE DOWN THE AKRABU AND DEFEAT THEM BEFORE ME!”

Sinking under the constant barrage, the man was curling up on the floor. There was a moment’s pause in the thundering cascade of words, but the man did not stir.

“HARBINGER!” The word shook the apartment, causing a few of the old tiles on the floor to crack.

“THE WINGED HUNGER’S NAME HAS BEEN UTTERED. IT HUNTS THE SPHERE. A MORTAL AKRABU SHALL CALL IT AND THE PIT GATES WILL OPEN. THE WEAPONS OF THE GODS WERE NOT MEANT FOR MORTALS. THE TOOL SHALL MASTER ITS WIELDERS. BEWARE OF HE WHO HAS TAKEN THE PACT. BEWARE THE BETRAYER. BEWARE THE AKRABU.”

The man glanced up. There was a deep vehemence in the ringing words.

“THE PACT BETWEEN STORMGOD AND HARBINGER AWAITS THEE, TO HOLD THE POWER OF THE STORM, TO SUMMON THE FURY OF THE SKIES. LEAD THEM TO BATTLE, THE SEVEN WINDS AND THE PEOPLE. SALVATION MUST COME THROUGH IRON, FIRE AND BLOOD. THESE ARE THE WORDS OF BAAL ADAR.”

The man, pushed backwards by the force of the words, lay with his back pressed against the wall, his head turned sideways. Cracks snaked up the cheap plaster walls and small, white flakes rained down. The man’s fists were clenched tightly. He rose up slowly, fighting for balance. He took one step towards the electric inferno in front of him, and then he took another one. Sparks danced all around him, toying with his clothes and his hair. He ignored everything, staring at the obscured figure beyond the fire.

“I will not be the Harbinger,” the man snarled. He stepped into the fire again, forcing it to part before him. “I will not wage war on my fellow men. I will not accept the Harbinger’s pact. I do not want the power. I do not want to lead. I had all I wanted in the past and I gave it all up. All I want is to save the people from that which is coming. I will not pay the price that these powers demand! I will not kneel down to be the Harbinger! The cost makes us no better than the demons,” he finished with a whisper.

Slowly, the vibrant humming started to subside. The dazzling electric fire died down and the flickering, white and blue brilliance disappeared. The idol’s eyes flashed for an instant, momentarily retaining some of the electrical energy that ran rampant in the apartment, and then darkness swallowed the idol, covering it with an opaque shroud, reaching all the way to the ceiling where the idol’s horns grazed the white plaster.

The man staggered. He leaned against the wall, surveying the apartment. A melted depression on the floor was all that remained after the fires died. The sacrifice was gone. Jagged burn marks were scorched into all the walls. The idol was now dark, inscrutable. The man moved his fingers through his hair slowly. He was barely over thirty, but his hair had turned almost completely white during the last few days.

Shouting could be heard from the apartment below, accompanied by hammering on the apartment’s front door. The man slowly crossed the room to the window. The static noise from the radio in the apartment next door was clearing.

“Hey, asshole! Quiet in there. Don’t make me break down your door!” came an angry roar from outside the apartment. The man looked out the window. Above and beyond the roofs of Brooklyn, he could see a black, circular cloud, rising slowly and moving majestically westwards. He looked down, watching the busy street below him. The dark shadow of the writhing cloud was drifting away, letting the sun shed its warmth on the people scurrying on their way. The sun’s morning light slowly flooded the city, filling it with the bright rays of a sparkling, false hope. The human stream flowed on, a veritable river of people moving as fast as they could, as if they knew their time was almost up.

The man stiffened his back, some of the resolve returning to his eyes. Then he looked at his soft, white hands, tightly gripping the windowsill.

“Am I strong enough? Will I be able to do what is necessary?” The man’s shoulders slumped.

                                                                        ***

“Sheriff! Hey, sheriff!” a young, eager voice called out.

“What?” a gruff, world-weary voice answered.

“It’s the Mayor.”

A growl. “Tell him I’m busy.”

“That’s what I told him the last two times he called!”

Owego’s Sheriff Hardy watched the young deputy scuttling backwards as fast as he could. The sheriff turned towards the window again. He was standing in Owego’s only police station, looking out on Main Street as evening approached. Owego was a small town nestled between forested hills and the Susquehanna River. Its apartment houses were relatively low, not more than four stories high, even on Main Street. They were colorful houses, jolly and well tended. There were trees everywhere, creating a breathtaking view in autumn when the trees’ orange foliage merged with the town’s red-and-white brick houses.

Sheriff Hardy was almost sixty years old, yet his back was still straight and his limbs spry. He smoked his pipe and watched the traffic on Main Street through the station’s window, oblivious to the foul smoke his pipe created. The sheriff was never without his pipe, pointedly ignoring the ‘No Smoking’ signs the civic-minded town council posted inside every building, including his station. His wrinkled, weather-beaten features contorted into a scowl.

“Tom!” The sheriff barked. The young deputy approached again, coughing and holding a hand to his mouth, trying to breathe through the pipe’s foul smoke. It was getting dark outside, even though it was supposed to be a clear, sunny day. Apparently the clouds gathering above the town since noon hadn’t heard the forecast. Soon, the dark clouds had blotted out every last stretch of clear, blue sky. Hardy narrowed his eyes while he scanned the skies. He had never seen such a heavy, black mass of clouds. Far away, he saw some movement as more clouds amassed. A huge storm was gathering strength right above them; the town was being swallowed by a dark shadow.

“Tom!” Hardy barked again.

“Yes,” Tom choked, coughing some more. He hated being too close to Hardy. It was fiendishly difficult to get the tobacco stench off his beige police uniform.

“Did you talk with the meteorological service again?”

“Yes, sir. They say it’s a heavy supercell. They say it’s not rotating yet, but it’s large enough to cause a level-three or -four tornado,” Tom exclaimed. He looked outside with a wide smile. “How about that, sir? A twister, right here in Owego!” Tom’s eyes were bright and eager.

“There’s never been one in Owego and there won’t be one today,” Hardy growled.

“But, maybe we should raise the tornado alarm“?”

“We don’t have one.”