Through A Cloudy Looking Glass

by OldDDGuy

What if a group of people found themselves on Thedas, but they knew little or nothing about it. How would they adapt? Would they? What if they were able to defend themselves with modern weapons, but nothing else? Would they be able to make things better or worse? Rough language, some adult situations.

6. Actions Have Consequences

For some, the offensive language, and epithets, are there for a reason..

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Actions Have Consequences

Deep in the Bowels of the Pentagon

Admiral Sutherland had been immersed in the images on the table for hours. He endeavored to memorize every feature, each line of every face in each photograph on the table - the photos of the young people he had sent to die. It was not the first time he had sent young people to their deaths, nor he suspected, would it be the last; it was the burden of the job. What was different this time was he knew them personally, some he had known since their youth. He valued the lives of all those who served under him, but soldiers and sailors knew the risks; they knew what might be asked of them. This loss was different, not all were soldiers, and all had a future ahead of them; those futures were now lost.

He sat in his SCIF deep within the bowels of the Pentagon, a room to safely read secret documents, meant to be impersonal, interchangeable, antiseptic. For Sutherland, it was more than that; in some ways, it was a refuge where he could be alone with the ghosts of his past, and now on the table – his present. The report laid out the gruesome details. Details, yes, but no real answers. The folder was marked with so many varied secrecy stamps that it was difficult to tell the original color.

The contents were disturbing as most violent and unnatural ends usually are. Photos of fragments of an FA-18 scattered over an indistinct pile of rubble, burning vehicles, and dead bodies too plentiful to count. The ziggurat had collapsed entirely; no one could identify the cause; the earthquake? Bombs? The fuel of the FA-18, which had crashed into its base? There was no small speculation about the cause; however, there was no speculation about the consequences. The whole of the expedition must be buried within that ugly pile of rubble. No sign of life had been found since the drone had monitored the last of John's team moving to take cover inside. John, of course, was the last one.

The crater floor was littered with debris; much of the surrounding rim had collapsed into the basin, its stone burying the remains of dozens of vehicles, tanks, and the bits that had been a multi-million-dollar fighter.

"Thank God the aviator got out. One less letter to write."

The pilot reported that the electronics went dark, and the jet refused his commands. It was as dead as if someone had pulled the plug, so he punched out. The plane had tumbled out of control and crashed into the base of the ziggurat. The explosions of fuel and eight tons of bombs had caused a collapse of the structure's outer shell.

John had insisted a heavily armed extraction team be on 24x7 standby. Sutherland had been thanking God and John often lately; he unconsciously nodded toward the young man's photo on the table.

"You did good, son. That man gets to go home to his wife and son because you knew your shit. I am sorry I … I'm sorry." He took a deep breath, 'Maybe I should retire.'

"The Islamists could not have done a better job." He hated the irony, but more he hated the waste, all those young lives gone; for what? They had gotten nothing out of the expedition; all the files, photos, and data seemed to be partially or totally corrupted. Sutherland had sent rescue teams, but constant harassment from the terrorists and bandits made their efforts fruitless. Not that there was much to search.

Closed-door Congressional committee hearings were next week; he was looking at the file just so that he would know what not to say. He knew all too well that the politicians did not give a damn about the FA-18, its pilot, or even the people who died inside that pile of rubble; what they cared about was what they could spin into five minutes of screen time.

"Jesus, John, what happened?" Drones had been keeping watch on the area since the teams got to the mound; the video showed their trucks parked on the other side of the tunnel entrances; the drone monitored the events until the Iranian Air Force shot it down. The drones watched the expeditions vehicles being destroyed by a Mi-25 helicopter just before the T-72's showed up, drone control had tried to warn John, but communications were worse than usual.

The Syrian Air Force Mi-25 had strafed the place John had stashed the trucks; then, the helo landed on the west ridge like a praying mantis. Probably to ambush them when they tried to bug out.

"John must have known that the bastards had blown the trucks. It made sense to hunker down in the mound until the Navy could bomb the shit out of those tanks." Sutherland looked around at the small conference room's empty seats; as usual, they did not give any useful feedback. "Great, I am talking to myself again; maybe Martha is right, maybe I should retire. She did like that little bungalow in Boca, and the grandkids would love the pool." He sat back in the seat, 'I feel old.', he thought as he rubbed his temples. His migraine was coming back.

Once again, he studied the poster-sized photo tomographic map of what was left of the mound, complete with markings, analysis, highlights, and labels; nothing softened the reality that it now bore no resemblance to the structure it was only 24 hours ago; the earthquake was so powerful that almost nothing was left; all that remained was crushed rubble.

"It looks like the whole thing went through a shredder." He had asked a seismologist how it could happen; the consensus was it couldn't, but there it was in full color. It was as if an explosion had happened deep within the mound; nothing remained of it now.

'What am I going to tell the families?' He closed the folder. Of course, the mission would be under wraps until they were declared dead, which would be months, maybe years. Until then, the cover story was that Islamic radicals had destroyed yet another archeological site, and the US had tried to save it. The FA-18 was lost to mechanical failure due to a lack of maintenance because of the previous administration's negligence. The ironic thing was that neither story was far from the truth; no one could explain why the electronics went nuts. After the mound collapsed, the problems cleared up. The remaining FA-18 and the F-18s could linger until the Search & Rescue teams got there, then they refueled at Q-West and went back to the Reagan. The Blackhawks with the S&R teams and Apache gunships got to the site well before the fighters left; they got the pilot, then did a quick look at what was left of the mound, but there were no signs of life; the F-18s did a great job of killing everything in sight. Nothing but rubble, burning vehicles, and dead hostiles.

