Gates of Rapture (The Guardians of Ascension) (38 page)

After that, Grace took to the air and worked with Marguerite and Fiona doing the same thing all over again, but bringing their obsidian power online while in flight, then folding more Militia Warriors also while in flight.

The success of the venture was mind boggling.

With the most critical issues settled, the final trial run had been set up. The entire obsidian flame triad, including their
brehs,
was now in flight, and Grace would perform her final feat before tackling the spectacle review at eight.

It was now three o’clock in the afternoon, and Grace flew beside Marguerite and Fiona. Leto, Jean-Pierre, and Thorne flew behind each of them, for protection and for support. Thorne was taking no chances with this part of the practice.

Grace felt very connected to her obsidian sisters.

Leto’s voice penetrated her mind.
You can’t believe what your combined wings look like. The flames of all three are exquisite. The colors are bold. You’ll get to see when we land because there’s a video-bot flying above us.

For herself, Grace had forgotten the joys of flight. She didn’t fly often enough. It was important to mount the wings at least once every two weeks to keep them fit and healthy. Ten days was even better. But flying was a different experience altogether, one of the real benefits of ascended life. She could see the various regiments below her, some receiving instruction over loudspeakers, some practicing marching. All wore flight battle gear, which gave a formidable unified appearance—and of course the black leather kilts were a great look.

She flapped her wings steadily, moving forward in an easterly direction along the parade route. Endelle’s beautiful graded administrative building, with terraces of hanging plants, was off to the south, Camelback Mountain to the north. A thousand tanks anchored the route, and stands were lined up in set intervals. The spectators, however, had been strictly limited to Militia Warriors in casual dress, no civilians allowed.

All along the route, the video cameras were in place, with their operators, everyone testing and retesting their equipment. She was amazed at all that Marcus, Havily, and their teams had created within a brief twenty-four hours. Large stands of stadium lights were already part of what was a traditional parade grounds.

Landing platforms had been set up at both the east and west ends of the route. It was strange to watch hundreds of warriors arrive then literally run off the platforms so that the next squadrons could fold in right behind them.

Leto,
she sent telepathically, avoiding the com.

I’m here.

The organization is phenomenal. Have the hidden colonies sent their regiments
?

No, they’ve remained within the colonies to protect the citizens. We’re still acting as if Greaves intends to attack at any given moment.

Thorne’s voice came over the com. “Grace, do you see the warriors at attention?”

Grace glanced down and to her left. There they were, in massive blocks of five hundred each, ten blocks total. “I see them.”

“That’s your mass-fold target. We’ve gathered ten thousand for practice.”

“Copy.” It was so strange to use such formal com-speak.

Marguerite’s voice broke over the com. “Banking left.”

Grace could feel the other two women turn just as she turned, their movements functioning as a solid group. They were a triad now. Maybe there were a lot of bumps yet to overcome, but for now they were obsidian flame.

Traveling up Scottsdale Boulevard Two, Marguerite happened to pull forward from her center position. Right afterward, Thorne recommended they keep the stronger, arrow-like formation because it would allow for greater visibility from the wing position.

He was right. Grace could see Fiona straight across from her now and could even catch her eye. Fiona nodded and smiled. The woman looked euphoric, but then she had only been flying for a few months. Nothing was more exhilarating. She flew like a pro, using her arms constantly to help make slight wing adjustments with every current of air that whipped over her or hit her broadside.

Two more miles and Marguerite spoke into the com, “Bank right. Folding endpoint site in one mile.”

Now heading east, Grace saw the massive area cordoned off with more rows of tanks. The tanks were Thorne’s idea to help substantiate the rumors Marcus had sent around on the web that Endelle had a bigger army than anyone knew about.

Grace’s heart began to hammer in her ears. Thorne came on the com. “Is ‘the flame’ ready?”

“Ready,” Grace responded.
The flame
was Thorne’s idea for abbreviated radio-speak.

Both Marguerite and Fiona called out, “Ready.”

“Execute at will,” Thorne ordered.

