We now come to chapter ten of Rage of the Old Gods, the first book of my epic science fantasy trilogy the World Spectrum. In the coming weeks, I will be posting the entire book for free on this blog. If you’re just joining us, you can get caught up with the previous chapters now.

“Leave It All Behind” sees Yarnig return to Tor Som with much-needed aid… only to discover that he is too late, and Leha has already decided to abandon the country.

———————

Chapter ten: Leave It All Behind

As night fell and the village grew quiet, Leha and her roommates retired for the night, but Leha found she couldn’t sleep. Her mind roiled with thoughts of what the future held, and what lingered in the past. Images and memories chased each other around in an unending cycle.

At times, she thought of Sosk, and her throat would tighten. She hadn’t had the chance to know him well, but she knew the Lost One had been a good man. That he had become a casualty of this war without ever seeing the enemy made her flush with anger. It was all so unjust.

At other times, her mind turned to Drogin. She didn’t understand why he had grown so distant since her transformation. At first, she’d thought it was just an odd mood of his, and by the time she’d realized it was something greater, the gulf between them had grown too wide to bridge. She desperately wanted their old closeness back, but she was also angry with him. She didn’t know what to do.

During those instances when she drifted closer to sleep, her thoughts crept toward the dark visage of the Machine King, and the fury with which it had destroyed Marlhem. She could still feel the force of its eyes upon her.

Sometimes, she would think of the battles to come, or her need to decide whether to create more people like her, and her stomach would tighten anxiously. Or her mind would drift to the entity that lived beneath Sy’om. Barria, Sy’om, and Tyzu were all radically different from each other. She couldn’t help but wonder what such a distant, alien place would be like.

The weather didn’t make sleeping any easier. The rain had stopped, but the humidity lingered over the village like a hot, moist blanket. The damp seeped into everything. It plastered her sheets to her skin and turned her hair to a greasy mop. She tried drawing Sy’om’s energy to cool herself, but it had little impact.

Sleep proved too elusive, and she found herself staring at the ceiling, listening to the breathing of her companions. Eranna’s was a slow, steady rhythm, but Natoma’s was quicker and more forceful.

Leha turned within the dank cocoon formed by her pallet and sheets. “Are you awake?” she whispered.

The dark blob that was Natoma’s head nodded.

Leha made a questioning gesture toward the door with her head, and the Urannan nodded again. The two women pulled themselves out of their bedding, dressed quietly, and slipped outside.

Out on the platform, a gentle breeze helped to compensate for the oppressive humidity. Thick clouds obscured the moon and the stars, and a dense fog made it seem that the village existed in the middle of a fathomless void. Neither the Lost Ones in the homes around them nor the refugees camped below them made any noise, and the only sounds to be heard were the unending drone of insects, the calls of nocturnal birds, and the rustling of the wind through the platform and the leaves of the trees.

The women made their way into the center of the green circle, moving at as leisurely a pace as the world would permit.

“So, what’s keeping you up?” Leha asked softly.

Natoma shrugged. “The same things that would keep up anyone in our situation, I suppose. Thoughts of impending dangers, uncertainty. I’m generally better at living in the moment, but tonight my mind seems to have other plans.” She swiveled her head to face Leha. “What about you?”

Leha ran a toe over a vine in the net. The foliage was moist and cool. “Same as you. This seems to be becoming a habit of mine – staying up late.”

“And not a good one,” Natoma said with a hint of a chuckle.

They stood in silence for some time, listening to the sounds of Tyzu at night. Occasionally, lightning would flicker in the distance, its light rippling through the fog like some strange apparition. There was something serene, something otherworldly, about nights like this. It was mysterious, but also comforting. Leha did her best to live in the moment, as Natoma had said.

At last, she came back to herself. “Would you like a drink?” she asked suddenly.

“Hmm?” Natoma, who had been looking into the distance, turned to her. “What kind of drink?”

“Let me show you.”

She crossed to the southern edge of the platform, Natoma following a few paces behind. Leha hopped off the netting and onto the branch of one of one of the village’s trees. Then, spider-like, she crawled underneath the hut the tree supported. She found a series of sacks formed out of living vines and shrubs and suspended from the floor of the hut and the surrounding branches. The sacks were used to store things like tools and food stores for use by the community. She reached into the nearest one, withdrew a small keg, and, carrying it under one arm, she made her way back to Natoma.

She deposited the keg onto the platform. “It’s called fejo. It’s quite nice; I’ve had it before.”

Natoma leaned forward, but Leha held up a hand.

“One moment,” she said. She scrabbled back to the storage sacks and retrieved two finely carved cups made from bone.

Upon returning to the platform, she scooped up the keg of fejo and led Natoma closer to the center of the platform. They sat down on the damp net, and Leha filled the two cups, handing one to Natoma. “The Lost Ones usually save this for special occasions, but I’m sure they won’t mind if we have some.”

Natoma sniffed at the liquid. “What’s it made of?”

“Flower nectar, water, and something similar to honey. They add fruit rinds to it while it’s fermenting to give it extra flavor.” She took a sip. The fejo was mild and light. It had a sweet, fruity flavor with a slight alcoholic tang.

Natoma took a hesitant sip. She seemed to enjoy it, and she took another.

Leha considered the woman before her. The Urannan’s hair was unbound, forming a dark frame around her oval face. Even disheveled from bed and concealed by darkness, Natoma was beautiful.

“That was a good idea of yours – training Benefactor’s people to use silver,” she said.

Natoma bowed her head. “Thank you.” She drank from her cup.

They spoke for a time, trading stories of their lives before the war and comparing life in Eastenhold to life in Uranna.

Some time later – it may have been an hour or three; the overcast sky prevented telling time by the moon or the stars, and the fejo had left Leha’s mind slightly muddled – a bright flash illuminated the forest to the south. For a moment, Leha thought it might have been lightning bolt, but there was no thunder, and the color had been closer to green than the blue-white of lightning.