Admiral Sutherland stood, straightened his uniform, looked down at the pile of photos, topped with John Gray's in his dress uniform, below it was another, it was a five-year-old photo John's adopted mother had taken. John, Mariah, and a young Sarah ran to her daddy as he returned from deployment. All three were smiling, Mariah and Sarah were beautiful, and both were clearly overjoyed at John's return.

He gathered the photos back into the file, all save one, and closed it, picked it up as well as the poster, and dropped the lot into the shredder. 'What Congress did not know would not hurt anyone.' He hid the photo of the joyful return in his jacket pocket.

"I have to figure out what to say to Mariah and Sarah. At least I have time to sort that out."

Strange Scenes at the Crossroads

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

'Done!' John put down the roofing hammer. He was elated; the roof of the small stable was finished. The inside still needed work, but the largest part was done. Fall is coming, and the horse would be here in time for Sarah's fifth birthday! John sat on the now finished roof; it felt so good. He had been worried about retiring, it was a sacrifice, but it was worth it for his family. The new job was a bit of a drag, but it kept him home.

There were costs, though.

He had wept bitterly for Eric and the others; they were all dead now. He had been asked to lead the team, one more mission - Africa this time. John didn't know why he had refused, he could not remember doing it, and it seemed strange to even his ears, but he had done it, and once done, he felt free once he had made the decision.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

What was that? John looked around, trying to figure out from where the sound came. Maybe something inside the little barn? He moved to the ladder to check the inside; perhaps something had slipped?

"Daddy, come play with us!" Sarah and Mariah were playing tag now, across the paddock in the deep flowering plains grasses like those that had once covered all of Missouri. Both wore beautiful flowery sundresses; little Sarah had a daisy crown in her hair, Mariah had them woven in the long braids she wore. 'How did her hair get so long? It was short a minute ago?'

"Daddy, please come down and play!" John looked up; they were across the small paddock now; he slid down the ladder, lucky his overalls and leather gloves were good quality, or he would have been full of slivers. "John, please come with us! Catch us if you can!" Mariah was running in her heels now; her short but carefully tailored blue pinstriped suit only made her bottom and thighs look that much sexier. The blazer did nothing to hide her amazing curves. Sarah, in her school uniform, ran faster than her mother.

'When did Mariah get a boob job?' John was so perplexed he almost stopped chasing them, her slimmer smaller bust now replaced with something substantially more voluminous.

Sarah and Mariah were running around the paddock, wow had that been a chore, but the farm had never looked more like a home than with the stable and white rail fence for the horse.

"John, where were you? We could have used you, man; you left us to die." Eric stood with all the guys; the blood and wounds were everywhere. Some missing limbs, and gaping wounds, all had had their heads cut off, looking like they might fall off with the slightest twitch.

Boom! Boom!

"I will never see my kids, boss; why did you leave us to die?!" Most of the left side of Patrick's head was gone. Only his right eye remained to stare at him accusingly.

"Daddy, please come play with us! Hurry, it's not too late!" Sarah was imploring him to come, and he did. He felt horrible about the guys, but he had told them it would be a shit show; he chose his family for once, decided to protect his little girl. Those girls in Africa were in a terrible situation, but it was not his fault, and even if they managed to save them, everyone knew nothing would change; he chose his family dammit, he had the right to do that! He had a right to choose his family.

He ran; how did they get so far ahead? Why was Mariah wearing the same suit from the divorce? Why was Sarah wearing the school uniform from LA? 'Wait! What divorce?' He ran faster; they were out of the paddock now and running across the field toward the forest!

"Mariah, Sarah, wait up!" He ran faster, as fast as he could with his gear. Why was this body armor so heavy! His M4 was weighing him down. Damn, why did I bring so many mags!

Mariah and Sarah were well across the field now; John ran as fast as he could, he dropped his M4, then his plate carrier, but still they were faster, his arms were so heavy, his breath so hard to catch, his head hurt from the blood pounding in his ears.

Boom! The blood dripped down his forehead. Boom! Mariah and Sarah were now at the forest edge. Boom! "Why didn't you come for us?" Sarah asked, beside him, as he tried desperately to catch his breath. Mariah and Sarah, hand in hand, just disappeared. Boom! Boom! Boom!

"Wait! Come back!" John shouted as he woke with a start. 'Why am I on the ground again? Why am I always on the ground!' He abruptly tried to sit up, and again for the second time that day, blood pounding in his ears, every heartbeat like a drumbeat. The world started to spin; he rolled over on his side and vomited.

"Will you please stop being an idiot! Jou 'ear out joura stetches!" José's accent always got thick when he was angry. "¡Maldito idiota!" José threw a bloody piece of fabric away; it was a chunk of his undershirt, one of two he had.

John put his hand to his head and felt the rest of the undershirt covering his bandages. "Ok, I will be good – doc. Tell me what the hell happened?"