Still in flight, Grace didn’t hesitate. She took possession of Fiona, and as the shared obsidian flame power vibrated heavily through her, she focused on the mass of troops back at the parade grounds.

Grace pictured the formation square containing ten thousand warriors, and she simply thought the thought.

She felt a tremendous vibration through the air as well as movement, very swift. The next moment, the entire force appeared below the triad, next to the tanks.

She glanced at Thorne. He smiled at her and winked. Yep, ten thousand Militia Warriors, all in perfect formation, were shouting, punching the air with strong fists, and whooping it up.

Grace’s smile was so broad her cheeks hurt.

The
breh-hedden
never arrives at the opportune moment. But then in life, there rarely is such a thing as an opportune moment.

—
Collected Proverbs,
Beatrice of Fourth

CHAPTER 16

Stannett sat up and vomited into the bowl the female Militia Warrior had provided him. His eyes rolled in his head. He’d been working most of the day, and he didn’t know how much longer he could sustain the blocking maneuvers. The hour had to be nearing six in the evening, and the spectacle event was set for eight. As for discovering what Endelle was up to, or her now famous obsidian flame triad, he couldn’t even get close in the future streams.

Greaves stood on the deck opposite Stannett’s chaise longue, arms crossed over his chest. “Anything new?”

He shook his head. He felt weak, sick, discouraged. Coming to the Illinois Two Seers Fortress, and heading up Greaves’s entire system, was supposed to have been a pinnacle in his life, something to be enjoyed and celebrated. Now he was a quivering mass of nausea, with a raging headache, and he felt weaker than shit.

“No change,” he said. “I can’t reach the spectacle event. Marguerite has it blocked off.”

“How can she perform both functions?” Greaves asked.

Stannett shrugged. His cheeks cramped. He’d be losing it again soon. “My guess is that she’s been training Seers to work in teams.”

“My on-the-ground surveillance near the Camelback Parade Grounds says that they’ve done a couple of mass folds. What do you make of that?”

What did he make of that? Why the hell was Greaves asking him questions better suited for his generals? “I don’t know.” He brought the bowl close, took several deep breaths, and threw up again.

“You shouldn’t have indulged, Stannett. Now, when I need you the most, you’re at your weakest.”

With his chin low, he looked up at Greaves. “I truly regret my indiscretion.” Of course, right now he would have said anything to appease Greaves.

“I’m glad to hear you say so. But what I need—besides the blocks against Endelle’s Seers—is any information about when to attack the spectacle parade. Do you understand?” Greaves levitated, then slowly descended into the pit until he stood at the foot of Stannett’s chaise longue. Greaves waved the bucket away.

The female Militia Warrior stepped back, saying, “I’ll be back shortly with fresh Seers.” Greaves nodded. She vanished.

Stannett took deep breaths. It didn’t help his nausea problem that Greaves smelled of lemon furniture polish.

Greaves glanced left and right. “There is blood on the leather.”

“The women tend to bleed from various apertures, including their wing-locks, when the process overwhelms them.”

“I see.” He glanced back at Stannett. “So, how are you keeping our plans blocked in the future streams right now if the women keep dying on you?”

Stannett smirked. “I have power. It sometimes doesn’t show as much as perhaps it should, but I’m holding it steady. The effort has given me a monstrous headache, which is why I’m puking.”

Greaves’s smile softened. “Let me help with that.” He rounded the side of the chaise and put a hand on Stannett’s forehead. The pain drifted away like fog beneath the sun.

He looked up at Greaves and released a deep breath. “Thank you, master.”

“Keep blocking our side of things, and if you can find an inroad to secure the intentions and timing of the opposition, let me know.”

“Yes, master.”

Greaves lifted his hand and was gone.

Stannett released a deep breath. He had grown sick of this endless pressure to produce and perform. Greaves didn’t understand his need for autonomy. Yes, he’d lacked control, but he was doing better now and he didn’t like being hemmed in.

