Courage (28 page)

Baku balked, then looked at the fused cracks again. He traced every last crack with his mind’s eye, but stopped before getting halfway through them. The sheer amount of healing she’d performed on the cliff took immense strength of will for a mortal, even for an Aigis. Baku swelled with pride for a heartbeat, then remembered that both his Aigis still needed to unlock Frava if they didn’t want to get crushed by the will of a god. The use of this bit of extended reality was a good start, though. “She feels like she’ll live, but she and Aerigo are running out of time. Nexus will commence his war once he believes his stage has been set. He wants a good show. I just know it.” He refrained from mentioning the assassin. He couldn’t bring himself to break such news with so many of Leviathan’s mortals suffering all around him. He deserved a chance to put his faith in the last two living Aigis. “My son’s ego may buy Aerigo and Rox some time, but only a morsel. I sensed desperation in his actions when I visited his realm earlier. I actually want to talk to you about my wife and son--that is, if you have the strength and energy to discuss such things.”

“I am eager to understand how events have led towards Nexus’ decision to use a prophecy to get what he wants. It is still unclear what he wants exactly.” Leviathan placed a large hand on the forehead of a middle-aged woman, then shook his head. Two younger women kneeling over the older one bent themselves over their dead companion and began crying loud and hard. Leviathan moved on an elderly woman with a bloody arm in a sling made out of part of her gauzy dress. He absorbed the woman’s pain and moved on to the next.

“I am, too,” Baku said. “I’m hoping you can objectively see whatever it is that I’m blind to. Nexus being my son, I’m partially responsible, but I just don’t understand how things went so wrong.”

“I will impart any wisdom I can,” Leviathan said softly, tired.

Part of Baku wished Leviathan had refused conversation. It hurt to see one of his greatest divine friends so weary and hurt. Baku was working fervently to revive the dead and take on the pain of injuries so Leviathan would have less work to do, but Baku already had four worlds of his own he was spread across. He was constantly listening to the prayers and wishes and hopes of billions of mortals, and lending his inner strength where he could. Stretching himself to a fifth, even if it were just a few million, was taxing. It was like adding more weights to a weightlifting machine, and trying to pump out more reps after his muscles were already exhausted. Still, it could be done, and it was worth it.

It was strange helping mortals who didn’t belong to him. Baku could do this on Phaedra only because Leviathan had asked for it. Kara had permanent permission on all four of Baku’s worlds, which often came in handy. It was teamwork. Leviathan’s mortals felt alien but, other than that, no different. They were simply strangers to him, strangers in need of help.

What separated Phailon’s desecration from any war held on Baku’s worlds was the context. A god had convinced a band of mortals to wreak havoc. When mortals wreaked havoc on other mortals, both sides had to suffer the consequences. Hating how it felt to endure the warring, Baku used to come in and play cleanup once the warring lapsed. However, he eventually stopped, seeing no point, since all his mortals did was perceive that his interactions meant he was trying to help the winning side, when he was helping indiscriminately. It sometimes made the warring worse, more fanatical. The more subtle his interactions the better.

Baku broke away from that line of thought to focus on his divine family. He could spend years analyzing his decisions and how they influenced his mortals. Right now, he needed help analyzing his wife and son, and his decisions surrounding them.

“When Nexus was born Kara and I named him Herato,” Baku helped move rubble blocking the entrance to a half-collapse section of the wall that separated Phailon from the plateau. “He embraced his name and enjoyed being called that. It wasn’t until his juvenile phase that he changed his name to Nexus. He wanted an intimidating-sounding name-that and a name I hadn’t helped give him. Kara and I let the name change be. There was no harm in it, even though it saddened us. Names are gifts.” The last of the debris was hauled aside. A team of five rescuers wearing firefighting gear charged in, calling out to anyone who might be trapped inside. “Nexus was a typical baby: adorable, fussy, charming, needy, and an absolute blessing to have in our lives. He was this adorable pink thing with a shock of jet black hair, and intense dark eyes. He took to Kara immediately, but never bonded with me in the same way. It was strange, but not unheard of. I still loved him all the same though. He will always be my son. But at some point during his toddler days, Nexus became possessive of his mother.

