Earth Awakened, page 26
When she stepped up to the front of a large blank spot, she pressed it to her lips and gave two short bursts.
Those from the military were always the first to react. She made brief eye contact with Thorn and Bolo, then switched her gaze to watch the rest as they joined.
They lined up before her in three rows with the Swarzgardians in front. Bonnie, the next ranking infantry person, stood next to the arrangement with her gun poised in front of her.
She surveyed the group, chewing her tongue.
This was the moment that would define her as a soldier, as a leader, and as a Westran.
How in the hell did it get to this? I should have stopped him.
But she hadn’t. She’d failed. And he hadn’t understood what he’d done wrong.
And… only she had seen it.
The fog had blocked everyone else from seeing precisely how the commander had died—how Javen had lifted his hand and crushed him like a fly. Only she had been close enough.
She cleared her throat.
“Hello, everyone. I am Master Sergeant Naomi Rossi. I believe I’ve met with most of you. I think you all know why I’ve called you here, now. Normally, I’d save the debriefs for later. But something happened this morning—something with magic that we know very little about—and I think we need to clear a few things up.” She took a breath and addressed the Westrans. “You remember that raid we did in Mersetzdeitz two days ago?”
It took a few moments, but there was a murmur of assent from the Westrans.
“Well, it was a success. We pulled six large packs full of files to train our Mages on. Although they have only practiced two of the sigils—just one spell between the three of them—they’ve managed it.
“But what happened with Javen Dantrell today has nothing to do with the spell or those books.
“I can’t go into the details without revealing too much about his magic, but let’s suffice it to say that he is a Terran-born Mage with a unique power—for part of his ability, he can feel what magic is around him—and today, there was something else on that field besides two sides of a war duking it out.
“Javen was not responsible for the collapse of that tower, and he wasn’t responsible for the car, either. He didn’t kill Gannon or Lieutenant Meyer.”
From the back right of the group, someone let out a soft swear, but the sighs of relief were palpable, as if half the group’s shoulders had just relaxed down.
The readiness at which her troops accepted her explanation forged iron in her throat.
But it was the way the Swarzgardians—soldiers all too familiar with military propaganda—looked at her that made that iron lump drop straight into her stomach.
She kept that mask on her face as she met their eyes.
And inside, she felt something else solidify within her.
It was like something just clicked, and she’d switched the train onto a different set of tracks.
*
“Naomi?”
Her shoulders jumped at the sound of her name, and a shiver ran down her spine.
Only Javen called her that, called her by her first name. For everybody else, she was ‘Sergeant Rossi.’
Her rotation at the prisoner camp started around four in the morning. Not many of them had the luxury of a private berth, but she did, and she’d thought to get some sleep while she could.
He came deeper into the room, ducking his head in that way of his. “I heard what you said. I—”
He faltered. His brows pushed together. She could see the emotion roiling beneath them, the way he struggled to keep it all in.
He was so damn close.
She strode forward, grabbed his shoulders, and kissed him. Shaking hands fumbled at his clothes.
He hesitated, but not for long. In minutes, they settled into her cot, tears wet on their faces, and she was pushing them together with a ferocity that contained every second of loneliness and lost moments she had gone through since Terremain’s fall.
Separating from him had failed.
No matter how much she’d tried to be faithful to the core values of the military—of her life’s work—she’d thrown it all away for him.
And he would never know what it cost her.
Chapter 31
May 15, 2003 - Transition Year Twenty-One
The Skasgaz Mountains Outside of Seola
McKay jerked awake. For a moment, the strange walls and unfamiliar angle of the bed pushed her into confusion. She blinked rapidly, breath catching as she cast around to get her bearings.
Then she remembered.
I’m in the mountains next to Seola on the mission to find a Malik with Gobardon. I had an incident with the cat yesterday and conked out the second we got to this house last night.
She stifled a yawn and put her head back, relaxing as her panic faded and she slowly took in the room. It was a nice house, now that she could see it. It had been nice before, but it looked homier now, and she could tell that she’d grossly misjudged both the couch and the chairs in this room. They had to be two decades older than she’d thought they were, with thin piping surrounding their squarish cushions and a thick, crocheted blanket folded over the back of the one closest to the window.
It had looked like a Halloween spider web decoration last night.
In her mind, she readjusted her mental image of the former occupants away from the rich mountain home owners with an investment portfolio in the city and toward an older couple who’d bought in eons ago and had been living a quiet life on their retirement nest egg.
At least, they had been before the war smashed that to pieces. Now they were likely destitute, living in refugee housing, their life’s savings tied up in this property.
The couch was empty, and Gobardon was nowhere in sight. A mid-morning light brightened the end of the room past the couch’s back, filtering over the smooth walls and the rich, cracked timber of the joists. She was surprised he’d let her sleep. She’d more than expected him to be the type to wake her up the minute he wanted to go up to the mountain.
