Earth Awakened, page 31
Which was odd to think about. If there had been others who’d shared magic with a spirit like this in Terra’s history, wouldn’t they know about it? Sure, she said it had been a thousand years ago, but… they had records, didn’t they?
But then, up until the Mages had arrived twenty years ago, most of the world had thought magic was bullshit. Only radical crackpot conspiracy theorists would have considered any historical record of magic to be anything but bullshit, and those guys usually believed in aliens and weird government conspiracies, too. Even after the Transition, few considered historical Terran magic to be anywhere close to true.
Plus, a thousand years ago, they hadn’t had the same kind of documentation as they did today. Westray, Swarzgard, and Mersetzdeitz had just been one land mass of wandering tribes. Their histories had been told orally. As far as she knew, only a few could still speak the old language. Most everyone had switched to English after the colonization boom a few centuries ago.
She frowned.
What had happened since the goddess had been asleep? And why had she gone to sleep in the first place?
Mental note: read some history books. Good ones.
That should be easy. If nothing else, Mersetzdeitz was very big on its bookstores and education. And Finnevar had a partnership with a few of the universities to share library access.
Gobardon shifted. “Let’s keep moving. I’d rather be off the streets before sunset.”
McKay squinted at the sky. The sun was barely past the three o’clock range. Just how long did he think it would take to find some mead?
But he had a point. It’s not like they could pull up a map of old liquor stores. They had—
She stopped and gave herself an internal flat look.
Wow, they were stupid.
“Hey, Gobardon, does your phone have data access here?”
He paused with a frown. “Yes. Why?”
She chuckled. “Go look up the business directory here. Most servers are stored in the States nowadays. They’ll still be up and running. We can probably find addresses. Hell, if we’re really lucky, we can probably find a damn meadery. I bet they’ll even have some stock left. It’s not like the casual looter would have the mind to look for something so specific.”
Ten minutes and a lot of map-squinting later, they’d found three different meadery locations.
Two of them were out of town, likely distributing through the local liquor stores instead of having their own storefront, but one of them—the most famous one, with over three hundred years of crafting experience, according to the old advertisement—was just a block away from downtown’s main waterfront.
Talk about a swanky address.
God, it felt weird to see the ad. It looked so normal. It panged at her. Just eight years ago, this place had been a bustling, peaceful city. Regular people with regular worries, a thriving nightclub district, people on holidays, people meeting up for family events, people casually able to wander into the local meadery to buy special alcohol for their events…
Now, the entire country was gutted, and every vestige of peace was a memory.
She sighed, feeling the pain wash against her soul.
It’s in the past. I can’t dwell on it now.
She hated it. She truly did. If there was a resistance against Swarzgard’s occupation, she wanted to be part of it. With Greneinta, they could make a huge dent.
But Gobardon was right. This wasn’t her fight, not right now. She and Greneinta had been functional for all of two hours, and there were doubtless other kinks to iron out—Oena had said as much, when she’d helped them.
If she wanted to truly help, she had to look after herself first.
Besides, she didn’t actually know if the group here was a resistance. For all she knew, they were just some random organized looters, or a doomsday cult. Hell, they may even be an offshoot group of Swarzgardian soldiers fighting against their own.
A lot of stuff happens in the military, especially during an occupation. It was entirely plausible some group had gone off on its own. They could have been fighting against random citizens. It’s not like the city was entirely abandoned. With the way the Swarzgardian invasion had worked, they tended to leave skeleton crews to operate occupied cities while they focused their invasion on the next target. Seola was only special in that it had been near-completely evacuated during the attack.
Still, a lot of people tended to head for the hills, wait it out, then creep back in after a while to test the waters.
Perhaps that’s what the group had been.
She gritted her teeth, the taste of blood from yesterday coming back into her mouth.
She pushed it back.
That was yesterday. She and Greneinta were different, now. They could communicate.
But still… would that line of communication stop Greneinta from making her own snap decisions and reacting? She’d just taken over before. Would this new connection stop that?
But… Oena had said there’d been reasons for her outbursts.
McKay gave her head a shake. She needed to find that out before she even considered joining a resistance movement.
Ergo, whatever was happening in Seola could not be her problem.
Just assume it’s Swarzgard and move on.
So she did. She put it from her mind and moved on, focusing on looking for hidden alcohol.
By the time she noticed the person hidden in the top floor of a bakery some ways down the street, they’d already fired.
Chapter 38
May 15, 2003 - Transition Year Twenty-One
Occupied Seola, near the Outpost
Naomi’s guard shift that morning blended into her patrol shift. Some prisoners were more talkative than others—a usual occurrence—and informed her of a useful defensive post on the west shore of the nearest bridge.
All the Swarzgardians—alive and dead—were accounted for, but the post could be useful until their group was ready to move to the larger base.
It was also quickly accessible by water, just a quick jaunt from the base of the outpost’s peninsula to a mooring dock right next to the bridge.
