Chapter 15: Answers III
"How do you fare, Valdas-kel?"
The great Kell of Scar bared her teeth and hissed weakly. The insubordinate Baron, Krinok the Ether-Thief, chuckled and bowed in a mocking fashion. He was no better than a Psion-rat, always lurking, always watching. He had caught the scent of blood and it tickled his sick ambitions.
Tarrhis flew forward, his active shock blades lighting up the dark chamber. "Know your place!" He snarled, closing his inner eyes and raising his weapons. The other Baron backed down, as per his weak-ethered nature. Krinok was a liar, a coward, a deceiver, a cheat. No, he was the champion of cheats, the mob boss of this disloyal band! They came to plot, to jeer at their great Kell in her time of weakness, to feed their fantasies! Lying, worthless excuses for Eliksni... They brought shame on even the Dregs! Even the Wretches, who were not even granted a firearm for their dishonour!
"I know it, Tarrhis, the Faithful," Krinok sneered. "Tarrhis, the Trusted. Tarrhis, the Devoted. I know mine-place." He gave one last smirk, flicked his cloak, and marched away. His followers - sleazy hoodlums of equally twisted dispositions - followed him out. He only promoted those like him, those who brought harm to their House's legacy. Even his traitor of a brother, the twice-damned Kell-killer, had some integrity about him, but not these cretins. They were schemers, thin-bloods, cowardly backstabbers. They had no place in a noble house like theirs.
"Tarrhis."
The second Baron, who still stood loyal yet, raced to the Kell's side and knelt. "Mine-Kell..." He poured as much apology, as much support as he could into his whispered words. He stood under the banner of Scars and he was proud of it. Even after all the betrayals, all the losses, even as they had fallen from grace, he held firm to his belief in a structured, strong House. In a Kell.
But Valdas was a terrible sight to behold. Once she had been as large and powerful as her father, even at a young age, but now she had been reduced to weakness, confined to her throne. Her body thinned and starved beneath her cloak despite their best efforts. The glow of her eyes was disturbingly faint, and when she reached out for his hand, he found her grip was weaker than a hatchling's. Her injury caused her no end of grief. The Hive knife had been small and little more than an irksome thorn to their Kell, but they discovered soon afterwards it had been cursed. The dreaded poison of dark magic ate away at her vitality without ceasing. Only her inherent strength kept her alive, kept her breathing. It was the power of a Kell, he firmly believed. The truest among them were the strongest of their people, forever and always.
"Mine-heirs?" She gasped, struck by another pang of venom-aches. Her joints cracked as she moved, growing stiff with disuse.
"Still feeding," Tarrhis told her dutifully. He had seen to it himself that the guards posted were true loyalists, not Krinok's hungry hounds. It would have been safer to keep them in the Kell's chambers, where the doors could be more easily secured, but this time of their life was critical to their future health and growth. They needed concentrated ether from the Prime Servitor to keep them from sickness or fragility of chitin and bone, and thus were forced to remain in the feeding atrium. "They are vibrant."
"Good..." The Kell breathed in relief. "Their future is... yours to guard."
"My Kell?"
"The Archon will have his... own plans." She breathed laboriously. "As will Krinok. When I pass, they will strike. Trust only true Scars..."
"Palkra, Sundrass and Kiphoris." He named his loyal Captains, each of them handpicked for their trueness of spirit and bravery on the fields of war. "They can be trusted."
"Then trust, Tarrhis..." The great Kell forced herself up, visibly straining herself. Tarrhis moved to help, but she waved him away and stood on her own - albeit unsteadily. "You will keep them alive, yes?"
"On mine-honour, Valdas-kel."
Valdas blinked her outer eyes, and stepped forwards, stumbling. Determined, she kept going, her will battling with the poison for control over her traitorous body. "One last victory..." She snarled. "I am Valdas-kel. My sire was Morvaks-kel... I will not wither away... without a fight..."
"What do you mean?" Tarrhis leaned forward, still bowed, still humbled.
"I will fight. Give me one last fight..."
Tarrhis rumbled with proud realization. "Yes, mine-Kell. I will tell the crew." The Baron raced forwards, past her, to the door and confronted the spear-toting guards. "Inform the bridge that our Kell will lead a battle!"