The reality of what it was dawned on her, and she stood. The flash had come from the jumping point glade. Someone had come from Barria. She strode to the edge of the platform. Natoma, who had also recognized the flash, moved alongside her.

Reaching the edge of the net, Leha glanced down and saw a dark shape climbing the rope ladder that had been installed to accommodate the Barrians. She stepped aside, and the figure, a man in the uniform of a Tor soldier, stepped onto the platform, looking uncertain of its stability this close to the edge.

“Greetings,” Leha said.

“Greetings,” the soldier answered quickly. “I have an urgent message for Leha.”

“That’s me,” she said, tensing. She ordered her brain to clear itself of alcohol, and the fog in her head lessened.

The messenger did a double take. He hadn’t recognized her in the darkness. He made a hasty bow. “My apologies. I bare a message from the emperor of Tor Som.”

Leha raised her eyebrows. “Yarnig?”

The soldier nodded. “He has brought reinforcements to the front. He sends his deepest regrets that they did not arrive in time to save Marlhem.”

“Reinforcements?” Leha blurted.

The messenger smiled. “Yes. They have just arrived at Kerhem.”

Where did he find reinforcements? Everyone was committed to the front, Leha thought, her mind still not fully clear.

“I want to inspect these reinforcements immediately. Did the wizard who sent you come as well?” she said.

The soldier smiled further. “Yes. The emperor anticipated your desire.”

She gestured for him to lead the way, but he held up a hand.

“It’s much colder on Barria. You may want to put on some warmer clothes.”

“Oh. Right,” she said.

She and Natoma went to their hut, where they alerted Eranna to the situation and dressed. Both had lost their cloaks in Marlhem, so they put on extra shirts and whatever winter accoutrements they could find. The extra clothing made Tyzu’s heat all the more stifling. Leha comforted herself with images of the icy conditions she would soon experience.

She returned to the messenger, and he went back onto the ladder, trying not to look down. The two of them descended, Natoma following wordlessly. They reached the ground and crossed the silent refugee camps to arrive at the jumping point glade, the same place Leha had departed from to join the Battle of Heart more than six months previously. There, they met a wizard Leha recognized as Erik, Yarnig’s personal battle wizard. They took up their positions for transport.

She pondered what Yarnig had done. He’d always struck her as little more than a lost child. Maybe that kid is more resourceful than he looks, she thought. Then, she smiled wryly. “That kid” was more than a year older than her.

Erik began the spell.

* * *

Late on the day after their arrival, Brodar brought them his decision.

They’d been put up in a few tiny but surprisingly well-appointed rooms to wait, and Yarnig had spent much of the time pacing and fretting. Taldin had told Yarnig to calm down, saying that worrying would not help things, but the advice had gone unnoticed.

The Clanspeople had brought them food and ulu, and a Clan physician had treated those with frostbite, but otherwise there had been little contact between the two groups.

In appearance, the people of the Northern Clans were little different from the Tors. Not long after its founding, Tor Som had been conquered by the Clans, and the occupation had lasted nearly a century. As a result, most Tors now displayed the impressive height, fair hair, and blue eyes of the Northern Clans. Even Yarnig was not free of Clan blood. Though he had the small stature and earth-toned hair common among the original Tors, he had the sapphire eyes of a Clansman.

The Marg clan village continued moving, driving their herds across the plains. The weather had cleared after the first day, and Yarnig was granted a clear view through his window of the vast arctic lands and the herds of reindeer and thick-furred cattle kept by the Clanspeople.

The efficiency of the Clan village continually amazed the Tor emperor. They had their nomadic lifestyle down to a science. Everyone knew exactly what to do and when to do it, and the structures they lived in were no less organized. Beds doubled as couches, shelves and counters folded into the walls when not in use, and storage compartments were hidden in floors, ceilings, and walls.

Then, on the second day, the chieftain made his decision.

“Though our history tells me not to trust you, I believe you are speaking the truth, leader of Tors,” Brodar said. “Your tale is too fantastic to be fiction, and if you wanted to lure me into an ambush, I cannot believe that you would have risked yourself in the attempt.” The chieftain had taken a deep breath and looked into Yarnig’s eyes solemnly. “I will commit the forces of my clan to this cause, and I will call an Althing to present your case to the rest of my people.”

Yarnig offered his heartfelt thanks, but Brodar held up a hand. “I will send messengers back to my people regularly. If this turns out to be a deception, they will know, and you will face the consequences.”

Yarnig assured him there was no deception.

The chieftain left, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

The next morning, the Marg clan split. Two of the floating halls – filled with the clan’s best fighters and some civilian supporters – went south, commanded by Brodar, while Eskwel and Tergor took the remainder of the village to contact the other clans and gather the Althing. Taldin and several of his people accompanied them to represent Yarnig. Most of the Marg herds stayed in the north as well. Only the swifter reindeer herds were taken south.

They traveled with remarkable speed. The reindeer hitched to the halls displayed heroic endurance, pulling them across tundra, road, and hill alike. Not even rivers slowed them; they simply swam across, the halls hovering just above the water. The thunder of hooves became a constant backdrop to their journey.

As they traveled, Yarnig did his best to teach Brodar about Tor Som, the other lands, and the current situation in the war, and he, in turn, learned more of the ways of the Northern clans. Brodar began to teach him their methods of fighting machines.

“With your machines turned against you, there’s no worry of you learning to adapt them to our tactics,” Brodar said. Yarnig feared the chieftain was making fun of him, but the man’s demeanor was serious.

The first thing he learned was that the Clans were perhaps the most fit and highly trained fighting force in the world. Virtually every adult was given at least some training in combat, and many practiced several times weekly. Much of their drilling focused on the narvik, the omnipresent crowbar-like weapon, but they also employed crossbows and a handful of other weapons.

