The Tide of Unmaking, page 41
part #3 of Berinfell Prophesies Series
Taeva summersaulted off one car, landed on the street between two large trucks, and spun around. There were humans, dozens of them all dressed in blue, racing toward her with strange black instruments in their hands. They were yelling at her.
Some screamed, “Stop!” or “Don’t move!” Others yelled “Freeze!” And that, Taeva didn’t understand. She started to run but heard sharp claps of sound behind her. She thought of the instruments these humans were pointing at her.
Weapons! she realized. Of course. Taeva stopped immediately and turned to face her pursuers. I wish you no harm, humans, she thought. But I cannot be waylaid. Her hands began to weave the air. Sparks leaped from fingertip to fingertip. Then, she thrust both hands, palm up, toward the sky.
A massive bolt of lightning flashed down from above, striking a nearby newspaper stand not far from the humans who had been giving chase. Three smaller strikes walked backward toward them. The humans made a terrible ruckus and dove for cover.
There, Taeva thought. Now leave me to my business.
She continued down 7th Avenue without interference but chose to run on the sidewalk rather than atop the vehicles.
An explosion. Not far ahead. At last! Taeva sprinted forward, weaving in and out of storefronts, taxis, and pedestrians who were now sprinting away from the danger ahead. They slowed her down, and she noticed that many of the humans were bleeding.
At last, she found herself in the middle of a huge crossing between the humans’ buildings. There were massive signs and all manner of glowing lights. There was also fire.
Screams came from the east. Another explosion. Taeva looked up and saw the high building in the middle of the road. Sparks flew from it. Lights blinked in impossible-to-follow patterns. Then she saw it. An arc stone raced through the air. It hit the structure where it was already burning and exploded. Three more struck it, and the building buckled. It wrenched sideways, cracked and fell in a debris cloud to the street below.
Human soldiers raced into the street. They had dark green vehicles following them. They didn’t know where to fire, but fire they did.
Orange fire and smoke flew across the intersection and rose into the sky. Blue arc stones crisscrossed their flight. There were more explosions on both sides.
There! Taeva saw a Warfly take a hit. Its burning shape careened wildly into the base of a building. She launched herself across the intersection, dodged flaming debris, and came to a stop near the Warfly. She found the Gwar pilot, but he was already dead. Cursing her misfortune, she craned her neck to look down the next side street. It was oddly clear except for a great many trampled humans.
Then, she understood. Summoning all her strength, Taeva began to weave lightning. Bolts scattered down in a wide pattern. These were not of killing potency, but they did the job. After the roar of thunder, there came the ghastly sounds of screeching Warspiders, shrieking Drefids and screaming Gwar. And the lightning had charred enough of them that Taeva had a decent sense of where they were.
She raced around the corner, rammed her forearm under the chin of a Gwar soldier and then dragged him into an alleyway. Taeva slammed the Gwar up against a brick wall and held him there.
“Where is Asp?” she demanded.
“I will tell you nothing!” the Gwar growled back.
Taeva pulled one hand free from the Gwar’s shoulder. In it, sparks of lightning began to dance. “Care to see how I can make this move inside you?” she asked.
The Gwar swallowed hard. His huge eyes seemed to double. “Grand Central Terminal it’s called!” he bellowed, lifting an arm to point. “That way!”
“Thank you,” Taeva said. Then she slammed a backfist into the Gwar’s jaw. He dropped like a sack of flour.
Asp stood on the edge of a skyscraper and overlooked his progress. The Times Square assault was underway. The United Nations had already been reduced to rubble. A Warfly zagged out of the spectral clouds and swirling smoke far above.
“Right on time,” Asp muttered.
The Warfly landed, crushing a spinning air duct with a clawed forelimb. Two passengers dismounted: a Saer and a dark-skinned Elf.
“He isssth…amazing,” Sardon said, pointing to Jett. “Healssth them with a touch of the hand. Inside of three hoursssth, he emptied our field infirmary.”
“Did I not tell you?” Asp said. “Lord Hamandar is nearly unmatched.”