“Whenever I approached them together, Nexus never wanted me to hug or kiss my wife, or even sit next to her. He would throw fits and try to push me away, or squirm between us. He was intent of keeping me out of arm’s reach of her. It surprised us both.

“Kara and I squashed his possessiveness early on. It was unacceptable behavior. He relented, but not without resistance. He learned to be civil and tolerant, but never quite content with having the three of us together. He radiated hate towards me, even at such a young age.” The rescue crew guided out several civilians, most conscious, a few not. Baku and Leviathan helped load the victims onto a bus-sized emergency vehicle that reminded Baku of a whale shark without fins or a tail. The vehicle hovered a foot off the ground and jostled slightly as it adjusted to the weight distribution.

Leviathan said, “Did you hate your own father?”

“No,” Baku said, thinking back to the time when his father, Fithar, was still around. Fithar had decided on reincarnation as a mortal long, long ago, passing his two worlds on to Baku. “We had our moments where we clashed and had falling-outs, but we loved each other and had a great relationship.

“Now, the strange thing is, whenever it was just Nexus and I, we got along great. I showed him my worlds and everything on it. He fell in love with everything he saw, taking great interest in how it all worked, and how rich and beautiful the mortal realm is. He enjoyed every minute of exploring my worlds and learning everything. It was the only times I saw his smiling, carefree side, and was certain he loved me as well. But as soon as we rejoined with Kara, he reverted right back to the child who didn’t want me around. It was so strange.” The emergency vehicle sped off. Baku and Leviathan hurried over to three injured people before running to a blaze at the end of one of the tunnels in the wall separating the dais from the rest of Phailon.

Leviathan said, “This use of the Voice of Prophecy... he’s going to come away with worlds and mortals of his own no matter the outcome. How old was Nexus when he knew he wanted to become a Creator?”

“Goodness! Young.” His voice echoed along the tunnel and mingled with the crackling flames and mortal voices shouting back and forth. “Nexus stayed in the toddler phase for an unusually long time. He didn’t progress beyond the equivalent of mortal age five until Kara and I corrected his possessive behavior. It was well before his juvenile phase that he asked me to grant him the power of a Creator. He sorely wanted to do what I do.”

“He still does,” Leviathan observed.

Baku nodded soberly. He stood closest to the fire with a large hose a mortal handed him, and began dousing the blaze. Leviathan tended to the injured and the dead he could revive. “I didn’t know he was brash enough to go as far as he has. Now everyone’s paying the price for my blindness. I should’ve known. I tried to mentor and nurture him into Creator material, but he was so fixated on doing everything his way, and couldn’t get past seeing mortals as mere pawns for entertainment. He never proved himself suited for such responsibility. He still isn’t. I blocked him from entering my worlds, but not from seeing what was going on. I’d vainly hoped watching my mortals for some time would change his perception, but it didn’t, so I completely closed my worlds to him.

“When he told me he’d use a Prophecy to get what he wanted if I wouldn’t give it to him, I created Aerigo. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t fully believe him at the time, but I distrusted my own doubts enough to create my first Aigis. Kara couldn’t sway Nexus either. That worried her as much as it worried me. And when I heard him deliver the prophecy in full, I got desperate and created Roxie. Someone has to put a stop to this.”

“What exactly do you hope Aerigo and Roxie will do to Nexus?”

“I’ve been trying to prepare myself for the high chance that they may have no choice but to kill him, if they find the power to. Nexus is my son and I care about him, and I’d rather not resort to killing, but something has gone horribly wrong. I’m hoping that instead they can break his will so Kara and I can rebuild our son, but we can’t guarantee that he won’t turn out the same. Despite all he’s done, he deserves a chance to be a better god.” Baku found himself fighting down tears. He blinked several times to clear his vision. Nexus was his own son, yet Baku had made some un-fatherly decisions within the last four thousand years. He and Kara had parented Nexus to the best of their ability, yet he still turned out the way he did. What had they done wrong?