José was not actually a doctor, not yet, he had finished his schooling, and most but not all his residency, he was studying at Wash U in Saint Louis; John had helped him get in, just one of the things he owed the old man. José was only a few weeks short of finishing when he got the call; he could never say no to the man he owed so much.

"I don't know, Sir; we have no idea where we are, or what happened or how we got here. This place is fucking weird," José looked around; John noticed he had his tags out along with the medal of some saint; John made a mental note to ask which one, later but José might have worn it smooth by then. "Paddy thinks we died, and we are in purgatory. I don't want to think that, but this place is just fucking creepy." José continued to look around; John tried to watch without being obvious. If José were honest, he was terrified.

You can deal with a Jihadist, just shoot them, or bomb the shit out of them, but this place, this place was out of nightmares. Nothing seemed solid, gloomy but not oppressive, misty but not cloying like it should be raining, but it seemed like it never rained here before. It was just weird; everything was fucking weird. The trees looked like they were sculptures of trees but felt both like stone and alive; who makes a sculpture that looks like a tree? Why not just plant a tree? José returned his focus to the old man, tried not to think much about where they were. If he did, he could completely lose it.

There did not seem to be a sun, but there was light, no shadows, nothing fixed. But with all this, the unnerving thing was the silence. A silence so complete one could almost feel it. All of them sensed it; Paddy and a couple of others were huddled saying prayers, Paddy fingering his rosary quietly as if he were afraid to make the silence angry. Not even the skeptical scientists felt much like exploring, just in case something might come out of the mists. They all stayed close to John; he was their rock, their leader. He had pushed them through that strange door or portal or whatever it was, with no real reason to follow than his will that they do it.

John's head cleared a little; he knew that they depended on him; he had seen the signs before; if he did not get control, they would fall apart. His head was still foggy, and he could not see clearly; everything was misty and indistinct. He looked back behind him at whatever they came through. There was a mound of rubble in front of the now crushed and crumpled frame. A fair amount of debris must have followed him through the portal.

"Eric, report!" the volume of his voice, although raspy, sounded like a gunshot in the tomb-like silence.

Eric came forward; his face was pale, John thought he saw fear in the man's eyes; he could not recall ever seeing that before – ever. "We all got through, Sir. You are the only seriously injured; a couple tripped over things here, nothing serious, a sprained ankle is all." Eric looked around, then dropped his voice to a whisper.

"This place is fucked up! Where do you think we are?" Eric was not stupid, although John had scored higher on IQ tests.

"I am not certain, but I know we are not buried under tons of stone." John looked squarely at Eric; if Eric was this unsettled, he had to get control fast. The others would be on the edge of panic.

For a second time, he looked back at how they entered this place; the debris was everywhere, the frame bent and broken; they clearly would not be going back that way. Eric noticed.

"After you came through, there was a shit load of rocks and crap that came behind you." He pointed at the large chunk of ceiling that leaned against the broken frame. "That last chunk came through, but the other debris blocked it. It fell backward against the frame, and then the shimmering surface just … broke." It was incredible to see but impossible to describe, so he just didn't try.

John had to force himself to stand; José was not happy, but he and Eric got him to his feet.

"Alright, huddle up." His voice was more forceful now, not as strong as he would like it, but the surroundings helped make it seem more robust. People were so dazed that they were slow to react.

"That means now, people!" the shock of his words and the volume of the offending sound in this silence was able to rouse people to move; soon, they had gathered around.

"We don't know where we are or how we got here, but we are not dead. I have a pulse, you all have pulses, I need to take a crap badly; I am pretty sure that if I were dead, I would not need to wipe my ass ever again. Now, we need to look around, split up into groups of three, two guards for every geek. Stay in line of sight and shouting distance apart at the most." John's strength was giving out, so he had to make this quick. "Eric coordinate, do recon and figure out what is around us and see if anyone or anything else is here or near."

"Alright, people, you heard the Boss. Team up, everyone stay within 50 paces of each other…" Eric began to organize the groups, sending them in different directions but telling them never to move past line of sight back to base camp.

John stood as long as he could, "José, I am fine, go look around, have you seen water?" John knew all too well how much water it took for a human to stay alive. They might have enough for a day or two, maybe a little longer with short rations, but then they would be out. They had not planned for an extended time without support; they thought they might be there for a couple of days to get data on the site then call in for resupply. He had to be clear, had to keep focus… he slowly slipped into unconsciousness.

Between Haven and Hell

The little group approached the forward camp, Serrada was leading; she could not imagine how that happened. Cassandra had somehow shifted from 'taking the prisoner to the forward camp' to following her to it. It was not possible to get lost, just follow the trail of destruction, and you would get there. Serrada had managed to scavenge a bow and a quiver of decent arrows; their previous owner would no longer need them as she had failed to employ them fast enough.

'I even managed to scavenge a couple of decent daggers along the way.' At least she had not been entirely useless, although her blade work was shoddy as Lady Pendaghast had pointed out.

"We will have to work on that … if we survive." Cassandra had stated.

Such a cheery woman, Serrada, wondered at her being single. 'Ah, who am I kidding? I will probably be just like her one day.' She took a new look at her keeper, 'I could do worse.'