The Militia Warrior returned and changed out the Seers, whipping them on the legs when they uttered even the smallest sound. She struck one Seer across the face with her whip when she dared to ask where she was. The welt would last a long time.

Stannett followed his jailer’s movements. Certain ideas had taken root in his mind of a profound sense of ill usage. Once the female Seers were strapped in, Stannett put them in the usual stupor. Afterward, he rose from his chaise longue. Time to make a change of his own.

“Is there a problem, Seer?” the woman barked. She wasn’t a woman, not really. Very flat-chested, proud of her muscles. She probably wished she were a man.

“No problem,” he said. He levitated to the viewing platform just a few feet from her. He kept advancing toward her.

She narrowed her gaze. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get back down into the pit and get back to work. Or did you not hear the master, not understand his critical need for your services right now?”

“I heard him and I understood him.” Stannett hadn’t planned out exactly what he intended to do.

He lifted his hand and sent a blast soaring through the air straight for the woman. She didn’t really have time to react. She flew backward and hit the wall with a loud thudding sound. She fell to the floor.

Stannett’s brows rose. Her entire chest was caved in and smoking. He’d killed her.

He wanted to feel bad, he really did, but his appetites had reasserted themselves. He left her where she was and returned to the pit and to his chaise longue.

He stretched back out. He looked inward and physically ascertained what he already knew, that the blocks held. Now to get the relief he needed.

He slipped into the future streams, joined his power with the six women, and let the pleasure flow. The first orgasm hit him before fifteen seconds had passed.

*   *   *

“I want a shower,” Grace whispered, sitting on the black mats at the Militia Warrior workout center once more. “Dear God, I long for a shower.”

Leto smiled. He sat behind her and rubbed her shoulders. It was almost five thirty—not even three hours till the spectacle. He had spent the day securing the location of Greaves’s artillery through his computer and put Gideon in charge of making sure Thorne was alerted when any of the sites lit up.

All during that time, he had taken numerous breaks to watch obsidian flame work as a team. He saw Thorne’s role clearly, the same one he performed as the leader of the Allied Ascender Forces, Endelle’s army. He kept everything headed in the right direction. Thorne held things together, or—as he liked to say—he was the anchor to obsidian flame.

With such a massive undertaking, the triad critically needed an anchor, someone with a com who could make split-second decisions, someone who had preternatural power of his own to do whatever needed to be done.

It was the one thing that gave Leto some peace in what had become his own battle of worn-out nerves as the afternoon advanced. However, right now they all needed some downtime.

Thorne finally released the triad and made it possible for all three couples to return to their homes. He also let security know so that the folding could be done straight from the workout room.

Leto rose to his feet with Grace, took her hand, and folded her back to the villa bedroom. He laughed, because before he could say a word he heard the water running. She’d flipped the levers using a little kinetic manipulation. “Yeah, I guess you do want your shower.”

Grace laughed. “You should probably know this about me.” She gave him a quick kiss, then headed into what was now a roll of steam coming from the bathroom.

Of course as soon as he thought of her in the shower, naked, certain ideas flooded his mind.

He followed after her but frowned when he felt her no longer standing but sitting on the floor. Yeah, the sharing of external sensations always provided a lot of data to process.

He found her seated in front of the toilet, her arms around her knees.

He looked around and drew his sword, but they were alone. No death vamps this time.

“What’s the matter?”

She looked up at him and blinked a couple of times. “What if I can’t do this?”

Oh, that was all. Just a little pre-battle jitters. Of course, Grace wasn’t a warrior. She wouldn’t know just how normal this was.

“The whole time I was practicing,” she said, “I was fine. Really fine. Now all I can think is,
Two hundred thousand at a time
. And what if Stannett breaks through in the future streams and discovers our exact plan? What if Marguerite’s teams can’t sustain the blocks she’s put in place?”

Leto sat on the floor next to her and put his arm around her. This was where millennia of service as a warrior could be of use. “You’re not doing this alone, Grace, not by a long shot.” He rubbed her shoulder gently.