“Kara stays with him just about everywhere he goes, but her reports on his behavior stopped shortly before I created Aerigo. I’m worried about her as well. I’m wondering if Nexus has been slowly turning her against me.”

Leviathan stood, but a little hunched so his curved horns wouldn’t scrape the tunnel’s ceiling. He pushed aside collapsed chunks of smoking granite that Baku and several mortals had doused, indifferent to the rocks’ heat. The tunnel entrance slowly appeared as smoke escaped through the growing hole. The mortals cheered. Leviathan said to Baku, “Are you sure the blame lies on you and Kara? Yes, Nexus showed fixation and obsession early on, but he also showed that he could be mentored and molded. Who’s to say you two weren’t the only ones molding him? Have you considered that Kara might be too afraid to act against her son so late into events? That would explain her inability or unwillingness to communicate with you anymore.”

The tunnel ground suddenly felt like it dropped out from beneath Baku. “Gods, that would explain a lot. I never considered it. I’ve been so fixated on what I might’ve done wrong. Kara and I both have been--well, I know she had until she stopped talking to me. A third party might also explain how he reverted back to wedging himself between my wife and me.”

“I thought you said you both corrected that.”

Memories of the time he and Nexus physically fought for the first time assailed his consciousness. “Nexus should look like a grown man by now, but he’s stuck at maybe the mortal equivalent of age twenty. I’m not sure what the relationship is like between him and Kara anymore. It’s been so long since she and I have had a proper relationship. Things always get worse when I try to talk with her. I just saw her when I deposited my army on Nexus’ realm, and this time proved no different than the others.” He joined Leviathan and the mortals in clearing the tunnel entrance.

“How so?”

Baku winced. Once again, his rambling had led him into revealing information he would rather keep to himself. Even if he didn’t say anything, Leviathan would figure out the general truth just by gauging Baku’s emotions. “Nexus has sent an assassin to make sure of both my Aigis’ deaths. We are on the proverbial knife’s edge at the moment. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your place in this matter.” Leviathan spoke with no worry or despair. He spoke like the patient mentor he was, albeit weary. “We mustn’t let our faith in them waver.”

“You’re right. It’s just easier said than done.” The last of the debris was pushed out of the tunnel entrance, granting everyone a sobering view of a crippled Phailon. Leviathan and Baku strode out onto the nearest block and recommenced tending to mortal lives. “I still have faith in them, though, to be honest. I don’t know how not to.”

“Good. Do you have any other questions or concerns surrounding your son?”

Baku thought a moment as he kneeled before a line of dead people that had been laid out along a mostly intact sidewalk. “I don’t think so. All the questions I have are best answered by him.”

“Have you ever tried asking him the questions you still have?”

“No, actually. I always focused on trying to talk to Kara.”

“Then I suggest posing them to him. He might surprise you, and both yours and his injuries should finally go away. He’s the type of god who relishes being the center of attention. I can’t tell you why things have gone so bad from just the information you have given me. All I can gather is that it was part nature, part nurture. You need to find out who else nurtured, and why.”

Once again, Leviathan was right, but this time Baku sorely wished he wasn’t. The thought of confronting Nexus while still so bruised and battered intimidated him. His only solace was that his son didn’t look much better. However, Baku couldn’t help but wonder what had driven his son to go so far as to use the Voice of Prophecy to get what he wanted. He also wanted to know who had muddied his and Kara’s parenting. Most of all, he wanted to save his son’s life.

PART THREE

Chapter 20

Vancor’s prized General, Kwon Oemaru, motioned through the final steps of the checklist for his XTV40K Sky Fang, an aircraft. The fuel tanks were full, no water in the fuel, no debris in the engine or any of the vents, air pressure in all three tires were perfect, the engine sounded strong when he briefly fired it up, all his dashboard gauges were in working order, and all the independently moving parts of his Fang’s functioned properly when he tested them.