The four Vandals saluted. One raised an upper arm, his eyes flickering nervously. "What is our prey?"
"The empire, of course!" Valdas bellowed, mustering her inner Kell-strength, emerging from the throne room to stand tall, though the Baron could spot the signs of weariness.
Still, he approved. Scars never backed down from a good fight. "Fetch our Kell her battle-cloak and helm!"
000
Calatonar, like Epirion, was another system of desolate rocks only ever discovered and added to the map by the odd merchant vessel trying to find a quick shortcut across warp lanes, yet the moment they arrived they were being jammed by a force unrecognizable to all within the subfleet. It came as a surprise to all. Most of the powerful alien dynasties had been hammered away into clients and slaves of the Cabal, leaving just the pirates, the growing Hive menace, and what few primitives held stronghold systems of their own under siege by the Imperial war machine.
Tlac was hard at work trying to decipher the blocks on their communications. Short-range radio, such as those between the warships and the carrier from which the frigates siphoned their fuel, persisted, but everything beyond was cut off. Not even numerical data-bursts could pierce the digital blockade. It put the soldiers on edge. Jamming was often a pre-emptive method exercised before a brutal assault. They knew it because it was their favoured tactic.
The code was far too complex for an infant civilization, but the last report of this system - a thousand Torobatlaan years ago - indicated no form of life was present. Which led Tlac to the next hypothesis: that this was a colony of an older race, one that had only recently set its foundations down on the edge of the empire. Every attempt by the combined metaconcerts of the Psion Flayers to best the foreign presence was met with failure. It adapted to every tactic with startling speed and shocking efficiency. At the very least they discovered they could trace it, all the way to the fifth orbiting planet. Primus Da'aurc called in the subfleet for a spread-out formation to reduce casualties in case it was an attack, and then signaled for an advance. They were well-equipped for conquering a single outpost world, what with the numbers their fleet boasted, consisting of the flagship carrier and three warships with hundreds of Harvesters and three Imperial Land Tanks.
The premise of their newest mission was simple; knock out the jamming equipment, conquer the resident sapients and relay the news back to command.
Of course the barbarians had to ruin those plans.
"They're at our flanks!" A Psion operant cried out. Tlac glanced worriedly over to the holo-image of the ongoing battle. Eliksni Skiffs had used their cloaking generators to fly within the perfect Cabal formations unseen and then sow chaos with wild strafing attacks, often to devastating effect. Once he had watched a battle-hardened warbeast accidentally left amongst a herd of domesticated mountain-grazers, each waiting patiently to be preened. The aftermath had been bloody. He couldn't help but compare that to the scene unfolding before him. They were the mountain-grazers, the pirates were the warbeast.
"SMASH THEM!" The Primus bellowed. It was rumoured that his voice could travel all the way to the engineering compartment, several kilometres away. Tlac could easily believe it. His eardrums rang painfully. "BREAK THEM OPEN AND DRAIN THEIR MACHINE GODS!"
Harvesters had been deployed, moving in their delicately organized squadrons, and they hit the Skiffs in brutal close-quarters confrontations. It seemed, for a moment, as if they would purge the barbarians from their ranks. Then the Ketch, having previously waited amongst a group of icy asteroids beyond their immediate notice, warped in and cut through the centre of the fleet like a hot combat-knife through civilian-grade steel. Arcfire cannons burst to life, exchanging fire with missile pods and microrocket-railcannons. The situation became grave. Tlac could feel Orche's fear and Cadon's steely determination, even from across the carrier's many levels and compartments. There was no quarter to be given: from them or the Eliksni.
"Sir, I do not foresee favourable results!" The same Psion from earlier cried out. Her mind was as clear as the diamond seas of Kerelti, enabling a brief gift of limited clairvoyance. It was not an easy practice, and difficult on the soul. Tlac did not envy her. "They are prepared!"
"DAMMIT ALL!" The Primus slammed his meaty hand down on the console before him, shattering glass and denting metal. He didn't look to care much for the damage.
"Lead them through an asteroid field!" A Valus advised. Smart. Cabal vessels were hardier than Eliksni craft. And their Battlenet would enable them to reaffirm the fleet's cohesion afterwards without trouble.
