Dragon Over Washington (The Third War Of The Bir Nibaru Gods) (5 page)

“Fuck this. I’m getting out of here!” one of the ranchers yelled. He savagely pulled on his horse’s reins and turned it around. The horse bolted, a kick in the ribs urging it forward, and an instant later the remaining ranchers joined him.

They rode hard, galloping through the darkness at breakneck speed. Frank rode last. He was breathing heavily, clutching the reins and his shotgun, his legs clamped around his mount. He kept turning his head around, trying to see if anything was following them. At the speed they were going they would be lucky to come out of the forest alive for the horses risking stumbling on roots or rocks in the night. The mounts foamed at the mouth. Their eyes were wild and their breathing heavy. Their hooves crashed through the forest. Frank looked back again.

Suddenly, a horse screamed and fell. Something stirring with an undulating motion engulfed horse and rider, coiling around them as they thrashed on the ground. Frank yelled at his horse, urging it to gallop harder, faster. He tried to aim his shotgun but found nothing to aim at. Again, Frank kicked his sweat-covered horse. His breath rattled in his mouth as he realized he was moving past another riderless horse. He had no idea when its rider had been taken. Frank looked back again, but the forest seemed full of slithering motion everywhere, every tree swaying.

Frank blinked eyes full of tears and looked ahead. One lone rancher was riding in front of him, bending low over his saddle. Frank’s heart leaped as he heard a growl, but it was only the sound of engines. Frank opened his mouth, a relieved smile starting to form when something caught his attention. Turning his head slowly, he looked to the right. A dark patch of forest was flowing alongside the rancher riding in front of Frank, following him, getting closer. Then, the darkness gaped wide, flowed over both rider and horse. Frank didn’t even have time to yell out a warning.

Frank whimpered. He was the only rider left now. He bent forward and hugged his horse’s neck, his eyes closed. “This can’t be happening, it isn’t real,” he thought. “It’s not really happening.” A deep hiss suddenly sounded all around him: a snake’s hiss, loud and angry, full of menace. And getting closer.

***

The three trucks lumbered up the mild incline, engines roaring, wheels skidding on the soft earth and sending torrents of dirt behind them, smoke enveloping the sparse wood around them.

“Stop the car!” the sergeant suddenly yelled. His driver slammed the brakes hard, making the police pickup truck skid and turn before it came to a complete stop. The man sitting in the back was thrown forward, the air forced out of his lungs by the safety belt tightening around his chest.

The sergeant hadn’t waited for his truck to stop before opening the door and leaping out. He started waving his arms wildly, one hand still clutching his M16 rifle. A moment later, the trucks’ headlights illuminated a lone rider moving recklessly through the forest straight at them. The sergeant shouted at the rider and moved to block his path.

But the rider didn't break his speed and the sergeant threw himself sideways, barely avoiding flying hooves as the horse flashed past him, heading back the way the trucks had come from. The sergeant stood up and brushed off his uniform, looking with disgust at the mud covering his neat blue jacket. He bent down and picked up his hat but didn’t try cleaning it. He frowned, looking at the direction the rancher disappeared. He certainly wasn’t going to accept this kind of behavior from anyone - not even from the ranchers.

“We’re going to have a long chat after this is over, Frank,” the sergeant growled. He turned back to his truck, got in, threw the hat behind him on the backseat and slammed the door shut. He didn’t try to raise Frank on the radio. The trucks continued moving.

The sergeant looked around, straining his eyes, staring into the naked darkness around the trucks. The early stars spread a gentle luminous glow over the forest, coloring it a pale shade of white.

“Two plumes of smoke. That way,” the sergeant told the driver.

“Ah - I was thinking, maybe -” The man sitting in the backseat smiled weakly and leaned forward. He spoke with a stutter, adjusting his oval spectacles as he spoke.

“A-a-ahem? Excuse me?”

“Your friend ran off like the chicken he is,” the sergeant said with some grim satisfaction.

“Chickens and sheep are much healthier for the earth than cattle. Sheep don’t destroy pastures unlike -”

“Benson, shut your trap,” the sergeant growled, not even looking back. The small man sighed and shut up. He grasped a handhold over the door and tried to hang on.

The truck’s headlights illuminated a dense cluster of trees. The sergeant narrowed his eyes. Two smoke trails were coming from behind the trees, but the black plumes were growing thin and by the time they got close, the smoke was gone.