“Don’t call me that,” Jett said, his tone deep and commanding. “That name sickens me.”
“Ah,” Asp said. “I should have guessed. The less to remind you of the wretched Elves, the better. But, understand…Hamandar…I will call you whatever I see fit. Do you understand?”
“As you command it, Lord Asp,” Jett said.
“Indeed,” Asp said, “but if you had your will, what would you have me call you?”
“Jett.”
Asp nodded. “Still a soft spot for those pitiful humans back in North Carolina, eh? They’re dead now, of course.”
“I care not,” Jett said. “But I took the name as mine.”
“Are you loyal to me, Jett?” Asp asked.
“I am,” Jett replied.
“Sardon,” Asp said. “You left a position of command to serve me. Do you understand why?”
Sardon’s red goat-like eyes shifted. He crossed his arms. “You hold the power, my Lord,” he said.
“Yes,” Asp replied. “But you do not understand yet the extent of my power. You see Jett here. Do you realize he was once one of the Lords of Berinfell? He was my sworn enemy and aided his countrymen in slaying my predecessor.”
“I wasssth not aware,” Sardon said.
“He stormed Vesper Crag with the other lords,” Asp said. “But he was slain…or at least, poisoned to the point of death.”
“I do not follow,” Sardon said.
“No,” Asp explained. “Nor should you. Hamandar—Jett, is of the Lord’s healing bloodline. A long, unbroken line that is very significant to the Elves. There have been many gifts among the Lords of Berinfell, but in each generation there is always a healer. That line must continue or the line of Lords itself will fail. I suspect the Elves are not themselves aware of this. It is written in one of their sacred Prophecies, a singular document my ancestors removed at the foundation of their grand city.”
“It seemsssth we have document theft in common,” Sardon replied. “We Saer have one of their Prophecies in our chief archive.”
Asp nodded approval. “Yes, well this particular document explains the importance of Jett’s line. Without a healer, the Lordly bloodline will become soiled and impure…weakened. That is why the healers are next to impossible to kill. When Jett was stricken, his own kin left him for dead.”
“Extraordinary,” Sardon said.
“Jett appeared dead,” Asp explained as he circled Jett. “In fact, he was in such a deep state of inner rebuilding that no one could have roused him, not for years. He lay beneath the ground, but Jett was not decomposing like a corpse. He was recomposing. It would have taken at least another year, but I found several rites in the Dark Arts to be infinitely helpful. I sped up the process and made certain that, when Jett emerged from the dirt, he would be malleable to my will.” Asp paused and glared shrewdly at the Saer. “Would you like to see precisely how malleable he is?”
Sardon shook his head. “That won’t be necces—”
“I will show you,” Asp said. He held up a fist and, with a shrill, grating sound, the boney blades extended. “Jett, look at me.”
Jett turned his head. His violet eyes fixed on Asp.
“To whom do you belong?” Asp asked.
“I belong to you, Lord Asp,” Jett replied.
“Even to the point of death?” Asp asked.
“Even then,” Jett replied.
Asp placed the jagged tips of his claws against Jett’s chest. “I am going to test you,” Asp said, and he pushed his fist forward a few inches. They slid through the leather jerking and pierced the skin.
Jett winced, but continued to stare at Asp.
“Really, my lord,” Sardon said. “You don’t have to do thisssth.”
“I do,” Asp replied. “Watch.” He pushed more. Blood trickled out of the puncture sites and ran in dark red rivulets down the armor. Jett groaned, but Asp kept pushing. The blades sank deeper. Jett fell to one knee.
“No, no,” Asp said. “We aren’t quite finished.”
He pushed the blades in more and, with a crimson spray, the points burst through Jett’s back. Asp put a boot on Jett’s shoulder and shoved his body off the blade. Jett fell backward and curled into a protective ball.
“There,” Asp said. “Now we are finished.”
“You…” Sardon stammered. “You killed him.”
Asp said, “Heal, Jett. We have much to do.”
Jett clambered to one knee. Then to his feet. He flexed his chest muscles and there was a last spurt of blood. He took off his leather jerkin and showed the pink marks where the blades had penetrated.