Seola’s bay might have been riddled with mines, but its inlet was just fine.
Javen went to the docks to see her off under the guise of testing the handheld transceivers. She’d thought seeing him in the daylight would make her apprehensive, especially under the observant gazes of Bonnie and Thorn—but, instead, it was like an unspoken pact had formed between them.
He didn’t shy away when their hands touched, and he didn’t look at her any differently than he had in the last few months.
She gave him the mission briefing, he handed her the boat’s mooring line, and they were off.
With its protected location from the ocean, the inlet wasn’t affected by storms or rogue waves. Rusting ‘No Wake’ signs appeared at intervals on the shore, two of them tilting at rakish angles or half-buried under overgrown bushes. The water was calm, reflecting the shoreline in a postcard-perfect image. The afternoon sun had burned away any lingering haze of last night’s fog, leaving the city in crystal-sharp clarity.
Her gaze slid over the horizon, taking in the docks and buildings lining the water. Further in, the horizon bumped up with apartment blocks and warehouses, then the start of the city’s downtown office towers farther to the right.
God, even after all this time, the city didn’t feel dead. It felt dormant, instead. As if she’d turn a corner and run into someone heading out on a yacht, or one of the little water taxis that she’d seen advertised on the docks. That she’d run into people, and they’d just smile and wave as if it were a normal Sunday.
The bridge stretched across the inlet, its red paint peeling. Giant concrete pillars supported the piers. Her gaze drifted to a set of concrete stairs that had been carved into the abutment, following them to the top. Thorn carefully guided the boat toward the stairs, stepped off onto the dock, and stopped them with a grip on the side, wrapping the line around a mooring cleat.
Then they headed up the bridge, the sounds of their boots echoing on the underside of the bridge.
The Swarzgardian soldier had described a building that stood two stories tall and had yellow siding. They found it in the first glance they made when they reached street level. A bicycle shop with a mock antique sign took the bottom floor with an apartment above. On the other side, the bike shop was replaced by a bakery.
Her gaze drifted briefly to the windows above the bakery, then glanced to the street.
If the Swarzgardians were right, it provided a near-perfect view of about three blocks around with the way the streets lay, and both this street and the next intersecting road were major routes through the city—routes that had been cleared.
There was even an old car parked in front of the building that made a perfect defensive point for a ground crew.
Her team took positions while she made her way to the bakery. Both apartment and business had matching veneers, with windows divided into four panels with wooden muntin and white lace curtains. The brass doorknob rattled under her hand as she opened, moving more easily than she’d expected. A threadbare carpet greeted her inside, lined with cans of soda and beer, and when she stepped inside, the floor groaned loudly.
Her nose wrinkled when the stale smell of cigarettes strengthened to a physical sensation, gaze darting around. Every piece of furniture had been shoved against the walls, save for two metal chairs at the broken bay window that overlooked the street. As she crossed the room, her feet sank in places where the floor was beginning to give.
Her lips twisted.
Whatever use Swarzgard had for this house, its lack of maintenance would make the place too dangerous to use in the near future—and if it provided as much lookout coverage as they’d suggested, then its loss would be a massive waste.
A grunt would have known to take care of this.
Countless cigarette butts littered the area around the metal chairs, with several burn marks marring the floor. Rain had dissolved the paper on some of them, but the wet tobacco and filters created a stench that made even a smoker’s stomach turn. Some weather-melted magazines laid in haphazard piles, and she recognized an empty munitions box stuffed into a hole in the wall.
Pigs.
A slight wind tickled her face as she leaned to see the view from the window.
Well, the info had been correct. She could see Bonnie, Thorn, and Bolo in their positions in the intersection below. The street following the inlet ran in a straight line for about a half of a mile, with the intersecting street going twice as far.
It was an ideal view for situations where enemies were expected to approach from the East.
The building blocked the view of the water. A majority of approaching vehicles and troops could be seen from the outpost if they used the inlet, but it seemed strange to her that Swarzgard would use this building when they could only use it on one side.
Maybe they created an opening between the apartments.
Movement caught her eye. She squinted, her attention drawn to the street that lined up perpendicular to the water, carefully lifting one of the chairs out of the way as she tried to catch it again.
Slowly, carefully, she pulled a small set of binoculars out of her pocket and lifted them to her eyes.
Two objects moved roughly three-hundred yards from her position. Even with the binoculars, she could not make out specific details. All she could see was that they were human, and that they were moving in their direction.
Any ensigns were too small to see, but she knew exactly where her people were. And the rest of the refugees from Terremain wouldn’t arrive until the next day.
Other than her troops, there were no Friendlies in the city.
The stiffness in her spine kept her facing the targets as she removed the gun from her back. Three-hundred yards would have been easy with her scoped weapon, but she hadn’t planned to perform an elevated hit that morning. Street combat could sometimes make using a scoped rifle difficult, so she had opted for the rifle with the peep sight.