There was yet another bloody rift outside the makeshift boundaries of the forward camp; luckily, it was weaker than the others, lucky for the guards, fortunate for her group, and most timely for her. She was nearly exhausted. Solas had somehow divined that her mark, as he called it, could close the rifts. She had been able to learn how to do it; it was like pushing a door shut to latch, more with her will than with her strength, but it felt much the same; she could barely lift her arm to close it.

They passed through the bridge gate, walking to the camp halfway along its length; the path was yet another scene of sorrow and pain, as well as the dead. Ahead she could recognize Leliana and some chantry drone, 'I am covered in mud and blood; how can they seem to keep those robes white?' She wondered as she approached the upturned door used as a desk. Along the way, Serrada grabbed as many healing potions as she could carry, 'I suspect we will need these.' She noticed the others did the same.

She could see the white-robed figure was arguing with Leliana, which caused her to wonder if he was 'Brave or stupid? Probably both.' She could hear them discussing their options, 'withdraw,' 'done enough already,' and 'causing trouble,' more preening.

Serrada caught their eye as she reached the table, "Chancellor Roderick, this is…"

Grand Chancellor Roderick was just precisely how Serrada would have pictured him if you spoke his name to her. Pious and pompous in equal measure.

'I wonder if I should arrange a meeting between mother and Grand Chancellor Roderick? They could pretentious each other to death.' The thought caused a slight giggle to escape her lips, which brought looks from Leliana, Cassandra, and a glimpse of Roderick's animosity.

"I know who she is, as Grand Chancellor of the Chantry…" this speech went on awhile, Cassandra responded, deflecting his orders with as much ease as she would in swatting a fly.

Serrada took this moment to respond to the Chancellor, "So no one is in charge here?"

"You killed everyone who …" Roderick went on for a few moments until Serrada had had enough.

"Grand Chancellor, you are operating under a false belief that my survival is an indication of my guilt. It is neither an indication that I was complicit or innocent!" Her words were directed at him but intended for all who could hear. "I have no idea what happened, I have no memory of any events before entering Haven, but I intend to find out what happened to my people and help your people as best I can. Please either help me or get out of my way!" She emphasized the point by using one of her recently acquired daggers to ensure the table's map was not blown away. Roderick stepped back, Cassandra had unconsciously gripped her sword, Leliana had not moved.

"Now, if you are quite finished, what do we do now?" Serrada waited, Cassandra and Leliana spoke of options for approaching the Temple's remains and how best to do it. Serrada listened, looked at the mountain path, the climb it included, and without asking simply started toward the mountain path.

"Where are you going?" Roderick asked Cassandra, turned to Leliana, "Gather everyone, go to the Temple. Leliana, everyone."

"Why did you choose this way?" Cassandra asked, catching up with Serrada. Serrada had kept looking down, not wanting the Seeker to see the tear.

"Lian." She tried to steady her voice. "I will not leave people to die if I can at least try to help them."

Serrada did not speak much after, climbing the path, then the ladders. Cassandra, Solas, and Varric chatted about where they were going, why they were going, and pretty much anything to keep their minds off the fact that they were going.

Serrada could not help but think of Lian; she had almost pushed the boy out of her mind, well until she met his hero, Varric Tethras himself. Serrada had heard impassioned passages from several books written by Master Tethras, all delivered on horseback, even one given while she stood guard of Lian, who was forced to bathe. When the horses were smelling better than the boy they could stand him, when he approached the rank of what the horses left behind, it was time for a bath whether he liked it. 'That boy shrieked more than Smiles did for his yearly bath.' It had been easier to focus on her troubles before meeting the mage and dwarf, but once names were exchanged, it all came back to her, the loss, her failure. Now she brooded over it as they climbed.

"Something troubles you?" Cassandra had come up beside her, and she had completely missed it. They stopped for a moment; Serrada turned to look directly at the Seeker but did not confront her.

"When we came from Ostwick, we had a young stable boy who aspired to be a squire." Serrada smiled; in many respects, Lian was not ready to be a squire, but he threw himself into everything he did with captivating vigor. You just could not help but admire his willingness to work harder than anyone to prove he was able to do anything if given a chance.

"He was so happy to see mages, templars" she waited a moment "he had seen them in Ostwick before, but this was different." She watched as Varric and Solas stopped a few feet away to give them the illusion of privacy. She looked directly at Varric. "Lian was so excited to see a Qunari that he would not be still about all the stories he had heard – or read." Varric, face flushed in the cheeks, looked at the ground. Solas saved him by drawing attention to the view.

"I gave him coin to go and spend at the vendors I knew would be outside the Temple…" Serrada's voice threatened to betray her.

"I understand; I lost someone very dear to me as well." For the first time, Cassandra took the lead. Serrada wiped the tear from her cheek and moved up behind the Seeker.

They fought their way through the mines. The only challenge was the gore-splattered all through the passages. The demons seemed to have taken great joy in painting the walls, posts, and lintels with the soldiers' blood, entrails, and tissues. The worst was the smell, the smell of cold, cloying damp, blood, vomit, and worse. It froze her heart and turned her stomach.

Finally, they found yet more bodies out of the mine, but nowhere near the scouts' complement. Faintly in the distance, Solas could hear the sounds of battle. Serrada started running down the path toward the sounds, which grew louder with each step. She could not have explained why she was running, to help the soldiers, she might have said, but the truth was she was hoping it might be some of her people, maybe someone had lived. She was disappointed, of course, but she threw herself into the battle regardless; killing demons salved the wound.