"FIND ME ONE!"
"Nothing in range! Wait - inhabited world possesses numerous satellites!" A Flayer reported. "Active, dense, likely source of jammers!"
"WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE?!"
"Jammers may disable Ketch's shields if brought into proximity!"
"THAT'S IT! BRING US CLOSER!" Da'aurc pointed to the helmsman, a Flayer with cables attached to his skull-implants - all to enable communion with the massive vessel. The ship lurched as another barrage of Arc missiles hit them, but not a moment later they micro-warped to the intended planet. The lesser warships tried to follow, but the absence of the heavy flagship left them exposed. The Ketch paused to utterly shatter them, then chased after the carrier with a swarm of Skiffs leading the charge.
The Flayer connected to the ship yelped as the satellites hacked away at his mind with clusters of viruses. The carrier's firewalls were hard pressed to keep them at bay. One even burst through the defenses, forcing three compartments to shut off life support and jettison everything outside. The vast metaconcert became that little bit less powerful, as two dozen of their brothers and sisters were snuffed out.
The Ketch was hit harder. It physically shook as the alien software targeted them with just as much malice.
"FIRE!" The Primus ordered. "RAM THEM!"
"But sir-"
"RAM THEM!"
The carrier - the Magnus Vae - burst forward with vicious intent, aimed for the vulnerable side of the sharp Eliksni vessel. The crew cheered. This was their retaliation; their swift and final vengeance.
Then the satellites below attacked in a new way. The helmsman screamed as the machines opened up drum-loaded weaponry that the metaconcert just could not analyze, rendering powerless against it. The spikes launched and, with their the carrier's own shields disabled, they hit the carrier without issue. The Ketch too, but no one cared about that. Not when the spears pulsed power into the vessel and overcharged every system into shorting out. The lights burst for just a moment, each bulb shining like a miniature star, and all went dark. Power failure in every compartment. Engineers were panicking, trying to switch on the auxiliary generators, but those were busted too.
Zhonoch found Tlac and forced an oversized helmet on the Specialist's head. "Buckle up."
"You're enjoying this," the Specialist accused, simultaneously streaming telepathic orders to his brothers. They rushed to take shelter and don protective body armour.
The Vigilant chuckled. "Can't deny it. Hey, do you think these new people are going to eat us?"
Tlac shuddered. "I hope not."
"We're going to find out. If we survive the fall, that is."
The fall. Yes. He could feel it, the gravities grasping at the ship, slowly feeling for a grip on the smooth hull. The metaconcert fractured under the confusion and terror as many began dying off due to a lack of life-support systems. Tlac groaned for the sheer volume of the voices in his head.
000
Ikharos's fingers twitched over the Lumina's holster. "Forsworn? As in a faction of Dragon Rider? So you are a Dragon Rider?"
"I was."
"Not anymore?"
The elf set her jaw. "No."
"And... you want to kill Galbatorix?"
"I do."
"... If I'm perfectly honest, that doesn't make much sense. Why even tell in the first place?"
Formora sighed. "I could never lie."
"And yet you can faked your own death. I heard the Forsworn were dead. That's a step above lies."
"It took seventy years of planning and the right circumstances to make it convincing."
"That's a long time. Why not just leave? Walk away?"
She stared. "Galbatorix is too powerful. How haven't you realized that?" A pause. "Who... what are you?"
"My name is Ikharos. This isn't much of an interrogation anymore, is it?" Ikharos mused. "More of a bargain. I'll humour you so long as you keep this fair. Any foul play, I won't be as lenient."
"Eka thorta du ilumëo." She narrowed her gaze. "I've given my oath to utter only the truth. Will you?"
"I will." The Risen replied flippantly
"In the ancient language."
"Which ancient language?"
"You... don't know?" Her expression formed into one of incredulity. "You cannot wield magic?"
"Probably not as you know it."
"But that is... But your wards! How.. could you form them?"
"Care to elaborate? What's this language thing?"
"The ancient language," the elf said slowly, as if talking to a child, "is the language of magic. It causes the world to conform to the incantation, but only if there is energy enough to fuel the spell. Oaths cannot be broken if sworn in it. One cannot lie when speaking it."