It would help her eye focus on the target, but it wouldn’t enhance what she was seeing.
She didn’t need that. Right now, all she needed was a warning shot.
Lifting the gun, she centered the front sight in the rear sight and twisted her torso as the target walked across the street.
Then, she aimed for the ground a couple yards from their feet and fired.
Bang!
The crack of the shot echoed down the street.
She watched, expecting them to flee.
Instead, a burst of green light spread into a dome around both targets.
Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.
Magic.
“Naomi.” Javen’s voice crackled from her handheld. “We heard gunfire. Do you need assistance?”
She unbuttoned the large pocket on her thigh and pulled out the handheld by its antenna. A quick flip of her wrist tossed it into the air where she caught it upright and brought it to her lips.
“Yes. Unknowns, two.” She stared down the street where the domes made a steady glow around her targets. “Magic.”
Chapter 39
The first shot came at an angle. McKay jumped at the sound of the rifle crack, flinching as the bullet kicked into the pavement ten feet to her right.
Magic flared. Already, she was moving, her instincts taking over in a rush of adrenaline. She launched herself into a sprint and tackled Gobardon to the side.
It was like hitting a brick wall. Except not. He was warm, too. And his jacket was soft.
But beneath, his muscles were like rock.
Belatedly, she realized that both he and the cat had cast shields around them.
He gave her a look, one eyebrow rising as she straightened herself. Belatedly, she released her hold on his jacket.
“Sorry,” she said. “Old habit.”
“Nice to know you care,” he said, sarcasm slipping dryly into his tone. He turned his attention back to the street. “Now, tell me, what do you sense?”
Her jaw slackened. Then she took a moment to examine him and read his body language.
He was… relaxed. Comfortable. At ease.
Another three rounds sniped into the concrete in front of them, kicking out dust and pieces of concrete. One round ricocheted into her shield, making the magic flare a bright lime green.
Right. They were Mages. They didn’t have to worry.
It’s a good thing the Mages came in peace when they arrived all those years ago. If they’d come to take over, we would have been fucked.
Still, it was an odd feeling. She wasn’t used to being this strong. She wasn’t used to not having to worry about bullets. She wasn’t used to being able to lift a little finger and destroy an entire building.
She wasn’t used to it, but Gobardon was.
He used magic the way a poet used their mother tongue, as part of him as his hairstyle, or the clothes he wore, or the temper of his voice.
McKay lugged it around like a sledgehammer.
She took a breath, grounded herself, then slid her attention inward. Greneinta caught the edge of her thoughts. Within seconds, the person in the upper level of the bakery lit up in her mind, followed by the metal of her rifle. Another two soldiers showed up in her scan, crouched behind the bulky metal of a parked van, their guns trained in her and Gobardon’s direction.
Huh. This whole ‘Earth sight’ thing was real handy when it worked.
“Three of them,” she said. “All armed. The one who shot at us is in the level above the bakery, left-hand side. She’s using a metal cabinet as a blind.”
“Very good,” Gobardon said, his voice smooth and steady—like the purr of an expensive engine. Magic flared around his fingers, the sigils of spellwork sliding into tight, tidy rows along the back of his hand and forearm.
Beneath them, the ground woke up.
It didn’t move, but its awareness was a visceral feeling. As if all they had to do was flick a finger and it would rush to do their bidding.
Or crush them.
But with Greneinta, she seriously doubted it would crush her. Hell, the spirit had dropped an entire concrete roof on her and she’d walked away from it.
The shooter fired again. This time, the bullet slammed straight into Gobardon’s shield at head height.
The shield’s magic flared. After a moment, the round dropped to the ground with a soft plink.
And Gobardon’s face shuttered.
McKay’s lips twitched, reminded of the time she’d shot him.
He seemed to take bullets personally.
To be fair, so would she—if she hadn’t been shot at so many times.
I’m like a rat. Too small to provide a good enough target, and wily as fuck.
She’d always resented how short she was relative to the rest. While she wasn’t that bad for an average woman, it felt like everyone in the forces skewed toward six feet, where she rounded closer to five. And her workouts hadn’t added a large amount of bulk to her muscles, not like it had done with others. She’d stayed wiry, instead. And skinny.
But ripped. Muscles like steel.
Looking in the mirror wasn’t usually a problem if her abs or shoulders were showing.
Another round cracked across the distance, this time slamming into her shield. She flinched as the magic flared, Greneinta’s power curling around the bullet like a bee sting, dropping it after a few seconds.
In her mind, Greneinta highlighted the soldier who’d fired it—again, the one in the upper level of the bakery.
Power crept into her hands and wrists, along with a touch of energy in her mind. A question.
Did she want to attack?
In the near distance, an engine revved on the water.
Reinforcements?
God. Weren’t they just here for alcohol? Starting a fight seemed excessive.
“We could just go around,” she suggested. “If we leave before that vehicle gets here, they may not give chase.”
Gobardon nodded up the street. “They have a vehicle right there.”