It was vitally important to be prepared.

Oemaru flipped his laminated checklist closed and stowed it in the compartment under his cockpit seat, then hopped out of the cockpit and stood on one of the Fang’s silvery wings. This... realm--he wanted to call it a meteor but Vancor told him it was called a “realm”--was an unusual choice of location to wage war. There was air space at least. That’s what he was more accustomed to, along with frictionless dog fights in outer space.

The realm was blanketed with 200, 000 soldiers with maybe three hundred strides separating the opposing sides. The front lines of both armies were almost perfectly straight, as if there were some sort of magic barrier preventing anyone from entering the empty space until this god, Nexus, signaled to begin. Oemaru didn’t like Nexus even before he’d met him fifteen minutes ago. What idiot purposely set up a battle like a chess board? Vancor expected him, his prized General, to win this war, however he’d failed to mention this stupid setup.

This shouldn’t make things
too
difficult, though. Oemaru had fought and won under abysmal odds many times. He could make this “fairness” work to his advantage.

The sight of 200, 000 soldiers laid out like this looked impressive. Everyone’s uniforms ranged vastly in color and material composition. It was like looking at an audience in a shallow stadium designated for sporting events Oemaru had never had the chance to participate in. His life had been devoted to warfare from the day he started learning to talk. By Vancor’s cunning, that had been so long ago. Over five thousand years, according to the star date back on his home world Neo-Joso. Oemaru had aged maybe fifty years over the past five thousand, thanks to the effects of traveling at light-speed and spending many a year in cryo-sleep. He’d competed with hundreds of candidates on his inter-galactic crusade and, through a bit of luck and a lot of skill, he came out on top.

He had one humiliating defeat on his otherwise impressive record. He hoped those who’d humiliated him and his fleet were present in this war. He craved a rematch. His pride demanded it. The only problem was that he didn’t know who exactly he was looking for. He’d seen only one face, and just a face. For maybe two seconds. But those two seconds had been long enough to burn every last feature into his memory, including its red-glowing eyes.

Oemaru took in his army of one thousand soldiers splayed out among their matching Sky Fangs. His people had elongated heads like equine creatures, but they had brows, eyes and noses like that of reptiles, and smooth pasty white skin like an amphibian, minus the slime. His soldiers’ black eyes radiated intelligence, and their slight, humanoid frames moved with grace and precision. Everyone, including him, wore silver military-issue jumpsuits with their ranks embroidered on their shoulders. Neo-Joso had recently made a new rank just for him: Grandmaster General. He looked at his own fresh embroidery, still not quite believing he’d gotten this far. The background of the patch consisted of a red and yellow star with solar flares roping off the main circle. Layered on top of that was Neo-Joso eclipsing half the star’s diameter. A third layer consisted of his mother ship with his fleet wreathing it. He touched the embroidery fondly, even though he didn’t feel fully deserving of it until he won his rematch.

Oemaru hopped into the air and floated to the ground, landing by the pointed nose of his craft. He marched among the grid of jets and his soldiers preparing them for war, working in pairs. Whenever Oemaru came within ten strides of a jet, its respective crew would break from their preparations and salute him with a hand to their pale temple and a slight bow. He regally saluted back without bowing or breaking stride.

Once Oemaru reached the front line of jets, he saluted, then placed a four-fingered hand on the shoulder of the second most decorated soldier present. “Firru, I’ll return shortly. Watch my back.” He had to take a quick look and see if he could spot any humanlike beings with red-glowing eyes. His whole approach to this war hinged on whether they were present or not.

“Of course, sir.”

Movement above the opposing army caught Oemaru’s attention. Some winged creature must’ve had the same idea as him. The creature, something that looked like a brown lion with huge bat-like wings, continued along its patrol at a modest clip, beating its massive wings only when it started to dip. Oemaru took to the air with a thought and flew towards his front line at a diagonal, not quite able to keep up with the flying creature.