“Somebody knows we’re here! Move on!” the sergeant told his driver and picked up the radio set.

“This is Sergeant McLeslie. Keep a sharp lookout. I think we found what we’re looking for. Nice and easy now.” The sergeant hung the mike back on to its dashboard clasp.

“Sergeant, I hope that everything can be resolved peacefully.”

“Peaceful is my middle name,” the sergeant growled, petting his M16. “Now shut up!”

The three trucks drove on to the cluster of trees, wide tires digging into the earth, engines howling. Suddenly, things started to go wrong. The sergeant caught a fleeting movement out of the comer of his eyes and, cursing, he turned his head to try to follow it. He saw the Toyota pickup truck behind them lurch, the two-ton vehicle shuddering and swerving as the driver turned the wheel frantically, trying to get the truck under control. The front right wheel hit some obstacle on the ground and the truck flipped over, landing on its roof, its wheels spinning madly.

“Turn us around! Turn us around!” the sergeant shouted. The police officer driving their truck hit the brakes and turned the steering wheel, the power steering easily moving the front wheels. The truck was starting to turn when the windshield was suddenly smashed, shards of glass flying through the interior of the pickup. The sergeant yelled. He put his arms over his face to protect it and bent down to hide his head. The driver lost control over the vehicle and the pickup surged ahead. It crashed into a big tree and stopped, its engine compartment a smoking wreck, a huge dent in its front grille, the bent hood snapping open.

The sergeant shook his head and wiped his face urgently. The flying glass had cut him and blood trickled down his face. He nudged the driver, but the young police officer didn’t move. More metallic shrieking filled the forest - another vehicle being torn apart. The sergeant fought with the dented door and swore. Two shots made him flinch momentarily, but then he leaned back and kicked the door, his heavy boots forcing it open on the second try. He grabbed his M16 rifle and rolled out of the police truck.

He got up immediately and pulled the charging handle of the rifle. The cocking sound was loud and distinctive in the suddenly silent darkness. The sergeant lifted up the rifle and trained it around slowly, his eyes lingering on the now-empty pickup truck behind him. No one was left, the three police officers gone, as was most of the interior of the truck. There was no movement from the Toyota that rested on its roof. It had been opened up like a sardine can.

Something fell to the ground behind him and the sergeant whirled around sharply. It was his truck’s headlight, pieces of plastic falling down, followed by part of the fender. A moment later the police lights from the roof, still blinking weakly, crashed down. The sergeant turned around jerkily, clutching his rifle tightly. The barrel of his rifle shook as his hands started to tremble. The sergeant turned again. He thought he heard a sound, something slithering over the earth, sliding on grass, twigs and rocks. Then the sergeant grunted, as if hit in the stomach, his belly full of fear.

In the deep darkness between the trees in front of him, two pinpoints of green light lit up. The pinpoints of light flickered, as if filled with small clear flames. The pair of lights began to circle around the sergeant, moving gracefully through the darkness, as if the dark green forest had come to life. The sergeant’s gaze followed the lights, his eyes glued to them, a rabbit mesmerized by a serpent. He tried to pull the trigger of his rifle but couldn’t get his shaking finger into the trigger guard. Then the lights stopped, their gaze holding the whimpering policeman like the approaching headlights of a rushing vehicle hypnotizing a deer. The sergeant started to scream.

Benson groaned, shaking his head and sitting up slowly. The safety belt had kept him in his seat when the pickup had crashed into the tree.

“Hmm - Excuse me? Is everything all right? Hello? Hello?” The driver didn’t respond, slumped on the wheel, out cold. Or dead. Benson struggled madly with the safety-belt buckle, but it wouldn’t let him go. He felt hemmed in, unable to breathe, the walls of the car closing in on him. He pulled at the safety belt with all his strength, but it held fast. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Then he lowered his eyes, pressed the clasp once more, and was released.

Benson opened the door and stumbled out of the pickup, breathing in deeply. He looked around groggily. There was no sign of the police sergeant, nor anyone else. The forest was quiet - not a bird singing, not an insect buzzing. Benson shivered. It was too quiet. Benson took off his spectacles and unconsciously wiped them on his overalls.

Something he sensed made him turn around. He held his breath. An enormous triangular head was thrust at him from the darkness, hovering at eye level. The jaws were bigger than his arms, the head over two feet long. Two reptilian eyes stared at him, vertical pupils seemingly lit from inside. The thing was covered with overlapping, iron-hard scales, giving it a boxy, armored appearance. One scale on the left of the nose had a deep cut in it from an old wound.