While the narvik was an effective weapon against human beings, it had been designed for use in a special anti-Automaton maneuver that Yarnig saw demonstrated on a dead tree during the third day of their journey south.

First, a pair of Clanspeople trained for speed would run ahead, each carrying a small sphere of silver. A heavy rope connected the two globes. Upon reaching the Automaton – or the tree, in the case of the drill – the two would hurl their globes. At that moment, a battle wizard would use their powers to accelerate the projectiles to either side of the target machine; the rope would then wrap itself around the Automaton’s neck or chest and pull it to the ground.

The other soldiers, who would have been following behind the first two, would then swarm in and use their narviks to attack the weak points, such as the joints, in the machine’s armor.

If they were as effective at disassembling Automatons as they were at trees, Yarnig expected that they would prove a valuable addition to the human forces.

The entire maneuver hinged on the wizards. If they were to guide the silver spheres the entire time, they would quickly exhaust themselves, and they wouldn’t be able to do anything else. They had to watch the battlefield closely, while fighting and doing other things, and push the globes forward just as they were released and then stop exerting their powers the moment the Automaton toppled. This was why no one had ever successfully learned the Clans’ tactics. To the untrained eye, it seemed that the infantry simply swarmed the Automatons. The wizards’ part was barely noticeable.

The people of the Northern Clans were far from the barbarians the Tor scholars tended to paint them as.

Shortly after reentering Tor Som, Yarnig received word of the looming assault on Marlhem. Brodar immediately ordered his people to quicken their pace, and they raced south.

A few days later, they learned that the worst had happened. Marlhem had fallen.

It took all of Yarnig’s court training to maintain his poise. Marlhem had been the lynchpin of Tor Som’s defenses. It had been the center point of the frontier, and it had guarded the heart of the nation. Now it had fallen, and Tor Som’s soft belly lay exposed and undefended.

A hard lump of worry settled in the emperor’s stomach. He tended to break out in cold sweats, and he struggled to control his fear. He felt as if he himself had been exposed. He felt naked and vulnerable.

The people in Kerhem and Yotgard were scrambling to organize some kind of new defense, but they had yet to accomplish anything. Only the Automatons’ determination to destroy all traces of Marlhem’s existence had prevented them from ravaging the interior of Tor Som.

The Clans would help, but they could only be in one place at a time, and there was a lot of land to defend. Yarnig could only hope that Leha and her people would have some solution.

And so he waited, standing on the platform at the fore of Brodar’s hall, watching the sun approach the horizon.

He leaned against the railing. To his left, he was treated to a view of the Northern Spur of the Gormorra Range. The mountains glowed red and orange in the sunset. Below the foothills, in a notch between two bands of evergreen forest, the stone mass of Kerhem stood. The city had been considered to be one of Tor Som’s most beautiful before the war; its architecture had been praised, and its natural beauty renowned. It still carried a certain dignity, though its walls had been shattered and many of its buildings burned. Within the center of the city, rising toward the sky, a pair of towers, formerly part of the city’s university, had survived. They seemed to stand in defiance of the machines’ mission of destruction.

To his right, the land descended in rolling hills of alternating fields and forests, lowering towards the plain where Marlhem had been situated. The wind sighed back and forth, sometimes knocking clumps of snow from tree limbs. The land seemed too serene for such a dark time.

The weather was mild – by the standards of a Tor Som winter – and Yarnig kept back the hood of his thick cloak. After the bitter winds of the tundra, the air seemed almost balmy.

He rubbed his chin, feeling the smoothness of the skin. During his journey north, he had not been able to shave. On the southward trip, one of the Clansmen had given him a spare razor, and he still hadn’t gotten over his relief at being able to remove the scraggly fur that had grown along his jaw.

A flash to the left drew his attention. Four figures had appeared between him and the city, striding forward. One was his messenger, and he knew Erik by his shining staff. Leha’s strong, graceful gait, a side effect of the enhancements she had given herself, and short stature immediately identified her, but he did not recognize the fourth. As they came closer, he saw that she was a lithe Urannan woman of startling beauty. He raised an eyebrow. They had not heard from Uranna since the beginning of the war.

Neither of the women wore proper winter gear. They seemed to have bundled into a number of shirts. They shivered and hugged themselves, rubbing their arms.

Yarnig sent one of the Clansmen to summon Brodar, and he descended the steps at the edge of the platform and hopped into the snow, watching as the setting sun silhouetted the approaching figures.

He had only met Leha a handful of times before. She had never seemed impressed by him, but he could hardly blame her for that.

Brodar took a place beside him just as the four arrived. Yarnig dismissed the messenger and nodded a quick greeting to Erik. Leha stared at the floating halls, her mouth hanging slightly open. Yarnig couldn’t help but feel a hint of a smile touch his lips as he saw her reaction. Beside her, the Urannan woman considered the structures with a more understated expression. Yarnig’s eyes wanted to linger on her artful face, but he had encountered many beautiful women in his life as a royal, and he was experienced in maintaining a polite composure.

He half-bowed to Leha. “Greetings. Your presence honors me,” he said, speaking Eastenholder. He straightened and gestured to Brodar. “Allow me to present Brodar, chieftain of the Marg clan.”

Brodar’s gaze kept flitting between Leha’s claws and her blue pupils. He hastily bowed his head.

Leha acknowledged him. She raised an eyebrow and turned to Yarnig. “The Northern Clans?”

“Yes. He has pledged his clan to our cause.”

“We come to fulfill our duty against the enemies of humanity,” the chieftain said, speaking the Tor language.

Over the journey south, Yarnig had studied Brodar and come to the conclusion that he set much store by honor, diplomacy, and proper conduct. He’d gathered that the Clans had some complicated code of honor about meeting with strangers, one that Brodar paid special attention to. It was probably why Yarnig’s group hadn’t been killed on sight.