"That's... I don't know about that. Show me."
Formora closed her eyes, as if she found even speaking him a distasteful act - though he could have been reading her wrong. "Eka eddyr aí älfa. That translates as 'I am an elf'."
"Eka eddyr aí..." Ikharos frowned. "Eka eddyr aí... eka eddyr aí... What the Traveler-forsaken hell is this..?"
"The ancient language. Or gramarye, as it is properly known." Formora leaned forward. "I have promised to speak the truth. Will you?"
"Why not?" Ikharos shrugged. He was internally picking at the words he had uttered earlier and the unbreakable force keeping him from completing the statement. It threw him for a loop. "Give me the words."
"Eka thorta du ilumëo."
"Then... eka thorta du ilumëo." He didn't really mind thie oath. If need be, he could just not talk at all. The magical language wasn't quite as foolproof as its creators likely intended.
"Now, what of your own abilities?"
"My..? Oh, the Light." Ikharos summoned the endless abyss and forced it into the material plane. Their small fire turned purple and the air dropped by several degrees. Formora's gasp turned to mist and the ground around the fire began to freeze with a thin layer of ice. The vacuum of Void ate up all the heat. "Light is a power, sure, but that is a poor explanation. Light is... a form of paracausality through ideology. I've heard it referred to as Bomb Logic, but to understand that, one would need to know of the Sword Logic. Light is cooperation. Light is sharing, working together, gifts. It is kindness. It is the capacity to preserve life, good life, life that is innocent and vulnerable.
"The opposite is Darkness, which demands domination, violence, conquest, thievery. All that is true... and yet not true. I am violent. I dominate. I conquer, I steal, I kill. And yet I am a champion of Light." He replaced the Void with Solar, and the fire turned back to a comforting orange. "Light is, in short, the complexity and diversity of entities within the universe. It encourages new life, new patterns, that don't turn on each other or those of the past to survive. Light is the beginning of life. Darkness is the evolution of life. Without Light, there would be nothing of worth in this reality of ours. Without Darkness, we would, all of us, still be microscopic lifeforms sucking up carbon molecules in a primordial soup."
"It... is a religion?"
"No," Ikharos said firmly. "It is a science of paracausality. The original paracausality. Causality is the theory that every action in the material world has a cause. Paracausality works along these rules, but bends them, alters them. Your magic, for example. You can make fire, right?"
Formora nodded. She picked up a piece of kindling and said, "Brisingr."
The stick went up in flames.
"Exactly my point. You've used up an energy source, correct?"
"My own."
"That is a rule of the universe - change needs energy, needs cause. However, converting energy straight from a living biological entity to instantaneously kickstart a fire should be impossible according to causality. There are other rules, smaller rules, which dictate that it cannot happen. Paracausality means we can skip over those smaller rules. There is a difference, though. Your magic is harsh, one that poses immediate threat to your health. Mine does not. Mine extends it. The Light is used as a fuel for the powers I display, but Light is plentiful. It replenishes over time, granted that I remain in a place where there is Light. Places saturated in Darkness impede that. And there are creatures that use the Darkness for their own paracausality, though it is a twisted and dangerous practice. Your magic is... neutral, though it leans towards the Light. You make a sacrifice for your power, and self-sacrifice is an aspect of the Light."
"Is it... possible to learn how to wield Light?"
"No," Ikharos said firmly. "Light chooses its champions."
"Has this led to your immortality?"
"Sure. Physical immortality is easy, but it always comes at a cost. Even at that, the Light and Darkness are not the only forms of paracausality - as your own discipline so conveniently proves."
"And these other forces... are they like my magic?"
"In some ways. Though less costly. Yours is a particularly punishing practice."
"Could you teach this?"
"I..." Ikharos paused. "Why should I?"
"So you can?"
"You haven't answered my question."
Formora lifted her chin, proud and haughty. "I intend to kill the king. Is there any goal more noble than that?"
"Yes. Annihilating the Hive, destroying the Vex, eliminating Ahamkara." Ikharos crossed his arms. "You haven't convinced me. What's to stop you from using what I teach you against innocents?
"Join us."