The only things not covered with scales were the glowing, green eyes, the wide nostrils at the tip of its snout, and small pits below the nostrils. The glistening scales were bigger in the front, covering the head completely. Two horns jutted out above the eyes and sharp bony spikes ran up from the snout to the top of the head.

The head moved closer, the unblinking eyes staring at Benson. The lipless jaws moved fractionally, though they stayed closed. Benson could feel the heat emanating from the creature’s large scales as if it was a living stove. He gagged, his heart beating in his throat. The small man was rooted to the spot, too afraid to blink. The monster’s scalding breath was hot and heavy, covering Benson’s spectacles with fog, almost blinding him.

Another sound gradually intensified. A heavy heartbeat, much stronger than his, slowly merged with his own. The long, spiked ears at the sides of the reptilian head swiveled towards the man standing in front of it. The reptilian monster made a deep sound, a note of query. The small, bespectacled man gaped in surprise. His hand, as though acting on its own, extended forward. He softly touched the large, iron-hard scales. He felt a tingling sensation flowing through his body. The huge maw gaped open. The man glimpsed rows of curved, dagger like teeth and closed his eyes tightly.

Wisps of black smoke rose out of the creature’s wide nostrils. Benson started violently when something soft and wet touched his face. The reptilian monster had just licked him.

Day 6 after Earth Barrier Breach.

The fast brigantine “Poison Dagger” on approach to Earth. Saturday, 10:34.

The small brigantine sailed on luminous waters. It was a quick ship, designed for speed and maneuverability. Her sleek hull and full rigged mainsail enabled her to take advantage of wind coming from almost every direction. There were four heavy bolt throwers on deck, the boxy war engines capable of hurling heavy steel-tipped bolts with enough force to penetrate an enemy ship’s armor with ease.

The triangular mainsail and the square-rigged sail on the aft mast were half furled. The bowsprit, the heavy spar projecting from the bow of the ship, was bare, without a figurehead. The mainmast was bare as well, without any flag hoisted upon it. The colors on the half-furled sails were faded. The ship had been designed to be very hard to spot from a distance, and even if it were seen, no one could be sure where the ship’s loyalty lay. The hull’s color was toned down, the wooden beams only half visible in the shadows of the Skyriver lane.

The captain of the ship was taking great care to hold station behind a larger, similarly disguised ship running ahead. They sailed on a remote Skyriver lane, several miles wide and immeasurably long. A ship can sail the dayside lane, basking in the light of huge dancing stars, their glow reflected by the rainbow colored waters. A ship can also sail underneath, on the nightside lane, though few sailed there.

There were no stars underneath the lanes, only darkness. Gravity, strange as it was in the Skyriver, would not let the ship leave the watery lanes, but imagination roamed free. A sailor looking too long into the nightside lane skies would soon start to see things looking back at him. It was said one could even see into the Pit Lands. Men were known to lose their minds after sailing the nightside lane.

A place in between existed as well, the twilight lane. There was still some light there, but it was faint enough to enable a ship to hide if it was so inclined. This particular ship was designed to sail the shadowy part of the Skyriver lanes. The ship was a small, quick, camouflaged assassin carrying a heavy weapons load.

The captain of the brigantine, was a short stocky man wearing leather clothes and sporting a short sword in a wide belt. He stood near the whipstaff on the aft castle, looking forward. The larger ship running ahead was as hard to spot as the brigantine though it was a full-fledged, three-masted frigate. The frigate carried a concealed oil lamp on a pole above its stern gallery, at the back of the ship. The lamp enabled a ship to follow, enabling both ships to keep formation.

The captain’s gaze moved to his men. Some were swabbing the deck, others were handling the lines, ensuring that the half-furled mainsail was aligned correctly, port tack, to keep the boat going slowly. The first mate, a big burly officer, stood near the captain, ready to enforce every command the captain issued.

The captain stroked his carefully tended goatee - a captain has to keep up appearances, especially during long voyages. He smiled. As usual, all was quiet while the well-practiced sailors went about their tasks. Making a noise at an improper time could ruin the type of mission that this ship regularly undertook. A ruined mission usually meant the death of every man aboard the ship.