Leha nodded to him respectfully. “Thank you,” she said, also using Tor. She indicated the Urannan. “This is Natoma, formerly the captain of the guard for Nettoh province in Uranna.”

“Emperor. Chieftain,” Natoma said, bowing to each in turn. Her bluish hair shone in the fading light.

“I offer you the hospitality of my home,” Brodar said, gesturing towards the nearer hall.

Leha thanked him, and they headed inside. Yarnig took a moment to thank Erik before dismissing him, and the four of them made their way through the hall. The air was warmer here, and it smelled of wood and pelts. Yarnig undid his cloak, and Leha and Natoma stopped shivering. Leha’s gaze darted about, drinking in the details of the Clan hall.

They arrived in the same chamber where Yarnig had first met with the chieftain. Servants had been there ahead of them and laid out a ring of the reindeer hide cushions. Within the center of the ring, a large flagon, no doubt filled with ulu, and several cups rested on an ornate wooden platter.

They took their seats, and Brodar poured four cups of ulu and handed one to each. Yarnig struggled not to bombard Leha with questions. “How will we protect my country?” he wanted to ask.

“What is this?” Leha asked.

“Ulu. Reindeer milk, honey, and reindeer blood,” Brodar responded.

Yarnig took a deep draught of the thick, warm liquid, making sure that Leha noticed him.

She took the hint and drank from her cup. A surprised expression appeared on her face, and she took a larger gulp. “Thank you,” she said.

Natoma nursed her drink.

Leha set down her cup. She paused, her mouth half open, as if she wasn’t sure what to say. “Ah, thank you for coming to our aid, chieftain.”

Brodar set his ulu upon the floor and placed a hand on each of his knees. “If what Yarnig has told me is true, then we have come to the aid of humanity.”

She nodded. “Yes, you have. The Automatons are the Old Gods resurrected. They’re out to destroy us.”

Brodar set his jaw. “We will do what we can. With luck, more of my people will join us soon.” He explained about the Althing, pausing to let Leha translate for Natoma, who did not understand Tor.

Leha downed a mouthful of ulu and said, “I read about your people in the library at Heart. What exactly do you do that’s so effective against Automatons?”

“I can arrange a demonstration. My people will soon begin to train the soldiers here. You could observe.”

Upon hearing Leha’s translation, Natoma looked up. “I’d like to see that,” she said.

Leha relayed her words.

The chieftain nodded.

He turned to Leha. “Now, I have heard great tales of you. I wish to know more. Please, tell me of your trials.”

She took a deep breath. Slowly at first, then speaking faster, she told him of her journeys across Barria and the other worlds. She glossed over the first few months, omitting some of the less relevant details, such as her near death on Sy’om. As her narrative grew closer to the present day, she grew more thorough, depicting in depth the final days of Marlhem. She spoke of the terror that was the Automaton Lord, describing its baleful gaze and titanic power, and a hint of fear appeared in her eyes. Yarnig’s blood chilled.

When she finished, Brodar took a moment to respond. “That is a fantastic tale. But I see the proof of it.” His eyes flickered over her claws.

The chieftain stared into the depths of his drink. “My people have always known that the minds of machines cannot be trusted, but I never imagined a disaster such as this.”

Leha stared down, running a finger over the smooth floorboards. Yarnig’s cheeks warmed.

He thought over the ruination this war had wrought, and his thoughts returned to Marlhem. He leaned forward. “Have you formulated any new plans? The machines could move on from Marlhem at any time,” he said to Leha, trying to keep his voice under control.

She nodded grimly. “Yes. We have a plan.” She seemed to steel herself. “We’re going to abandon the settlements. We’re going to take to the wilderness.”

“That is a wise course to take,” Brodar said.

Yarnig hardly heard him. His mind reeled. He forced out a few words. “You’re going to abandon them? Flee?”

“We can’t hold against the machines. They’re too strong,” Leha said.

Natoma said nothing, but her eyes showed she agreed.

Yarnig could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He had dedicated himself to defending his nation, and now it was to disband and take to the hills? “But we’ve already lost so much. If we stop defending what we have left, the Automatons will destroy everything humanity has built.”

Natoma sat with one knee held close to her midsection. “Cities and towns can be rebuilt. If we head for the mountains and the forests, perhaps enough of our people will survive to do so.”

Yarnig thought of his country home to the north, of his artwork therein, and the beautiful lands around it. He thought of the ancient government buildings in Retgard – some had survived – and the majestic towers of Kerhem. He thought of all the humble dwellings, all the cottages and farmhouses, and all other the places his people called home. He wanted to cry.

“What about supplies?” he said. “We need the infrastructure of the cities; we need the known jumping points. We need the storage space. We’re barely getting by as it is.” He sputtered and gestured with his hands. “What about the accumulated knowledge in our libraries? What about our culture and history? Is it all going to go to nothing?”

Leha’s face had a pained expression. She ran her fingers through her hair. “We have no other choice.” She sighed and shook her head. “Maybe we can dispatch some people to save what they can. We might be able to bring some books with us. As for supplies, we’ll manage. Phanto’s people did.”

“It’s not so hard to live off the land. My people can help,” Brodar chimed in.

Yarnig drew in a deep, slow breath and tried to force his emotions to the back of his mind. He gulped his ulu and wished it was brandy. “Okay. We’ll go into the wilderness. I understand.”

The conversation shifted away from him, and the others began to plot out the details of their plan. Messengers would be sent via the jumping points – jumping first to Tyzu and then jumping to another location on Barria – to the various cities and still-occupied settlements in Tor Som to inform people of the new course of action.

They would move out as soon as they were ready, forming into three groups. One would go east, past Kerhem, and take refuge within the Northern Spur. Another would travel west and head into the foothills of the Mannall Mountains. The third would go north and seek refugee within the forests at the southern edge of the Northern Clans’ territory. With luck, they would be able to meet the Clan reinforcements after the Althing.