As quickly as the battle started, it was over. The few healthy scouts bandage the injured, which was most of the scout team, carrying the seriously wounded, thankfully few, or wrap the dead, more than they hoped. Cassandra sent them back down the mines, offering what help she could; Serrada insisted they take at least a few healing potions. Cassandra's face revealed her thoughts.

Serrada moved close to whisper. "Cassandra, if we fail for want of a couple of potions, we are doomed already." Cassandra did not object, nodded her head to Serrada, and gave final instructions to her scouts then turned back to Serrada.

"Let us end this as soon as possible." She waited, Serrada wondered why, until she realized Cassandra wanted her to lead, that somehow she felt it was right for Serrada to do so.

The remains of the Temple were something that would haunt all their nightmares. Partially incinerated corpses littered the grounds before the Grand Gates. Serrada could barely recognize many of them as even human remains; others were all too human, humans frozen in the pits of the most extraordinary agony. An agony that would appear eternal if the twisted and mangled bodies were any sign.

They examined what they could without adding insult to the list of humiliations these people had suffered. The tiniest glint of gold, a sign Serrada had both hoped and dreaded she would find. There amongst the remains of what seemed to have been a massive booksellers wagon given the contents scattered about, a small twisted body partially shielded and partially consumed; near the body was a pile of mostly destroyed books. It appeared that the accumulation of books had been so considerable that it may have shielded some portion of their number from the full force of the explosion, which destroyed the Temple. Hidden, partially protected by its horde, was a body. In the dying light of the day, a glint yet again, as if to call out to Serrada, who was drawn toward it, a glint from the small body; as much as she tried to resist, she could not.

"Serrada, don't…." Cassandra's eyes were full of compassion, imploring her to avoid the pain that she felt herself. A once Holy Temple was now a devastated mausoleum, it had to contain the remains of her love - somewhere. "Don't. You can do nothing."

"I can tell his parents…." Somewhere, somehow, she already knew what she would find. She stepped forward, her feet dragging the last few steps. She knew from the bits of clothing; she had seen his best before; she remembered him running up the hill in them, the remains of boots, his trousers, colors, and weave. She saw what she was looking for, the remnants of a necklace, a delicate gold chain, and a beautiful gold charm of Andraste – the source of the calling glint.

Her hands trembled as she knelt by him. "I am sorry, Lian, I should have made you stay with the horses." How many tears had she shed? Probably more in the future, her hands trembled as she reached for the delicate gold chain and charm; covered blackened and crusted with blood and flesh, the gold almost entirely tarnished near black as well as bloodied and fouled. His mother would want it, and Serrada would have it cleaned and restored and would carry it back to her, herself. She would put it into Lian's mothers' hands, she would look the woman in the eye and beg her forgiveness, which Serrada doubted would be received, but regardless, she would return it to her and give Lian a decent burial.

"Cassandra, no matter what happens, promise me you will take care of him. He did not deserve this." Serrada tried to steady her voice yet again.

"You have my word." Cassandra answered. She had been scanning all the bodies for any sign she might recognize, but most were far worse than poor Lian.

Serrada, clutching the token in her gloved hand, arose, gently wrapped the fouled item in her flannel, and placed the bundle carefully back inside her belt pouch. A moment later, she turned to meet her companions, her face set in determination, jaw clenched, her eyes filled with a fury so cold and bright, both Solas and Varric looked shocked and took half steps back.

"Let's go; we have work to do." She covered the remaining distance to the once-proud gate now blasted open; she moved so quickly that both Cassandra and Solas had to lengthen and quicken their strides, and Varric had to break into a run just to keep up. "Hey, what's the hurry Sparkles, we have all day to die." The next quip died on Varric's lips when Serrada shot him a single icy look.

The scene inside the Temple was worse than outside if imagination would allow that. Nothing of the once proud and beautiful space remained. No one who had known the place just a few days before would have recognized a single landmark. Areas once used for contemplation in quiet corners were now blasted open to the sky. High above them, a cauldron of destruction, devastation, and twisted beauty was grinding reality to dust. Below them was an enormous rift the largest Serrada had yet encountered.

Looking again at the mother of all rifts high above them. "How am I going to get up there?"

"No need, this rift is the first; it is closed but not sealed. Open and seal it, and the rift above will seal as well. However, this will attract unwanted attention." Everyone present knew full well what that meant – demons.

Leliana arrived with the remnants of the forces she had brought up from Haven. At Cassandra's insistence, Leliana distributed the Inquisition forces to avoid being flanked if something came through.

From the railing, Serrada could see the crater floor that had been the magnificent grand hall of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The lofty ceiling was now replaced with a sky scarred with the great rift; the formerly towering columns and walls reduced to broken teeth, enhancing the illusion of a tremendous green maw preparing to vomit out death and destruction before swallowing the world whole.

The path to the crater floor was no less unsettling than the sight of the crater itself. Some unknown evil's booming voice announced its pitiless malice and cold cruelty; no less disturbing was the revelation of poison from deep within Thedas that unnerved both Cassandra and Varric – red lyrium. Serrada resolved to ask what exactly it was but not now.