“You see,” Asp said. “Obedient to the point of death. I expect an equal measure from you, Sardon.”
The Saer wobbled a moment. “Yesssth, my Lord,” he said.
“Are the barrel caravans en route?” Asp asked.
“Indeed,” Sardon replied. “They approach the human’sssth Grand Terminal as we speak.”
“Then, we had better join them,” Asp said. “There will be vermin to clean out.”
Finished in 1913, Grand Central Terminal became one of New York City’s architectural marvels, with the commonly misappropriated Grand Central Station referring to the subway station beneath it. The limestone facade on the terminal’s southern side was modeled on a Roman triumphal arch, a triumph for rail travel and a gateway to the city. But, sprinting east on 42nd Street, Taeva approached the terminal and felt anything but triumphant. She’d betrayed the Elves…their Lordly vows…and perhaps, even herself.
Even now, as she raced ahead, she found it impossible to clarify her own motives. All manner of uncomfortable thoughts swirled in her mind. There were questions and urges…each one begging for action. She forced her focus back to the terminal ahead. Best not to get too far ahead, she told herself. I’ll know what to do when I see Asp.
Asp’s forces had already wreaked havoc on the structure. The police force housed within had attempted a defense, but they had been overmatched. Their bodies mingled with those of pedestrians and travelers flung all over the street outside the huge, barrel-vaulted building.
Taeva winced, reminded of the destruction at Taladrim. She came to an abrupt stop. Asp’s forces had no doubt set up a defensive perimeter, but where were they?
Rushing in would be deadly, but Taeva didn’t have time to wait. She began to weave. Thrusting her hands skyward, she sent arcs of electricity toward the station. She walked them in, and the lightning sparked and smoked whenever it made contact. Gwar infantry and Warspiders began to appear in flickering, ashen shadows. As soon as Taeva spotted them, she intensified the bolts and aimed them with lethal accuracy.
A bright white stroke blasted from her right hand and struck a taxicab and the Gwar soldier who had been hiding behind it. The taxi exploded in a boiling fireball, engulfing two nearby Warspiders.
Taeva advanced quickly. She ran through plumes of smoke and sent tangles of electricity ahead. She managed her way between cars and smoking fires and escaped under the shadow of the Park Avenue access bridge. She clambered through a blasted-out door frame and raced ahead, respectfully avoiding the bodies strewn all over the concourse and the stairs.
There were Gwar and Drefids among the dead, she noticed. Good for the humans, she thought as she went to step by them. More resilient than I thought.
Then she stopped and reached down. She took a short hacking sword from the Gwar and a wickedly curved dagger from the Drefid; there wasn’t always time to weave.
At last, she emerged in a cavernous chamber with a great vaulted ceiling that she thought had to be at least one-hundred feet high. Three colossal windows on the far side glowed with late afternoon light. Huge, half circle windows lined both sides of the massive vault, but the western side’s windows projected streams of ethereal light down into the chamber.
Taeva gasped. She looked upon the vast ground floor that teemed with completely visible soldiers. There must be close to a legion gathered here, she thought. Dozens of Warspiders clambered about also, some already webbing up corners as if they planned to stay there for some time.
The activity was frenzied and yet still organized. Some soldiers stood in orderly rows, a hundred astride or more. Others were busy carting huge crates and barrels from one side of the chamber to the other before disappearing into shadowy corridors. Some Gwar sat atop their Warspiders and appeared to be dismantling just about anything they could get their claws into. Still others were busy shoving pods of captured humans around. At least a legion, and yet the cavernous room seemed to suck away the sound until only a whispery buzz remained.
On the far side of the chamber, hanging beneath a huge red, white and blue flag, there was a circular pavilion of glass and stone. And on top of it, sat a gold clock with four luminous white faces. The Gwar soldiers were thickest there. “That’s where he’ll be,” Taeva muttered to herself. But it didn’t seem to matter much to know where Asp was…not anymore. There was no way to get to him.
If I had the Lords of Berinfell with me, she thought ironically, I could plow through this crowd. But now? No chance.