The Marg clan would again be divided. One hall would head west with all speed, arriving at Yotgard – the halls were too big to easily go via a jumping point – and accompany the refugees into the Mannall Range. Brodar’s would stay at Kerhem and go west, and a small group of guides and fighters would jump north and join the third grouping.

Yarnig listened, but the information left him almost as soon as it was spoken. All he could think of was what his people would be losing.

Everything.

He thought of his sorrow at losing the country home where he had spent much of his life, and he amplified it a thousand times to imagine what all his subjects would go through as each was forced to abandon all that they had ever known.

Whatever feeling of accomplishment securing the aid of the Marg clan might have given him had crumbled along with the walls of Marlhem. He wished the Clanspeople could have arrived sooner. He wondered if they would have made a difference.

Sometime later, the meeting broke up. Yarnig discovered that, at some point, the sun had set, and someone had lit the magical lanterns favored by the Clans. Their silver wicks glowed like otherworldly fireflies.

As Yarnig prepared to leave, Brodar offered his sympathy. Yarnig thanked him, gave a half-bow, and left.

He found Leha waiting for him in the hallway. She fell into step beside him. “I want you to know that I am sorry,” she said, her bare feet making little noise on the floor planks. “Eastenhold was the first nation lost to the Automatons. I understand how you feel.”

A trickle of shame wormed its way through him as he remembered his nation’s role in the death of hers.

She grabbed his arm. He started slightly. While it was not official law, custom dictated that most people should refrain from touching royalty. He reminded himself that her country had not had royalty. They had elected their magistrates. He wondered if that system had produced better leaders.

She looked up, into his eyes, and he suddenly realized how tiny she was. “Believe me, I do understand,” she said.

“You’re just trying to do what’s best for humanity; I understand,” he said. He managed a little smile. “We’ll survive, somehow.”

She smiled back and released his arm. They resumed walking.

Leha yawned. “Natoma’s waiting for me.” She looked back to where they had come from. “I wonder if Brodar would be willing to set us up for the night. The weather on Tyzu is a bit uncomfortable now.”

Yarnig said the chieftain would probably be willing, adding that Erik could inform the people on Tyzu that she would be spending the night. Leha said her goodbyes and returned to the meeting chamber at a brisk walk.

Yarnig went to find his sketchbook. The moon would be rising soon. It was just past full, bright enough for him to do some sketches of the city. He’d do all he could before the time came to abandon Kerhem. Soon, sketches would be all that remained of it.

* * *

The next morning, the human leaders again met on Tyzu. There, amid the mist and the dripping humidity, they made their final plans. Yeldar, Doga, and Eranna would go west and lead the survivors from Yotgard and the surrounding areas. Drogin, Natoma, and Yarnig would join Brodar and the eastbound group – the largest, consisting of the people of Kerhem, most of Retgard’s citizens, and the majority of the survivors of Marlhem – and a Lost One, Elder Dentu of the Water’s Edge clan, would lead the northern band, the smallest and the one considered to be at the least risk.

Leha would join the eastern group later. But for now, she was bound for Sy’om. From there, she would travel to that dark world beneath and contact the entity she had come to think of as the Watcher.

* * *

Two days later, as one of the Marg halls passed by to the north, just out of sight, the Automatons finished grinding the last bricks of Marlhem into dust, leaving nothing but a great, dark scar upon the earth.

The Automaton Lord gathered the other machines about it and dispatched scouts to the north, east, and west. It was time to begin the next phase of their offensive.

———————

Enjoying the story so far? The next chapter will be posted soon, but if you can’t wait, you also have the opportunity buy the full ebook now!

We now come to chapter nine of Rage of the Old Gods, the first book of my epic science fantasy trilogy the World Spectrum. In the coming weeks, I will be posting the entire book for free on this blog. If you’re just joining us, you can get caught up with the previous chapters now.

The first chapter of the book’s third section sees Leha and her followers still reeling from their defeat at Marlhem. Leha decides that a radical change in tactics is necessary, a change that could cost humanity all it has left.

———————

Part three: Knowledge of the Ancients

Three days later,

Tyzu…

Chapter nine: Lost Threads

The aroma of the Lost One resins, reminiscent of pine and earth, met Leha’s nose as she opened the box and peered at its contents. Books. Her books.

She ran her fingers along the spines, feeling the worn leather and fabric of their covers. When she had left here more than six months ago, she had been in too much of a hurry to collect the books she had carried with her since Three Gates’s fall, and the Watching Eye clan had built this chest to protect them from Tyzu’s harsh climate and high energy molds. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it had been an honor for defeating the Old God. Perhaps they had wanted to preserve some memory of her, the first Barrian their people had encountered in nearly seven millennia, fearing that she would not be able to break the barrier and return.

She picked up one, an old leather-bound tome with yellowed pages. Faded letters on the cover spelled out Heroes of the Liberation. This had always been one of her favorites. She placed her nose against the pages and inhaled the distinctive, faintly spicy scent of a worn book.

She opened the book to a random page and read from a tale about Noria, a comrade of the great General Phanto. The Old God Magaran had pursued her into the mountains – Leha realized that the name must have been given to it by the humans; the Automatons, the Old Gods, were telepaths; they had no use for names. Noria had evaded the machine in the canyons and valleys, and months later, she had emerged to lead an attack on Magaran’s ziggurat. That attack had done severe damage to the Old God’s defenses, allowing the wizard Barzad to overthrow Magaran and destroy his ziggurat.

Leha’s father had bought this book for her when she had been five. She could still remember his deep, strong voice spinning the tales as he read them to her each night. She had made him read it over to her more times than she could count, and as soon as she learned to read herself, she had begun staying up late to lose herself in its pages. She could almost recite it by heart.