Finding no accessible entrance, Serrada leapt to the crater floor. Then the final shocking revelation occurred; she heard her own voice answering the call from a woman Cassandra proclaimed was the Divine! Cassandra's imploring and demanding plea to know what happened, followed by Serrada's only weak response - "I don't remember!"

The battle that followed was more relief than a burden; her fight forced her mind on the demon.

"Serrada, be careful!" Cassandra screamed as she faced the enormous Pride Demon.

Serrada did not hear the call; she focused on closing the massive rift, close it, weakening the demon, closing the rift, closing the…

Her scream was drowned out by the howl of the pride demon. She did not see the shades come around the remnant of a wall.

"Hold on, Sparky!" Varric turned his crossbow on the shade that had raked deep gashes down Serrada's back, shattering her concentration. She rolled away; years of training seemed to be buried in her muscle memory. The shade took bolts from Varric, Serrada had long since shot her last arrow, but her daggers were as sharp as ever. She was no great blades woman, but she killed it with Varric's help and luck. Pausing to take a potion and catch a breath, she was able to return to the struggle with the rift; the days' combat was now taking its toll. She was so tired, so cold, and her boots were squishy and sticky now. The gashes ran from her right shoulder down and across her back.

"I wonder if Shade claws are venomous." She was dizzy, lightheaded. She fought on, gathered as many spent arrows as she could; her arms seemed as heavy as lead. Her eyes blurred, so hazy, the pride demon was bleeding profusely. It was just a matter of time. Serrada drew yet another used arrow, its weakened shaft shattered. Splinters of wood drove into her left arm; thankfully, her bracer blocked most of the larger pieces, so exhausted she barely noticed the injury. Using her right arm, she lifted the mark in her left hand to the rift.

"Do it now, close the rift!" Cassandra shouted as she continued to hack at the monster on its knees, just as Serrada was lifting her arm to the rift.

"Do it now!" Cassandra implored.

Serrada pushed, pushed with all her might, with all her will, with all the remaining strength she had, the rift gave way, closed, flowed to nothing. It was so warm, so comfortable; she could relax, sleep now….

"Quickly, help me! We need a healer! Quickly, now!" Cassandra was shouting again.

Serrada was angry with her. 'Cassandra, why can't you be quiet! Why are you in my room! Smiles, where are you? Anna, make Cassandra be quiet!' Serrada rolled over on her stomach; her back was all squishy now. She giggled as she felt the blood slowly trickle down between the cheeks of her bum. 'Edith is going to be so upset with me! She hates it when I get blood in my clothes. I sure did it now! Momma will not speak to me, and poor Anna will be unhappy. I wonder how…' The darkness claimed her.

Sleep is Not Always Restful

'Why am I on a roof?' She looked around. It was beautiful! The homestead of a successful freeholder, one that her father would have been immensely proud to have in his bannorn.

She found herself standing high on what she assumed was the roof of a barn. She was looking across a plowed field that bracketed a small stream at the bottom of a valley. On the far side of the field were woodlands with trees she did not recognize, the foliage of vibrant reds and golds, yellows and deep greens stretching across rolling hills to the distant horizon.

The near side of the stream and the field of crops was a band of deep grasses topped with flowers, with insects as vibrant in colors as the blossoms flitting and floating around the flowers.

The precision of the plowed field caught her attention; its perfectly aligned crops of some strange plant she could not identify, stood rank after rank, golden yellow, tall and straight, with long thin leaves on the single stalk, tall as a man on horseback!

All this color contrasted with an equally extraordinary sky; it was so blue, a blue she had only seen in the depths of the sea, and sunshine so bright her eyes hurt of it, and the clouds! With feathery translucent white, and stranger straight rolling clouds crisscrossing the sky as if drawn by a draftsman with an enormous paintbrush, all this high above the ordered fields. On the horizon opposite the sun were massive billowing clouds splashed with colors, colors rivaling the trees with crimson and yellows across the billowing white, and the height! Cloud heights she could not recall seeing before. It was all so beautiful it hurt.

"This cannot be real." She looked all around again. "I must be dreaming, but I was in my bedroom…"

She turned to find a lovely little cottage, all in white with a roof, doors, and blue trim. At her feet, she saw the same blue roof which covered the small barn. She carefully climbed down the ladder; looking into the unfinished barn, she could clearly see where stalls were going to be. 'For horses then.' She marveled at the lumber, much nicer than her father's sawmill. The fence was of cut lumber as well. "This freeholder is very prosperous but wasteful."

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" The woman in white standing next to Serrada commented on the little house.

"Yes, it is." Serrada glanced at the woman, starting at her sudden appearance. "Who are you?" She turned around and looked at the place they were standing. "How did you get here? How did I get here? Where are we?" Her questions were starting to sound a little desperate in her own ears.

"In order, I was Dorothea, who I am now is unimportant. I honestly do not know how I got here, which leads to the same answer as to how you did, and finally…" The woman looked around the scene, she now appeared much younger with the vestments of a Reverend Mother, suddenly the woman seemed to discover the change. "Oh, thank the Maker, there I am. I was wondering where I was; I missed me so much!" She hugged herself.

Serrada took a step back from the now younger woman, "I am sorry, I think I will leave you to your - reunion."