Just how long had she slept, anyway? She squinted at the light from the windows and scrounged her brain to remember when she’d fallen asleep. It had been just after sunset—and a mountain sunset, too, which hit much earlier than an ocean sunset. Sunrise, likewise, would hit much later. Which meant that the light coming through the windows was probably a couple hours delayed than normal.
A quick check on her phone confirmed it was around eight in the morning.
Okay, so that was at least… thirteen hours?
It was the most sleep she’d gotten from a single night in months. Practically a week’s worth, and all strung together like a normal circadian rhythm should be.
And Gobardon had helped her get it.
Now, where was the man?
He probably went up to the mountain without me. It’d serve me right. I’m a pain in the ass. And who knows if the cat—Greneinta—would actually be of any use in finding the spirit.
Plus, they’d talked about some pretty heavy stuff last night. Maybe he was regretting it.
She shouldn’t have pushed him into the foxhole talk.
But… no. He was an adult. It was his own goddamn choice to share.
A creak on the stairs made her glance over. Gobardon appeared a few seconds later, frowning down at some cans in his arms as he came up from the downstairs part of the house.
She perked up.
Food that was not a survival bar? Sign her up.
“What you got there? Tasty canned goods?”
“I see you’re awake.” He grimaced, turning back to the canned goods. “These are expired. I’m not sure I can bring myself to actually consume any of them.”
“Yeah, there is a slippery slope on expired goods.” She reached out her arms. “Give ’em here. Let’s see if we can figure out what can actually be eaten.”
He handed them over with another grimace. “They’re all expired. All of them.”
“Yes, I heard you the first time.” She stifled another yawn and blinked the bleariness from her eyes as she dropped the cans on the bed and sorted through them. Tuna, peaches, beans, more beans, green beans, and an odd can of garlic flavored peas.
Interesting.
She set aside the tuna and one of the beans—the fish had expired more than six years ago, and she didn’t trust the dented rust spots on the other can—which left the rest fine for the dining.
She looked up. “Did you happen to find a can opener?”
He gave her a flat look. “McKay. We’re Earth Mages.”
She snorted. “Did you see what I did yesterday? I’m not sure we want to make that kind of mess with a can of beans.” Then she paused, looking up at him curiously. “Wait, do you really use your powers on random household shit like opening cans?”
He grunted. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. It just seems like such a… waste?”
“It would be a waste not to use them, in such a case.” He reached down, and she handed him a can at his gesture. In one smooth flare of magic, he sheared the lid off in a perfect circle and peeled it back, once again grimacing at the contents.
Christ, no wonder people hated Mages. They didn’t even have to lift a little finger to operate a can opener.
Well, Earth Mages anyway. She imagined a Fire or Air Mage would have some difficulty doing what Gobardon had just done.
“You still need a spoon,” she reminded him. “I believe they’re in the kitchen.”
“They’re in the drawer to the right of the sink,” he said. There was a small clunk and rattle from the other side of the kitchen. Without looking up from the can, he reached out and snatched the spoon that floated in the air toward him.
Yep. She could see why regular people hated Mages. Or at least periodically disliked them.
Maybe that was why the Mersetzdeitz-Pallis Accord got signed. Partially for the danger, but more for the annoyance.
It was definitely why they weren’t supposed to teleport to school. They had to take the bus just like everyone else—unless one lived in the dorm as she did.
When she didn’t hear an immediate clinking of a spoon against the can, she glanced up to find him still giving the can a dubious look.
“Are you sure this is okay? I mean, it said it was expired—”
“Oh my God.” She rolled her eyes, then struggled to get out of bed, grabbing a can with her as she got to her feet. She wobbled the first few steps, some of her muscles still not quite recovered, and made her way to the kitchen to get her own spoon. “Really? I thought you are some big tough guy.”
“Being tough does not matter when it comes to bacterial infections in the gut,” he said. “So yes, forgive me for being hesitant to dig into this appetizing syrup before me.”
Well, at least he’s not stupid.
“If it’s something super salty, you don’t have to worry. The salt content stops it from going moldy or decaying. You only have to worry if you’re contaminating it by getting breadcrumbs in it or something. Either that, or you’ve fucked up some other way.” Remembering his instruction, she made a beeline for the drawer to the right of the sink and pulled it open. Sure enough, a plastic tray of cutlery awaited her. She grabbed a spoon and a can opener—there were two, with one looking a bit fancier, as if it could open wine bottles, as well—then set the can down on the counter to work on it. “The beans are usually packed in something sugary. Sugar also makes things last. Something to do with being too sugary for a bacterial environment. Also, these are manufactured and pumped full of preservatives, unlike homemade stuff.”
“I see. I wish the Lürians could see us now, eating like pioneers” His voice rumbled pleasantly in the air. “What about the other can of beans? And the tuna?”
She grunted. “There was a dent and rust on that can, and I heard somewhere that it could introduce the rust inside the can, as well as potential exposure. I thought it was for Salmonella, but that doesn’t make any sense, does it, with rust? It’s not raw chicken. Lockjaw, then?” She snapped the fingers of her free hand. “I forget—what’s it called? The official name?”