Ikharos glared past Felwinter at the five Iron Lords standing with weapons readied. "No."
"Stand aside," Saladin barked.
The Exo didn't budge. "They're going to change the world."
"No, they aren't. People are still dying. The battles are killing them." Ikharos had his Khvostov aimed at Efrideet's head. She was the most dangerous. Too quick to keep alive. He could handle the rest, given time and room.
"Please." Felwinter almost never got emotional. He still wasn't. Despite it, despitehimself, Ikharos wanted to believe there was something in those words, something human, that could change his mind. If he didn't, he would likely die. They would take his Ghost. The fight would kill his people.
"No."
"Leave him." A new voice. Shaxx. "He's not going to cause trouble."
Jolder shook her head. "Radegast won't like that. I don't."
"We don't get what we like." The horned warrior shot back. "Leave him. He isn't an enemy."
But Felwinter wasn't finished. "Lead your people to the City."
"That disease-ridden camp?" Ikharos scoffed. "They're safe here. I've worked for a hundred years to give them that."
The sleek Exo skull moved in a slow nod. "So be it. If we hear you've taken advantage of them, we'll be back."
"I'm sure you will."
Iharos blinked to himself and continued, saying, "I can't trust you."
"Give me back the Eldnunarí." The Forsworn demanded.
His Ghost dropped it in his open hand. He lifted it up and admired the lustrous gem-like quality of the organically-grown pearl. "It's... fascinating. But... ah, screw it." He tossed it over. The elf caught it deftly and carefully put it on the floor beside her. "Care to answer a few more questions?"
"What will I gain out of it?"
"You'll get to go free. Tell me about the Grey Folk."
Formora sighed, though with relief or exhaustion he wasn't quite sure. "They made the ancient language. Magic was unpredictable and unsafe before that. The spell they cast to chain magic to words drove them to extinction."
"Any cities? Where did they live?"
"No one knows. They only exist in legends."
More folktales. This was going spectacularly. "And you still think the dragons were… benevolent beasts?"
"No," her eyes narrowed, "but they are far from what you claim them to be.
"Psekisk..." The Warlock muttered. He wasn't finding out anything here. He stood and exhaled. "Freedom is yours. Good luck with killing the king."
Ikharos stepped outside the building and didn't look back.
"Nothing..." He was among the bones again. "Nothing makes any sense!"
He kicked aside a femur longer than his arm and vented his frustration in a wordless yell. Void flickered around him, coursing through his body, forming an aura over him. Then he stumbled back and collapsed, holding his head in his hands. "This awful place... What do I do?!"
Xiān landed on his knee and said nothing.
"There's dragons. There's... damn it, there's too much... We need to go back. We need to tell Ikora or Petra or... someone! They'll know what to do!"
"Our ship is in pieces," the little Ghost reminded him. "And even if we could fly, the Warsats would shoot us down."
"We have to try something!"
"Home is beyond our reach. It's just us. I think it will only ever be us."
Ikharos looked up. "What... what do you mean?"
Xiān twitched her petals uncomfortably. "This place is barren where it matters. You're the only one with Light. The only one with the power to come back from death."
"Yes," Ikharos snapped. "I'm well aware."
"Do I have to spell it out to you? If we continue to scour this planet for information on how life arrived here, we're only going to be disappointed. But, if we focus on the future, we can fix these problems another way."
"There are dragons somewhere-"
"Yes, I know!" The Ghost rose up before him. "I know there are dragons! Just shut up!"
He fell silent.
Xiān huffed. "Finally. Forget the dragons. Forget looking for the past. Plan for the future. Ikharos, you are different. To other Risen, I mean. Not just... people at large. Maybe it was just circumstance or maybe you're just that kind of person, but you did good. In the old days. You helped people. You saved them. You protected them. Not many did the same. You are a good person, just... you're the guy who can make the tough calls. Make the right decisions in a bad scenario. You're the best person to have arrived here. You don't care what others say, you do what's right. Look, you won't get this often, believe you me, but I am proud of you. It hasn't been easy, but we've survived. And now, you can do some good again."
"What about the Hive?"
"Nothing you can do will make a difference. Let the Warmind deal with them. They're good at that. In the meantime, you can save lives here and now, working on the ground. People are here. People are suffering."