It was Dorothea's turn to be startled, as if she had just discovered Serrada was there, "No child, I am sorry. I have not been at ease with myself in some time. Where was I? Oh, yes, I have no idea where we are. However, it is beautiful, but I doubt it would be as beautiful outside of the Fade."

It was Serrada's turn to looked shocked, "We are in the Fade? Are…we dead?" Serrada's voice broke and was tinged with fear.

Dorothea's face softened; suddenly, she was the older woman who was there before, but her vestments remained the same. "No child, you are simply injured and unconscious; I, however, am dead. At least I think I am; I have been here, or there, and sometimes other places from my past, but I have not eaten, drunk, or desired to do so, so I now know I am indeed dead." She reached out to hug the woman, Serrada, at first hesitated then hugged her. For being dead, she felt warm and alive.

When she pulled away, Dorothea was again the younger woman. "I like this better. I suspect you will expect me to look the other way if you see me again. I will remember. Of course, you probably will not. That happens when you are injured. Besides, you have much to do, and all this will seem a bad dream."

The sound of laughter rolled out from the open windows of the cottage; Serrada walked toward it, noticing the details she had not seen. "He can afford glass?"

Dorothea walked with her and watched Serrada. "Yes, it seems so. I wonder many things about this place. So ordered, have you noticed the crops? I have no idea what that plant is. Do you not wonder? My father was a man of the land, yet I have never seen it's like."

Serrada knew little of crops, other than what she had seen in books and her father's estates.

"So, who is the owner? Why are we here?" Serrada walked toward the cottage. "Who lives here? Why am I here?"

Dorothea chuckled, "I do not know, child. I think this is part of his past; I believe you are part of his future, and that he is part of yours." Dorothea looked from the house to Serrada. "Perhaps you should try to speak with him? I will leave you now, but I believe we will meet again. If you remember nothing else, remember this - you must spare this man and his followers. Remember, their fate is in your hands."

"What?" Serrada turned back to the woman, but she was alone on the path to the cottage. Again, she heard the laughter.

She was careful to avoid the lovely flowers in the informal gardens and keep to the perfectly manicured path. She climbed the stairs, at least she tried to, but the ground started to shake. Abruptly it was all gone.

The Fade Fades

John thought it was an Earthquake. The house was shaking, Sarah and Mariah were yelling as he made pancakes at the stove. John could see cracks form along the walls of the farmhouse. He looked out the window; there was a woman in bloody leather walking up toward the house! The shaking did not stop.

"John, I am sorry, but you need to wake up." Eric was close to John's ear. They had let Sam and José keep an eye on him while they scouted around … well, wherever they were. There was nothing but more portal frames, some black, some broken; one of the scientists tried to touch a black portal. Luckily, Glenn had stopped him; the guy tried to fight! Glenn put him on the ground, then zip-tied him.

"John, we need to find a way out of here! This place is messing with us; people are getting freaked out." John could hear the tension in Eric's voice; he could also hear the fear. "John, if you don't wake up, I will have to make a decision here."

John wanted to go back to sleep, get back to the farmhouse, and finish pancakes, but that was a dream in more ways than one, and he knew it.

John was foggy, trying to focus. He looked around; portals, row after row surrounded them. They were of a similar pattern, some taller, some shorter, all much taller than their width with arching cathedral peaks at the top.

'Man, if these are proportional to the size of the people who made them, we are fucked. They must have been ten feet tall.' John was trying to stand now. 'The last thing I want to do is a dance with that.' He grunted a laugh, 'It probably would be the last thing I did.'

"I'm awake, Eric. Report. Where are we?" John's voice was weaker than he would have wanted if he was sitting on his back porch with a beer, let alone now.

"I have no fucking idea! Where are we? Some sort of god damned nightmare, that is where we are! Didn't you hear me? One of the nerds told me he could hear one of the black mirrors talking to him! It wants him to go inside! We had to zip-tie him so he would not touch it. I told everyone to stay away from it." Eric was getting as close to panic as John had ever seen.

"Shoot it. Go behind the portal and shoot it." John slowly got to his feet. "Everyone, listen up! Huddle up now!" The others were slowly coming around, moving within conversation distance; Glenn and Sanchez stood on either side of one of the scientists; he looked wild-eyed. Strangely like a captured animal that would make a break for it at any moment. "I need you all to listen and focus." His pep talk was interrupted by a burst from an M4. Eric came jogging back, but John had his eyes on the affected scientist.

'What was that kids name?' John was angry with himself now. He had taken the time to know each of his people, but he had been too busy contemplating his own ass even to learn the names and faces of his charges. He knew Sam had picked them, but she knew them by reputation, not sure if she knew them as individuals, 'That changes now.'

"Who was the one affected by the portal?" John was standing now, 'When did that happen?' He could not remember standing up but was happy he could.

"His name is Daniel Wilkins." Sam responded. "He was not my first choice; he is the son of a dean at Harvard. Daddy was hoping that this would be a plumb dig and make his kid's reputation. I don't think he understood the danger, I tried to tell him, but he thought I wanted to keep the position for another Brit. The truth was I would have, but because she was better qualified." There was a little heat in her voice; John was sympathetic; he had lost people because the brass wanted some showboat to get in on a mission.