The captain turned around, looking back though there was not much to see behind his ship. The lane was shrouded in partial darkness and a thin fog was creeping up on them. Yet the captain had made it his custom to look back regularly. It had saved him in the past. Once, during a fleet engagement while working for House Friuli, a greatship had managed to sneak up behind him. The attention of his men, lookouts included, had been centered on a destroyer the squadron had engaged. If not for his habit of checking his rear, the greatship’s war engines would have surely smashed his ship as the enormous bolts were already surging in his direction.

Now, however, there was nothing but fog. The captain looked up, noting the locations of the few huge dancing stars that were visible. The stars on the Skyriver were different from those that shone down on the spheres. They were larger, more luminous, and definitely brighter than the stars the sphere-bound people saw. They moved in mysterious patterns, circling each other, some forming constellations while others traveled alone. Some claimed that the Skyriver stars were alive.

The captain's eyes traced several Skyriver lanes stretching across the skies a long distance off. The Skyriver obeyed few of the laws that held sway in the spheres. Its lanes spread through the skies like arteries. The maps used to navigate the Skyriver depict complex paths resembling roots more than anything else, spheres strung like beads along the lanes.

Suddenly something changed and the captain felt the first mate stiffen. The captain turned, looking down at the main deck. His men were moving away, everyone finding something important to do elsewhere, most jumping on to a line, climbing upwards to tighten sails that were perfectly tight anyway, pulling lines till they groaned.

A figure cloaked in black robes stepped out on deck. It had a black cowl on and kept its hands inside its robes. Even though the ship was shrouded by partial darkness, the figure seemed to make the ship even darker. It stepped forward into the middle of the deck, coming to stand right beside the mainmast. The captain frowned, deep wrinkles forming on his weather beaten face. The officers moved away, two going below deck and the rest finding a reason to climb the forecastle. Even the burly first mate was trying hard to look elsewhere.

The black cowl moved. The robed figure turned slowly. The captain tried to tear his gaze away, but he could not, even as the cowl was directed towards him. There was darkness inside the cowl. Slowly, a black iron mask became visible inside the hood, delicate features carefully sculpted to resemble a pleasant, sardonically smiling face. An unbreakable force held the captain’s gaze. An eternity seemed to pass till the mask finally turned away, releasing the captain. The captain slumped down and wiped his sweaty brow, breathing heavily.

The black-robed figure moved around slowly, walking in a circle. Finally, it stopped and looked up. A sailor was moving above on the ratline shrouds, a net-like complex of ropes connected to the mainmast. A black-gloved hand rose towards the sailor, the index finger pointing at him. The sailor fumbled and almost fell, grasping the lines with all his strength. Against his will, the sailor looked down; he shuddered when he saw the iron mask leveled at him.

“Come.” The metallic whisper had no trouble finding its way to the sailor’s ears high above. The sailor shuddered again, holding the lines with all his might, shutting his eyes. Then, moving slowly, mechanically, the sailor climbed down, tracked by the iron mask.

“How fortunate to find a man at home with the written word.”

The sailor was given a black iron plaque to hold, his weak attempt to shake his head in refusal totally ignored. The sailor was a big man, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and simple pantaloons. He was at least a head taller than the black-robed figure and much wider, his bulging muscles and huge hands the result of a lifetime of hard, physical work. It seemed he could break the black figure in two with his bare hands, were he so inclined, and if he could only get his shaking limbs to obey. The sailor held the small iron plaque as if it were a snake, as if it would turn around and bite him.

The black figure lowered its cowl. The iron mask was actually the front of a black, enclosed, iron helmet that reached the neck and joined the dark robes there. The helmet had short, curly hair sculpted on its top and back.

The sailor whimpered, seeing a gloved hand rise. The sailor closed his eyes, but the black-robed figure only moved its hand over a verse etched into the plaque. Its finger traced what was written there and caressed the words lovingly. The sailor whimpered again as he felt the plaque move as if it contained a living thing inside.

A moment later, the sailor dared open his eyes; he exhaled as silently as possible when the mask turned away. Yet, after a brief pause the figure turned back and the sailor squeaked as an athame, a ritual iron dagger with a black, unreflective serrated blade was brandished high. The sailor’s eyes were bright pools of fright, glued to the sharp blade.

“Safety precaution only. Do not worry, I am well protected,” the black-robed figure said. The sailor couldn’t clear his dry throat. There was a moment of silence.