“Tetanus,” he supplied.
“Yes, that. Not fun.” She’d never heard of anyone actually getting it, only getting stuck with the vaccination either in school or in the military, but they’d all heard horror stories of it growing up.
“And the peas?” he asked.
“Salty, with a shitload of preservatives.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t know how food’s preserved? Hell, what’d they teach you in school?”
“Not that.” He grunted. “I didn’t go to public school. My father oversaw my education.”
The same father he’d killed—or had really tried to, anyway. She clamped her jaw shut, remembering what Kitty had said about him, about how shitty and abusive a human the man had been, and how he’d had Gobardon’s wife killed in cold blood. And reading through the lines of what he’d told her about his upbringing last night.
Yeah, let’s not go there.
“I can’t believe he wasn’t fascinated in the long and complex history of food preservation,” she commented in a dry tone. “But I suppose that explains your lack of survival skills.” She flashed him a grin. “Don’t worry, the pile of shit I went through in my past has prepared me very well for this moment.”
“For eating cold beans out of expired cans?”
“You bet. I’ve got an amazing constitution. And don’t forget the part about sleeping on random strangers’ floor mattresses.”
“I don’t think I ever can.” He visibly shuddered. “Last night will be seared into my memory forever more.”
“Yeah, what can I say—I have that effect on men.” She stuffed a spoonful of cold, garlicky peas into her mouth to avoid saying anything more that she might regret, already feeling the heat and her cheeks from the last comment. “So, what’s the plan for today, and does it involve coffee?”
“We’re going to drive to the base of the mountain, find the trail head, and start climbing.” He grimaced. “Sadly, no coffee.”
They both had a moment of silence for that.
Alas. Such is war.
She scrunched her nose up and dug into the peas again. “Right. Well, let’s get on with it then.”
Chapter 32
Contrary to popular belief, the ‘mother’ mountain was not the largest in the stack, but one of the smallest. Younger mountains grew higher, fresh from whatever volcanic million-year-old plate collision had scrunched them into the folded ridge line that they were today. In their midst, the ‘mother mountain’ sat like a tall bump, every single one of its sharp edges either eroded from time and weather or covered up in a thick layer of foliage.
As soon as it came into sight, it snapped her attention like a magnet and psychically pulled at her.
What the fuck?
She shoved down the feeling, cut off her thoughts, and studied it.
As a kid, she hadn’t noticed it much, but the entire position and history of the mountain felt odd. Why were there so many younger mountains around it? They seem to surround the small peak, standing tall with sides covered in a mix of forest, scree, and bare rock toward the top. Some of them even came with crowns of snow lining their sharp ridges. Not enough to ski on, and definitely too dangerous to attempt to, but still cold enough to keep it there.
By contrast, the ‘mother mountain’ appeared to be in the late stages of spring, or at least ramping up for it. Although trees had regained their foliage, settling in a mix of greens and browns and the occasional flashes of white and yellow from carpets of fawn lilies, a thick blanket of fog covered half her side, wreathing the canopies in cloud. Even from here, she could spot the trail head partway up its side.
Memories came to her. A brief flash of the shrine her grandmother had taken her to, glimpses of the trail up. Deer, signs of bears. The occasional tree scratched by a mountain cat.
God, it was hard to believe that wildlife like that still insisted. After the war, after seeing so many towns and villages and cities gutted and destroyed, it felt like nothing could survive.
But she didn’t doubt they had.
Most likely, the war had been a good thing for wildlife. Less disturbance, away from the city, and away from key points on the map.
It’s not like Swarzgard had set up any coal plants in the area. Not yet, anyway.
But there was just something about the mountain that made her unable to take her mind off of it.
It was the same feeling she felt when she remembered the Malik’s eyes. Like the mountain was looking at her. Piercing down into some deep part of her soul.
A burst of Earth magic sheared through the chain and lock holding the main gate, and Gobardon swung it open without even getting out of the car. It closed after them, the chain snaking back around it and likely melding its broken links together, and they drove another mile up the mountain until they found the ranger’s cabin farther up the trail.
It was a better spot, anyway. More cover under the trees as opposed to the naked parking lot at the base. McKay got out and walked around, rolling her shoulders and slipping her backpack on. She paused by the cabin’s stairs and scuffed at a few cigarette butts in the dirt.
Either the ranger really liked to smoke in one spot, or a small group had used this as a call post for a time. Given the lack of wear and the mud splatter that coated them, and the sheer amount, she was betting on the latter.
They were Westran brands, but that didn’t mean anything. Swarzgardian soldiers had been looting Westran stores for years.
Without a word, they began their hike up the mountain.
For the first bit, it was a very well-managed trail. She was used to newer trails, with the occasional ladder and rock pin. It quickly switched into sets of wooden stairs, then stairs made of wooden guard rails that acted as dirt-packed flowerbeds. At the side of the trail, water had carved a thick gouge into the bank.
Clearly, during the wet season, water would just sluice down.
It was also clear that no one had been up the path in a while. Four rains, at least.