“If you have come seeking me!” a voice rose above the crowd and echoed subtly, “I am here. Come, Taeva. Come, daughter…I am waiting.”
The Lords of Berinfell ran through New York City on their last legs and yet, they knew that soon—somehow—they would have to summon even more strength. Ellos help us, Tommy prayed. He winced as he twisted to avoid a sign post. The pain had mostly dulled to a kind of throbbing ache, but he knew there was something wrong still. He tried not to think about it.
A hundred times grateful for Asp’s coating on the video handset, Tommy called out to Migmar. “THIS is as close to Asp as you could get us?”
“Bounced something the signal,” Migmar called back. “Now, no fix can I get on Asp.”
“He’s still blocking us somehow,” Kat said.
“Well, where was he?” Tommy demanded of Migmar. He heard the clicking of computer keys.
“Terminal, it was,” Migmar said. “Grand Central Terminal.”
“Okay, thanks, Migmar.” Tommy called to his friends. “We have a bit of a run ahead of us.”
A chorus of groans answered him.
The sidewalks were jammed. Tommy and the Lords dodged civilians fleeing south on Park Avenue. Many of them were wounded: bruised, cut, burned and bloodied—some of them just children. Tommy wished they could stop and help each one, but to do so would allow catastrophe on an unimaginable scale.
Maybe there’s nothing we can do to stop it, anyway, Tommy thought. He could only guess what manner of destruction waited farther north. But we’ll spend every last heartbeat trying…every last one.
He held up a fist to stop and then led the Lords into an alley between a barber shop and a deli. He reached into the satchel on his hip and took out a squat, cylindrical jar. “I think it’s time we disappear,” he said.
The Lords took out their Gnomic paste jars and began the application. The slow process gave each Lord time to think. Too much time for some. For others, not nearly enough.
“Yu, know,” Jimmy said, smearing the paste on his chest and up his neck, “I really thought this was over. I mean, when we put down the Spider King…washed him down that blasted mountain, I really thought we’d have peace. I can’na believe how bad it is now.”
Already fading into invisibility, Kat put her hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “And I never thought Taeva would betray us.”
“The worst thing…” Autumn said.
“Is Jett,” Kiri Lee whispered.
“I can’t believe he’s fightin’ for a Drefid,” Johnny said. “Fightin’ us!”
“I don’t think he can help himself,” Tommy said. “You heard him. He’s talking nonsense. He doesn’t know us anymore.”
“It’s that Dark Arts stoof,” Jimmy said, waving a disappearing hand in front of his face. “Evil…pure evil.”
“We can’t think about Jett,” Tommy said. “Keep your mind on the plan. It’s not much of a plan, but it’s what we’ve got.”
Completely invisible now, Kat said, “So we get past Asp’s minions…charge right up…and then what?”
“We tell ‘im, right?” Jimmy asked. “We tell ‘im about the Tide. I mean, he’s not stupid. Given the choice t’fight oos back in Allyra or burn oop, I think he’ll do it.”
“But if he doesn’t?” Autumn asked. “If he turns Taeva and Jett on us…”
“Could you do it, Tommy?” Kiri Lee asked. Her face hadn’t quite vanished yet. He dark eyes looked huge…and haunted. “I mean, if he won’t stop…could you, could you kill Jett?”
Tommy’s throat and mouth felt suddenly dry. His mind reeled. Could I?
A dozen happy memories with Jett flashed before him. In truth, Tommy didn’t know the answer to that question…that terrible question. But I’m the leader of the Lords of Berinfell, he thought, there’s no pawning this off.
“If it comes down to it,” Tommy said, “if there’s no other way…I don’t want any of you to have to do it. It’s on me.”
Daughter.
So many connotations to the word, and Taeva’s heart became the epicenter for them all…tremors spreading outward to the point where she could barely grip her weapons. Her hands trembling, she slid the sword and dagger into the sheaths strapped on her thighs. They fit awkwardly, but it would do. Better than dropping them. Get a grip on yourself! she admonished. He’s lying.