“Good conversation is so hard to find these days, even when I put on my nicer mask,” the figure sighed. Its voice was pleasant and masculine even though it rang with a metallic undertone.

The finger traced the verse written on the iron plaque again even as the plaque bucked in the sailor’s hands, the metal bending. As the finger reached the middle of the text, a sharp beak emerged from within the metal plaque, like a bird emerging from a pool of black water, only to sink back before it could snap at the black-silk-clad finger tracing the cryptic words.

The trembling sailor, looking at the plaque, raised his gaze and almost swallowed his tongue when he saw the mask directed at him.

“The demon’s name must be uttered without any mishap. Hold the plaque steadily to prevent any mistake,” the metallic voice rang. The sailor, with a supreme act of will, stiffened his trembling hands and the figure returned to its tracing. The sailor’s left eye started twitching madly.

It took a long time. The sailor sweated profusely, despite the wind that blew all about them, making the black robes flutter. After an eternity, the figure stopped and straightened up.

“It seems all is ready. If you value your life, you will stand like a statue for the next several moments. Do you understand?”

The sailor turned as white as a sheet.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

The black-robed figure faced the iron plaque while the sailor held it high. They stood that way for a while, unmoving, the iron-mask face immobile. It seemed the ship had become quieter, a deep silence of anticipation muffling every sound on board.

“
Sin-Shar-Ishkun Adar Hejaat
!” The words rang out metallically. An indefinable change had come over the ship.

“
Sin-Shar-Ishkun Adar Hejaat
! Come up from the Pit Lands! Pierce the Veils! Come to me!” the figure cried, raising its arms.

Strange lights began bathing the ship. It was as if a rainbow shone down over the deck, but twinkling with colors that are never seen after a rain - colors that could not be named, could not be remembered. The lights flickered, blinking on and off, flowing across the ship.

“
Sin-Shar-Ishkun Adar Hejaat
! A mortal is offered! A prize is given! A tasty morsel awaits thee,
Sin-Shar-Ishkun Adar Hejaat
! I conjure you by your name!”

The lights bathing the ship drifted and converged in front of the black figure. Thunder rolled across the deck, shaking the ship and everything aboard. A tunnel formed with walls of pure light made up of colors that were unreal, colors that should not exist, colors that were radiated by the fabric of reality being changed. The ship lurched and perspectives changed. Things started to fall down into the tunnel’s mouth. Masts, sails - even the hull itself groaned as the inexorable pull from the tunnel’s mouth intensified.

It was a tunnel between the Veils that mutated reality around it, changing the directions of the world. Everything not bolted to the deck was swept into the tunnel and was instantly sucked away. The captain, watching from the aft castle, held the rail tightly to keep from falling forward into the tunnel. Pieces of ropes, buckets and tools were sucked into the writhing tunnel.

The first mate lost his cap to the tunnel. He glanced at the captain, waiting for orders. The captain’s face was white, his eyes bulging. The light show was visible for miles around the ship, ruining the ship’s camouflage. The ship itself tilted, lurching, its stern rising up.

The tunnel continued moving, twisting and undulating, all the while its opening remained in front of the black-robed figure. Thunder rolled out of the tunnel, making the mainmast shudder and the sails shake violently like leaves in a storm. The tunnel seemed to end in a black abyss an immeasurable distance away.

Now, something came moving through it, reaching towards the opening, surging with frightening speed and vitality till it burst out of the tunnel. As thick, yellow oily smoke exploded out, engulfing the deck, the tunnel of light winked out, returning perspectives to normal and the ship’s stern returned to the Skyriver lane with a great splash. The opaque smoke began to move, its coils writhing.

Two eyes opened inside the smoke cloud, dark black orbs with a yellow, smoldering core. There was an irregular diagonal slash between the eyes - a constant disturbance inside the thick cloud, a scar. The thick, yellow cloud stirred and the eyes looked around before focusing on the sailor standing before it. They narrowed and scanned the iron plaque; then an inhuman shriek pierced the ship. Claws, beaks and talons emerged from within the cloud and lunged at the sailor, hungrily yearning for his flesh, stopping inches from his skin. Deafening howls of anger and hunger rose as the nebulous entity kept failing to reach the sailor’s body.

“
Sin-Shar-Ishkun Adar Hejaat
! I have bound you! Your prize is forbidden!” The metallic syllables somehow kept echoing on after their utterance. The noxious yellow vapor began to condense into a small cloud above the black clad figure.