Once Oemaru reached the front line of people Oemaru dropped to the ground, feet first, surrounded by pale humanoids. These ones were exceptionally tall and wore animal hides and barbaric weapons, apparently devoid of advanced technology of the lowest kind. Maybe they were exceptionally good at wielding extended reality, but by the looks of all the scars they bore from cuts and gashes, he had a hunch that wasn’t true. Cannon fodder. That’s all these humanoids would be. A formidable distraction. He needed soldiers to fill that role, therefor making these people important. Even the pawn could kill the king if played just right...

He weaved his way past the tall humanoids without touching them, then held out a hand and side-shuffled towards the space no one from either army had dared occupy just yet. The soldiers around him fell silent. He could feel their eyes on his slender back. The rest of his allies went about their shouting, singing, sword-clashing, and overall ruckus without pause. Those around him backed up as he reached for the empty space. He didn’t blame them. The farther he reached, the more he felt like this was a terrible idea. The feeling was overriding his curiosity.

The air in front of his hand shimmered like water under a low-hovering gyrocraft. Oemaru reflexively pulled back, then straightened up and squared himself with the empty space. The need to stop proceeding vanished like a burst bubble.
So that’s why. Interesting.
He dared not test what would happen if he touched the shimmering air. For all he knew, the act would strike him dead.

Oemuaru levitated until he was over the heads of everyone nearby. The opposing army was a bit too far away to make out many facial features, but he could tell that those across the basin had their eyes on him. He was both relieved and disappointed that he didn’t spot any red-glowing ones. As the opposition turned, more near them turned to see what their companions were looking at. Oemaru didn’t care. They could look all they wanted. It wouldn’t help them strategize.

The flying cat creature was working back the way he’d come across the opposing front line. He was significantly bigger than most of his allies. He had his eyes on Oemaru as well, who had a feeling that that creature would make an excellent opponent. It was far bigger than him, and most likely significantly stronger, yet how smart was it? Before Oemaru realized what he was doing, he raised a hand and pointed at the creature, then at his own chest, then back at the creature. The cat pivoted midair so it was upright as it bobbed with every flap of its huge wings. Oermaru couldn’t see its individual fangs, but he heard the roar. Challenge accepted. Excellent. It wasn’t the creature who’d humiliated him long ago, but that wasn’t what he wanted from the cat creature. He needed a fresh challenge. He pivoted midair and flew back to his second in command.

Firru stood at attention atop his own Sky Fang, surveying the rest of the Neo-Josos and barking out orders as he saw fit. Oemaru alighted next to him and told him to order a handful of soldiers to invite the leaders of every army to a strategy meeting. Now that he was certain he had one particular foe he didn’t have to worry about, it was time to get things moving forward. Firru complied and, within a minute, ninety nine soldiers took to the air and dispersed.

Oemaru climbed into the cockpit of his Sky Fang and opened a small, built-in storage bin behind his seat. Inside sat a tidy display of several gadgets, each with a specific purpose and tightly strapped in place. He freed a heavy, golden, spherical object the size of a grapefruit, his veladome, along with a black oval item the size of a large walnut, his wyverbit, then locked the bin. He balanced in the crook of his craft’s wing and cockpit with one object in each hand, then scanned the battlefield for any eyes following his every move.

A bunch of his soldiers shot curious glances at him for a second, and nothing more. The nearest ally army, these brown people with leafy hair--or maybe they had leaves for hair; he didn’t know and didn’t feel bold enough to ask--had technology similar to Neo-Joso, but they paid him no mind. There was no army behind him. He and his men held a rear section of the realm. The opposing army was too far away to make out anything beyond colorful masses, and where one god’s army ended and another began. The armies were laid out in a grid formation. Nothing perfectly square, yet tightly fitted together. What made each army distinct was the race of mortal, what they wore, and the varying levels of technology. There seemed to be a median size and a dominant humanoid shape that had been built on with all sorts of creative twists and flairs. The Neo-Josos were no different. They all probably bled the same, including Oemaru, and they all died the same, but not on this day for the strongest and most elite.