"So are we. The Darkness almost killed us! It's here!"
"What do you want me to do about it?" It's not like we can ask... anyone..."
It hit them both simultaneously like a shared lightning bolt. Ghost and Guardian stared at one another, rose up, and raced to the sea.
000
The stranger had left the city. Formora had another body to bury, another sword to add to her growing collection, and more unanswerable questions to ask. She imagined the power of deathlessness, the magic that required no energy to be used up, and weapons nullified wards. One of those may have been the key to killing the king, but... with the power of so many Eldunarí at his fingertips, the wards might stand strong. And the stranger didn't want to share.
She wouldn't last longer than a few seconds, let alone get close enough to the king. Galbatorix was too powerful. But she dared not give up. She owed it to her breoal. To Kialandí.
"Stay with me!" She half-cried, half-order, as she tugged her brother from where he was impaled upon his own dragon's spine. The other elf briefly closed his eyes, shock and blood loss turning him lethargic. His partner, a purple dragon with clean shiny scales, whimpered and tried his best to stay still. Eventually, with the two dragons and one Rider pouring energy into the wounded man to keep from death's grasp, they saved him. They spent an entire day and a half healing nursing him back to health through spellcraft. Agaravel raved within their packs, a poor maddened thing they all felt sorry for.
Galbatorix summoned them not long after, to continue his war. They had no choice, not when the king had their minds in his palm. Not when he addressed them with their truest of names.
Formora her way back to the hideaway she had formed within the wreckage of an old lookout tower. She knew it only because it had been her that had destroyed it, all to mask the approach of the Forsworn. She added Enduriel's fiery blade to the sizable collection she had scavenged over her long, long life.
Galbatorix hadn't claimed them all. The rest were hers.
000
He marched all the way to the bottom of the southeastern headland, where the radiation was nonexistent, and waited until dawn for the sun to arrive. He needed his sight for what was to come. Ikharos summoned Xiān and the excited Ghost swapped his armour for a well-insulated wetsuit. He slipped on a pair of flippers, strapped an oxygen tank to his back, and fitted a regulator to his lower face. When all was ready, he awkwardly waded into the water and put on his mask.
It was just the two of them, diving down into another world, to collect what remained of a nuclear submarine. It was supposed to be easy. Just a salvage dig. But the deep cast everything in beauty. And they were captivated - with the darkness, with the pressure, with each other. Even the initials on the sub's hull outclassed the greatest works of the Renaissance, all just for simply being there with them: N.A.E.
Their Ghosts begged them to rise, long after they had picked what they could from the sunken military vessel. They only relented when their air ran out. They were lightheaded, giddily so, and laughed and sang and cheered. But when they reached the surface, they screamed.
Lennox shot them both to put them out of their misery.
The water was Atlantic-cold, but he acclimated himself to it. The worst part would be the pressure or fighting a current if he swam into a bad spot, and those were avoidable. It was his fortune that the water was crystal clear. Fifty metres out from the coast, the seabed fell away. Ikharos kicked off and submerged himself fully. The light stabbed straight down into the depths, but he saw no end in sight. The murky abyss carried on below seemingly forever. It was hauntingly beautiful. Beyond him was an open ocean, nothing but liquid, as empty as space. But there were no stars to comfort him. He liked that, as terrifying as it was. It felt risky. Like stepping out into another reality.
Ikharos swam casually, arms at his side, lazily moving his flippers. He adjusted the BCD to an appropriate level so he neither sank or floated upwards, and headed in what he assumed was a straight line forward.
This was as close to the nullscape as any place in the real material universe could be. A cold current from below caught him, pulling him farther out, sailing above thousands of metres of sheer nothing. When the coastline behind disappeared, he heard it. Their song. Echoing trills and blissful chirps.
"Traveler above... I can see them. They're splendid. Wonderful. Oh my..." He could feel an almost constant stream of warmth from his Ghost. "Can you hear them? They're incredible!"
"Give me a translator," Ikharos mentally replied. His ears buzzed with static until, finally, he could understand it. Their language was so very alien. Even the Hive speech was closer to human languages than what slowly filtered into his ears.