She closed the book and, sighing, placed it back in the box. It was easy to forget the hardships experienced by the people in these books and focus on the fantastic places they traveled to and the wonderful things they accomplished. But it wasn’t so easy in real life.

She shut the box and left the hut she had been sharing with Eranna and Natoma. Stepping onto the lush platform of the Watching Eye clan village, she squinted in the blazing Tyzuan sunlight. Around the village, banks and tendrils of mist drifted through the forest with eerie speed, seeming to have an intelligence of their own. Here and there along the horizon, storms flickered with dozens of lightning strikes. It was the hota, a season of mist and unpredictable storms. Tyzu’s equivalent of winter, she supposed.

A rumble of thunder drew her attention to a dark storm front north of the village. She frowned. Just to the east of the storm lay the cave where she had first fought the machine that was now the Automaton Lord. One her first actions after the retreat from Marlhem had been to travel to that cave. The Old God’s ruins had still been there, but the head had been carefully dismantled, and the silver and quartz lattice of its mind removed.

Leha shook her head. She didn’t know how the Automatons could have infiltrated this world. How could machines the size of buildings move through the forest undetected? And why had they bothered? She had never heard of them salvaging the minds of their other fallen.

She shook her head and began walking forward, the living ropes of the platform creaking under her calloused feet. In the world’s high energy environment, her legs had healed swiftly after the battle. She wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead. Walking through the humid air of the hota felt almost like swimming. Even the hardened skin of the Lost Ones glistened with sweat. She did her best to make her body adapt to the heat.

As she moved across the platform, she passed Natoma sitting in the shade of one of the great trees that framed the village. The Urannan had shed her plate armor, and she wore the simple, dark clothes common in her homeland. Somehow, the sweat plastering her face, rather than lessening her natural beauty, highlighted it. Leha smiled at her.

On her other side, Drogin sat in the center of the platform, making small talk with Eranna and trying not to stare at the Lost Ones. Leha ignored him.

She came to the northern edge of the platform, a place fraught with memories. She screwed up her legs and leapt off the edge. For a brief moment, the wind washed over her, cooling and exhilarating. She closed her eyes and reveled in the moment.

Then, her eyes still closed, she reached out and thudded into the trunk of a massive tree, her claws digging into the bark. She scuttled down the trunk, moving quickly in the world’s high energy environment.

On the forest floor, she picked her way through the dense, dripping tangle of the undergrowth and came to a small glade relatively free of plants. As with many other Lost One villages, much of the forest around the Watching Eye settlement had been given over to the refugees from Marlhem while they waited to find new homes on Barria – most people couldn’t adapt to Tyzu’s alien energy level – but this place had been reserved for a special purpose.

The watery sunlight drifted through the broad leaves above and painted the little hollow in pale green. The omnipresent perfume of flowers drifted on the air, and quick bursts of birdsong and the constant hum of insects buzzed in her ears. The mossy earth felt like a damp carpet beneath her feet.

To her right, Doga, dressed in his people’s traditional loincloth, huddled over a pair of green shapes at the foot of a small – by Tyzuan standards – tree. They had been Lost Ones once: Meru of the Tall Tree clan and Roja of the Water’s Edge clan.

They had been wounded in the battle at Marlhem, and shortly after their return to Tyzu, they had succumbed to their injuries. They had been brought to this glade, and during a small ceremony restricted to Lost Ones and presided over by Elder Sheen, their bodies had been seeded with a special kind of dense moss native to this world. In the high energy, the seeds had taken root almost immediately, and now the bodies had been transformed into green statues of the Lost One warriors who had given their lives in the war against the Automatons. In a few days, the moss would completely consume the bodies and crumble into nothing.

Doga looked up. His eyes acknowledged her, but he said nothing. Leha felt a lump build in her throat.

She turned to her left. There, beneath the dense canopy, lay another body, one whose features had already begun to grow indistinct as the moss went through its lifecycle. She went to its side and knelt beside it, ignoring the wetness that soaked through her pants. As she leaned closer, a shiver of recognition passed through her. This was Sosk, the Lost One who had used his venom to change her.

She held a hand to her mouth and stifled a sob.

When Leha had broken the seal on Barria, the Watching Eye clan warriors had drawn lots to decide who would remain on their homeworld. Sosk had been one of the few to stay. Leha had hardly seen him since the day he had transformed her, but she had always remembered the look that had been in his eyes after he had injected her. She hadn’t understood it at the time, but she knew now how conflicted he must have felt. She had planned to talk to him about that one day, to reassure him that she bore no malice for what he had done. But she had never found the time.

Leha ran a hand down his bristly, dark green cheek, feeling a tear run down hers.

Doga knelt beside her and placed a hard-skinned arm around her shoulders.

“How did he die?” she whispered.

“A week ago, he took part in a hunt,” Doga said, his voice dead. “The Stassai attacked. Under normal circumstances, the hunting party might have been able to fight them off, but most of our warriors were on Barria, and the beasts hit them hard. It was all the others could do to bring Sosk’s body back to the village.”

Leha sniffed, and her strength gave out. She began to cry openly, and Doga held her as her small frame was racked by sobs. A few warm drops fell onto her head while she wept, but she couldn’t say whether they were tears of the Lost One or mere drips from a branch above them.

When her tears subsided, she pulled away from Doga, sniffing. He rubbed her back and withdrew his arm. The Lost One reached out and placed a hand on the green mass that had been his comrade’s chest. He muttered something.

“What?” she asked.

“Lost threads.”

She stared questioningly.

Doga took a breath. “‘Within the tapestry of humanity, each person is a thread. They live their lives and spin their tales through the whole, but eventually, all must die, all threads must be cut. Others may try to follow their paths, but those lost threads can never be replaced,’” he quoted.

They sat in silence for a moment.

“That’s from Lahune’s cult, isn’t it?”