Satisfied that no one from the opposing army was spying on him with any sort of magic or technology, not even the cat creature, Oemaru tapped an indent in the top of the wyverbit. Several pinhead-sized lights blinked to life on its flanks. He tapped a code into the indent with a pale fingertip, then the wyverbit leapt out of his palm. It zigzagged over his army’s heads and out of sight.

Oemaru flew past the edge of his army to an empty strip of rock maybe fifty strides deep that stretched from end to end of his allying army. A few soldiers occupied it in places farther down, but not many. He assumed those who stood in the emptier space had found a need to have their own space to think and strategize. He sympathized with them.

Oemaru pressed a button in the golden veladome and four small markings that hadn’t been visible glowed white. He gave the veladome a hard throw, then took a few steps back just in case. The heavy ball dismembered itself midair, revealing layer upon layer within as golden rods arched out like a squid enveloping its prey. More rods sprung out horizontally, connecting all the vertical ones. When the veladome was done expanding, the golden structure stood four men tall. A transparent membrane protracted from the rods, filling up each grid and covering the rods themselves. Once complete, the dome shimmered with white and blue light, then vanished from sight.

Oemaru pressed and held a spot on the wrist cuff of his jumpsuit and pointed his fist at the invisible veladome. The perimeter of the base lit up with a thin line of white light. He followed it until he found the arch of light that outlined the doorway and stood before it, ready to greet his guests once they arrived. He released the button and the lines of light winked out.

The edge of the realm caught Oemaru’s attention. He glanced at his army, then the rest of his allies, and spotted no one headed towards him. He wandered towards the edge of the realm and cautiously peered over the edge, one foot braced in front of him, hands ready in case vertigo pulled him off balance. The edge ended in a sheer cliff that looked like someone had dragged fingers down it in perfect straight lines. Beyond the realm winked countless stars, nothing more than the sheer endlessness of space. The sight was comforting.

Long ago, once he had been trained enough, Oemaru had spent life up to this moment on one spaceship or another, minus the times he’d visited world’s he’d conquered. Stars and blackness greeted him almost every time he looked out a window.

Oemaru leaned a little farther over, but couldn’t tell if the underside of the realm was flat, rounded, jagged, or something else. He found a loose stone by his feet and tossed it over the edge. The rock arced up and out for several strides, then suddenly continued on a tangent from its arc, as if it no longer was affected by gravity or flying through air. There were no visual cues as to where the cutoff point was. He looked at the stormy sky that had to stretch for thousands of foot spans to encompass the tall storm clouds. His jet could navigate the storm no problem, but what about
under
the realm?

One of Oemaru’s men shouted to him. Several soldiers escorting a motley collection of allies were approaching on foot. Oemaru held up a fist and opened the door, then greeted his first guests, measuring each of them for their strength and prowess just by their appearance.

* * *

A good few of his guests looked annoyed. His soldiers confirmed this by explaining the apparent lack of etiquette when it came to inviting a soldier of superior rank to a meeting. Oemaru shrugged it off. He didn’t care. He would give a convincing performance of profuse apology if anyone demanded it of him.

A handful of guests didn’t deem this meeting necessary. Several came just to be polite. A few had to be heavily persuaded (without threats) to come. Most of his guests were grateful someone had thought of bringing them all together like this. Three individuals cloaked the veladome in spells that would block unwanted eyes and ears, and overall interest from their location. Oemaru expressed genuine thanks for their aid. The Neo-Josos’ access to extended reality was severely limited. When he was little, he’d been told that his people used to be able to fly much faster through the air with just a thought. Nowadays, most insects could fly faster than them. Oemaru accepted it as a sacrifice for their technological gains.