"current - cold - prey far - serpent gone - other flee - poison - no harm - killer - friend - safe - air."
Was this what the divers of the New Pacific Arcology heard? Those ambassador-researchers in the Indian Ocean? Ikharos couldn't imagine a finer profession in the Golden Age. He wondered if that was what he had been in his first life.
Ikharos balled the Void in his hand, held it out and gripped the waiting devastation close. The eerie glow permeated the waters for miles around. It drew them in. Within mere minutes the dolphins were swimming around him, barely visible, keeping their distance. Their song increased with urgency.
"Hello!" Ikharos tried. To him it was muffled by his equipment and the water around him, though the dolphins squeaked excitedly all the same. They heard him loud and clear.
"killer - friend - fins - no breathe? - odd - sound - old one? - machines tired - machines hurt - machines rest - get carer!"
"get carer!"
"CARER!"
"go!" One of the fifteen shapes sped off, disappearing into the distant haze with startling speed.
The others closed in steadily, warily. One, presumably lone male, changed direction and charged straight for him. Ikharos thought that they would collide, but the male slowed and circled around. It was... surprisingly large. Twice as long as he was tall. It's skin was sleek and well-muscled. A small kick of its tail almost sent him careening, convincing him of the marine mammal's strength - on par or greater than that of a Cabal Legionary.
They were orphans of Earth, the both of them. Children of a distant world and relics of a dead age. Their differences were great, but in that moment, Ikharos felt a keen kinship to the beings before him, around him. One borne of land, the other of sea. His society was rich and diverse, testing limits and rushing development - and oh, how his people paid for it. The culture before him was slow and careful, uniform despite individuality, caring and content. They may have suffered during the Collapse, but here they flourished.
Flourished.
The male zipped around him like a torpedo for a few brief moments, then slowed and brought a dark eye to study the strange foreigner. "friend? - old machine - mother know!"
"Yes, I'm a friend." He held off from trying to touch it. He didn't want to frighten them. He retracted the Void quickly. Ikharos grinned behind his mask. "What is this machine?"
"old one - machine - killer - friend - speaks - knows song - knows mother - mother knows! - refuse logic - visitor now - MUST SING CARER!"
"What is carer?"
"knows friend - knows old song - carer sing!"
He could hear the words, provided in monotone, and the heart-wrenching natural wonder of their whistling simultaneously. Their clicking and their shrieking. The rest, urged on by the brave male, circled closer. A mother and her child swam right above the Risen. The youngster, nervous, hid behind its parent and peeked out. Ikharos waved. The juvenile chirped and took cover once more.
They sang and Ikharos was content to just listen to the songs. His burning questions were tossed aside for the novelty of this first-contact. How long had it been since their peoples truly spoke to one another? Especially for their kind, locked away in a place where time did not match that of the rest of reality?
It could have been ten minutes or three hours when more dolphins arrived. Those around him gave room, and the newcomers cried out in harsh controlled bursts. The loudest was a large specimen, an old male, and he swam above, below and around the human as he called out to his brethren. The others fell silent. It did not, at first, speak in a way his translator could pick up, but through a means that caught Ikharos off guard.
"HE HAS A SENSORIUM!" Xiān exclaimed delightfully. "WE'RE TALKING!"
"You can talk?" Ikharos asked aloud. Or tried to. It was hard to form anything past his mask.
The elder whistled. "We know friend song! We hoped for you! Come, killer-friend, come meet mother! Machine is old and silent, he hurts, but he swims strong. Mother consoles him. Mother teach us to teach! We tend to old machine, to children of machine, and keep him swimming strong. We keep promise. We swim strong. No current stop us! Come, quick, or hungry serpents will hear us!"
"serpents - danger! - go - friend swim?"
Dolphins were quick, powerful creatures, but they were far more than brutes. They were sleek racers, playful children, and the most bizarre storytellers.
"friend - wings - serpent killer - Fundor - kill serpent - roar - play - eat - swim storm - angry song - very fun!"
Ikharos laughed as they pulled him along. They had witnessed his handiwork, his penchant for destruction, but they didn't care about the danger. They crowded him until the elder burst out warnings, then tried again only a couple minutes later. They were as taken with him as he was them.