“Yes. He’s been teaching me about his beliefs. They’re… intriguing,” he said, his face stony.

Leha said nothing. She took one last look at Sosk’s body, stood, and started to walk away, rubbing her tired eyes with her knuckles, being careful not to injure herself with her claws. She hadn’t had much time for rest over the past few days.

“I need to think,” she said.

Doga let her go.

* * *

She did think. All through the day, she thought. She brooded in her hut and thought. She read her books of the Liberation and thought. She walked through the chaotic, overcrowded refugee camps around the village and thought. She gazed out from the edge of the village platform and thought.

Her mind mulled over the events of the past six months. She remembered the war in Eastenhold, those last few days before the machines had rebelled. She reflected on her confrontations with the Automaton Lord. She recalled her time in Marlhem and meeting Natoma.

There were too many questions. Why had the machines retrieved the mind of the Old God? Why had they made it their leader? How had they even known its body was here? Why were they so determined to cut off Uranna and Pira from the other lands? Why had all the attempts to channel the powers of the other worlds by anyone or anything other than Leha failed?

And there was the most important question of all. Why had her people failed in their defense of Marlhem?

Late in the day, as the sun set, Leha paced near the eastern edge of the platform. At times, her movement became so frantic that the netting shook beneath her feet. Drogin glanced at her with concern, but she didn’t notice him.

A fog had come in, and the world had become a dim realm of white emptiness and ghostly shapes. The air remained hot and humid, but the lack of sunlight kept it from being too overpowering.

Leha stopped. She flexed her fingers, and moved into the center of the platform.

One by one, she went to Eranna, Natoma, Doga, Drogin, and Yeldar and summoned them to the home of Elder Sheen, who had offered it as a meeting place and gladly gave it up now.

The elder’s home sprawled across the branches of a tree at the western edge of the platform. It was larger than any other building in the village, with a thick main section and two wings branching out to either side of it.

They gathered in the main chamber of the home, a room long and wide by Lost One standards. Pads for seating lined the walls, and a low, crude table sat in the center. In past visits, Leha had seen the floor covered with fragrant blossoms and leaves, but no one had had the time to collect them recently. Between the fog and the setting of the sun, little light made its way through the windows, and they considered each other in an otherworldly twilight. Occasional whispers of wind against the walls added a further eeriness.

Leha settled herself on a pad at the head of the room, a place normally reserved for Elder Sheen. The damp had seeped into it, rendering it moist and faintly spongy. She reached out with her mind, and she felt Benefactor’s presence settle on the room. The ice creature and his people had returned to Sy’om at the earliest opportunity; they found Tyzu’s heat and high energy extremely uncomfortable. To her left, Eranna, her injured arm in a sling, and Drogin took their seats, and Doga and Natoma settled on the right. Yeldar leaned against the wall by the door and stayed as quiet as a statue.

Leha drew a deep breath. “I’ve gathered you all here to discuss our situation.” She straightened her back. “Marlhem has been lost, our army is in disarray, and the only reason the Automatons haven’t pressed the attack is that they’re too busy with grinding every last bit of Marlhem into dust.” Every report from Barria had stated that the machines had devoted themselves to removing any trace of the city from the plain.

Eranna, Doga, and Drogin shifted uncomfortably. Only Natoma and Yeldar could meet her gaze.

Leha took another breath and summoned the courage for what she had to say next. “We’ve been doing things wrong since the war started. From day one, our strategy has been fundamentally flawed.”

Now they all stared at her. She sensed Benefactor quirk his head and widen his eyes slightly. Even Yeldar’s eyes widened by a tiny margin.

Leha looked each of them in the eye. Outside, rain began to tap on the roof. “We’ve been trying to fight this like any other war. We’ve held to our territory, we’ve cowered in our cities, and we’ve tried to hold them off. But we can’t. The Automatons are stronger than us. They always have been, and they always will be.

“You’ve all learned about the Liberation,” she said, trying to keep her speech slow enough for the Barrians to understand. “For much of that war, Phanto and his people never fought to defend fixed fortifications or cities. It wasn’t until the eighth year, when the Old Gods had begun to lose their grip on the world, that they even attempted to capture and hold an Old God ziggurat. And they never tried to defend their own human cities. Human cities didn’t exist then. Our race’s first true city wasn’t founded until fall of thirteenth Year of Liberty, nearly nine months after the Old Gods were defeated.”

Leha lowered her voice to a more conversational level, realizing how strident it had become. “I should have known better. The people from Heart who fled into the mountains had the right idea. We failed our responsibilities when we tried to find a permanent base. But that’s over. The question is: what do we do now? How can we defeat the machines?”

She lowered her shoulders and leaned forward slightly. Outside, the high energy rain hammered down. By the standards of Tyzu, it was a light rain, but on Barria, it would have been a downpour.

After a moment, Yeldar said, “You’re right. What we’ve done is wrong. We need a new direction.”

“You think we need to go into the wilderness?” Eranna said, leaning against the wall.

Leha nodded. “Yes. We need to be mobile. The machines invented cities. We won’t beat them at their own game.”

“My people can help with that,” Doga said. “We may not be familiar with Barria, but we know how to survive in the wilderness, and even with the snow and cold, Barria is not so harsh as Tyzu.”

“Not everyone is going to be willing to leave their homes,” Drogin said. “They may be a problem.”

Leha’s shoulders tensed at her brother’s voice. For a moment, she regretted the need to include him in the meeting. “We’ll find a way to convince them. We have to.”

Natoma spoke up. “I agree. We can’t stand and fight the machines.”

Leha bowed her head in thanks. She glanced at Eranna. The Tor soldier nodded slightly.

“But the question becomes: what do we do now? How can we fight them?” Natoma said, speaking in a strong, clear voice. Her accent continued to diminish at a rapid pace.

Leha deflated. “I don’t know.” She toyed with a frayed edge of her tunic. “I wish I knew some other way to fight them. I wish I knew what they were planning. I wish I knew a lot of things.”

She sensed Benefactor tilt his head. She could feel his thoughts buzzing just out of her reach. She didn’t know why. Sometimes she still didn’t understand him.

The group sat in silence. The only sound came from the rain.

“If we head into the mountains, we might be able to set up some ambushes. Maybe rolling a few boulders onto the machines would slow them down,” Eranna offered.

Shrugs and half-hearted answers greeted her suggestions.

Natoma straightened. “There are wizards among Benefactor’s people, are there not?”

Leha peered at the Urannan’s dimly lit face. “Yes,” she said.

“We’ve been giving silver and training to the Lost One wizards; couldn’t we do the same with them?”

Leha blinked. She’d been so used to thinking of the ice creatures and their wizards as creatures unsuitable for combat that it had never occurred to her to use their wizards. She broke into a grin. “We could. Benefactor? What would you make of that?”

He took a moment to respond. He seemed distracted. Ah. Yes. That is a good idea. I will consult my people about it, he broadcast through the room.

“Thank you,” Leha said to Natoma.

Eranna and Yeldar praised the Urannan, Drogin nodded curtly, and Doga squeezed her shoulder affectionately.

Benefactor’s presence suddenly loomed in Leha’s mind. Leha, he sent.

She stared into an empty point of space. “Benefactor?”

From the looks on the others’ faces, he hadn’t sent the message to them. “Benefactor, include the others. It’s impolite to speak to me and leave them out.”

Yes. I apologize, he sent to the group.

“What is it?” she asked.

I may know a way to help us. There is a creature that may be able to answer your questions.

She didn’t need to communicate her question for him to sense it.

The ice creature composed his thoughts. There is a world beneath mine. It is dark, and cold, and inhospitable. It has little energy. Most of my people who have traveled there have died before they could return, and no one has gone there in a very long time. Nearly all our memories of it come from one. They are so old that they may not be worthy of trust, but in them, I have felt that she was a magic-user. I felt that she had a stone that could make her stronger. It may have been silver. If the memories are true, she spent nearly a day there, and learned of the place.

That world has no life that we would recognize. But in the memories, I recall an intelligence there. The world itself is an entity. It lives on the energy that trickles down from the higher worlds. And in the process, it learns all that happens above it. It watches.

In the memories, the female who traveled to it believed that it would know everything.

More than one person around the room gaped.

“It knows everything?” Drogin said.

Leha sensed the alien shake his head in what she knew to be the equivalent of a shrug. That is what she believed.

“Why didn’t your wizard study it more?” Leha asked.

She stayed too long and nearly died in the low energy. Afterward, she had no interest in returning, the ice creature said.

“If that world is so dangerous, how are we supposed to contact this creature?” Eranna said.

Leha’s eyes refocused. “My abilities might allow me to survive it.”

She felt Benefactor duck his head. Yes.

She thought for a moment. “I’ll go. My powers can protect me, and if I’m alone, no one else will be at risk. We need answers.”

“You can’t go alone,” Drogin chimed in, leaning forward. “You won’t have any way to get back. You need a wizard for that.”

Leha bit her lip in thought, trying to put aside her frustration with her brother and focus on the task at hand. “Could you build some kind of machine? Something to take me back?”

He paused. “Possibly. But it would take several weeks to design and build it, and there’s no way of knowing if it will work on that world.”

She sighed.

“There might be some kind of a spell do it, though,” Drogin said. “Perhaps someone on the other end could keep a connection with you and pull you out.” He scratched his face. “There might be a way to do it. I’d need to talk to a more powerful wizard.”

Leha nodded. “I’ll leave for a jumping point as soon as you can sort it out.”

“And how long would you be planning to spend on this other world?” Yeldar’s voice growled from the darkness.

She looked in the direction of the vague shape that was the former watch commander. “I don’t know.” She glanced into space. “Benefactor? How long do you think it would take?”

He shook his head. I cannot say. It would depend on what you ask and how well you are able to understand it. It is very alien. The memories show that it can be difficult to understand.

Her eyes returned to the old soldier. “Why do you ask?”

“Your abilities are the only thing keeping us alive when we fight the machines. If you’re going to be gone for a long time, it could cause problems.”

She frowned. She sensed what had been left unsaid. He didn’t think they could continue with just one person able to channel the powers of Sy’om and Tyzu. She became acutely aware of the gazes of the others. Drogin looked upon her with something like suspicion, while Doga and Eranna seemed more confused. Yeldar’s face was concealed in the shadows, but she knew his eyes would be as hard as ever. Only Natoma and Benefactor seemed to understand.

She shifted uncomfortably. She had a sudden urge to stand up, to turn away, to walk away. “I doubt I’ll be gone long. You’ll be okay without me,” she said quietly.

“Have you had any luck with your devices yet?” she said, turning to Drogin.

He looked as if he had just swallowed something distasteful. “No. No matter what I try, none of the machines will channel the powers.”

Leha’s face fell.

After a moment, she collected herself. “That’s enough for today. We’ll meet again in the morning, work out the details.”

The others murmured their ascent and goodbyes, and the meeting drifted apart. Benefactor withdrew from Leha’s mind. As he left, she sensed his tiredness. It was much harder for him to communicate over different worlds.

Leha bolted through the rain and took shelter in the hut she shared with the other two women. She stayed there for the rest of the evening, reading and making small talk with Eranna and Natoma. The energy that had possessed her when she’d called the gathering had dissipated, and she wanted to focus on simpler things.

She tried not to think about what Yeldar had brought up, but the question lingered at the edge of her psyche, never quite leaving. She knew that she would need to come up with a decision soon.

———————

Enjoying the story so far? The next chapter will be posted soon, but if you can’t wait, you also have the opportunity buy the full ebook now!