Time was gone, irrelevant, because Ikharos couldn't bring himself to care. He could have spent years with them and never bothered with anything else. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd traveled all around the world by then, a human among dolphins. Nothing would have made him happier.
His joy was quashed when their destination reared up from a submerged mountain. An undeniably manmade structure of steel, gripped in a pulsating fist of dormant SIVA. The only thing that kept him from panicking was the combined songs of a hundred cheerful dolphins.
The nanites were tame. This wasn't Rasputin's sickness. This was one of the security measures provided by the Tyrant's errant brother.
"We tend to old machine!" The elder told him. Seven dolphins equipped with sensoriums swam in front of him. They made up a fraction of the maintenance crew. It was ancestral thing, a sacred purpose carried down through generations of aquatic mammals. Ikharos asked his questions but could never get a straight answer. The dolphins spoke in such a strange manner that communication of even the basic sort was slow and tricky.
Still, they made their own intentions clear. They wanted him to meet 'Mother,' whatever that was.
"Is that the Exodus Prime?" He inquired. The structure shared similarities with the other Exodus-class vessels, but there were stark differences. The scale, specifically. The ship made up half the mountain.
"Mother waits for long time, she spoke with First Pod, told them to teach, find killer-friend!"
"Who is mother?"
"She is mother who refuses! She-"
A wailing klaxon shrieked to life. The dolphins fell silent and turned to face the abandoned human craft. It must have slammed into the ocean upon arrival, the way it speared through the rock. If so, the damage would have been extensive. The holes had been patched in with Siva, but Ikharos wondered how many people had died before the repairs could be finished. And why did it crash? The Exodus-class vessels had safety mechanisms implemented in case of a failed landing.
The SIVA glowed brighter, partially activating. Ikharos felt as if something massive and old was gazing down upon him, measuring his worth, judging him. He stilled himself, but his rapidly beating heart was beyond his control. It sounded so damn loud, in the dead quiet waters. Then, abruptly, the presence left. And Ikharos was left alive.
"machine - swim strong - no current!"
"Machine let you in!" The elder dolphin told him. Ikharos grasped the marine mammal's fin as it swam to the side of the derelict vessel. It was even bigger up close. A huge compartment was left open towards the ocean. Ikharos was led inside. There was a pocket of clean breathable air above, and a stairwell led to the upper hanger. The elder surfaced, snorted through his blowhole, and descended - leaving him alone.
Ikharos looked around. The hanger was in shambles, a mess of collapsed metal scaffolding and three broken jumpships. A part of him decided to see what he could salvage from them later, but first he had another mission. The dolphins wanted him to meet someone.
"Let's find Mother," Xiān cheerfully whispered.
000
"Father!"
Alosk glanced up. "Ach, Rirmand, not across the field!"
The child sheepishly circled around the vegetable patch, but every movement was fueled with an excited air. "Father, I saw 'nother wizard-man!"
"Wizard-man!" The farmer looked around sharply. "There's no wizard 'ere. Not any more. Last wan ran off."
"Nah, father, 'e's a new one! He flew on a flying broom, like 'em witches, 'cept it was metal! It went fwoooooom!"
"Yes it did." A tall figure, draped in a ragged cloak and torn clothes all dark in colour, strode into view from thin air. He was hooded, but from where his eyes should have been twin pink stars glared out at Alosk. A maw of magenta burned below, locked behind a metal jaw. Alosk was struck by fear; this was no man. The creature of nightmares placed a hand gently on Rirmand's shoulder "You're a bright young man, aren't you?"
Rirmand beamed, heedless of the danger that Alosk felt so keenly. Even the Urgals, blasted monsters that they were, never felt so... so evil!
"Father, can I show 'im the warrior? Da thing da other wizard left me?"
Those terrible, terrible eyes seemed to search the farmer's soul. The demon held in its hand a weapon like that of the wizard from before, but this was forged in ugly black steel. "You must tell me of this... other wizard. I'm dying of curiosity."
AN: The dolphins are the result of a single vague, thought-inducing line in a fantastic Destiny lorebook called Last Days on Kraken Mare. And probably because I've read too much Sci-Fi last year that I wanted to touch a bit on the possibilities of the Golden Age.