"I don't know him very well, but he is brilliant and was trying hard to convince me that he was worth bringing." She was a hard ass, but she did care for her people; John could see that in her face.

"What happened with the portal you blasted?" John had heard the gunfire but still didn't know what happened to the portal.

"I did what you said, I went behind it, there was a weird sound like someone…no something was hit. I thought about tossing in a grenade but decided we needed them." John was surprised that Eric had thought that far; he was not stupid, but John had been leading for so long, it had become a habit for Eric to follow.

John remembered the dream, the visage of his men being dead, then beheaded.

"Listen, I need you to get with the guys, I don't know how I am doing, and you need to be ready." He knew Eric could and would do the job if it was necessary. Somewhere inside himself, the first time in a long time, John hoped it would not be required. That was a revelation to him; perhaps the shrink was right; maybe time could heal all wounds.

"Did anyone find any water? Anything else? One of those mirrors which didn't look like it goes to the pits of hell?" John was trying to be funny, but it fell flat.

"No boss, no water, nothing living at all. Those trees aren't plants; they look like trees, and they feel like trees, but they are not trees. Nothing is living here as far as we can tell."

Eric sounded calm now, but John could tell he was still freaked out. "I mean nothing, no birds, no animals, no bugs even. We need to get the fuck out of here, John. Now."

"Okay, what are our options? How far have we gotten? Is there somewhere to go?" John asked as he looked around.

"Yes! We can go to the Black City! I want to go to the Black City!" Wilkins did not just raise his voice; he was screaming his desire. "They are calling me; I can hear them now! Please let me go; I want to go." He fought his zip-tie restraints.

The outburst, combined with the wild look in the boy's eyes, convinced John he was insane. It also convinced him to move.

"Ok, this is just not going to work. Are any of those mirrors working that are not black?" John asked; he watched Wilkins struggle with his guards.

"Please let me go; I hear them singing, please let me go!" Wilkins was begging; his whole body was pleading; he fought the restraints again. José was fussing in his kit; finally, he came out with a vial, shook it, filled a syringe. John wondered what José would give him, but José just stepped around him, headed for Wilkins, jabbed it in his arm, and walked back. Minutes of screaming later, Wilkins was out cold, but not a restful sleep; he seemed to be talking to someone.

"Doctor Turpids, may I speak with you?" John was starting to feel fatigued again. He might pass out, but he needed to talk and determine whether they might need to do something drastic with the kid. They were in enough trouble without a wacko getting them into more. Whatever happened to Daniel, he needed to know.

"Yes, commander, what can I do for you?" Sam was exhausted. What had happened?

"Sit down, Doc. You look like shit." John found himself sitting again. 'When did that happen?'

"Thank you; you really know how to charm a girl!" Sam chuckled because she knew it was true, as she tried to find a way to sit down. "What can I do for you, fearless leader?" It was weird; the ground had no feel. It did not feel cold or warm; it was as if it was precisely the same as her body. How was that possible? It all feels like – nothing? 'Maybe we are all dead.'

"What happened to that kid. Daniel?" John was starting to feel like he was fading. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. He fought to stay awake.

"He was looking around like everyone, then for some reason he thought one mirror looked, well for want of a better word, inviting." She shifted her feet, looking down.

John got the impression that she was looking for something to throw; there was nothing. That struck him strangely as well. No pebbles, no sticks, no debris, not even dust, nothing.

"He said it talked to him. I did not see it myself, but he seemed to be drawn to it. Suddenly he was touching it. Then he was simply different." She was not looking at John now; he could see from her profile; she thought, trying to process the events while telling the story. She was deeply disturbed and worried.

"We will have to keep an eye on him." He looked around again. "There is nothing normal here. This place is … artificial. I don't know what that means or where it came from, but this is just not natural." He turned to Sam; he had to get her to back his play.

"I know you, and I got off on the wrong foot, but we have to be together on this. We have to get out of here, and I don't know-how. Get with your people and see if they have any ideas. I know I don't. Make sure they don't touch any of those things unless we both tell them to." They were both watching Daniel, who was fidgeting and talking to himself in his sleep. "We both tell them together, right?"

"Ok, I agree." Sam sounded frightened. Her voice a whisper, "Do you think we can get out of here?"

"I sure as fuck hope so." He glanced at her; she was terrified; he could not afford to be.

"Okay, go talk to your people. I need a minute; then, we will go." He was leaning against what might have been a broken pillar.

Before she left, she turned back. "I have not said this before; thank you for saving my people." Sam was looking directly at him. "I will never be able to thank you enough." Without waiting for a response, she turned back to the group and walked away.

'How could it be broken? It was not holding anything up?' There were clearly parts missing, but no rubble on the ground. 'What the hell is it with this place?'

"Daddy, come play with us!" Sarah and Mariah were playing tag now, across the paddock in the deep flowering plains grasses like those that had once covered all of Missouri. Both wore beautiful flowery sundresses; little Sarah had a daisy crown in her hair, Mariah had them woven in the long braids she wore. 'How did her hair get so long? It was short a minute ago?'

'Wait! I remember this dream.' He watched them play, he knew they would run, and no matter how fast he chased, they would always be ahead. He quickly looked around; he was not wearing the work clothes, he was geared-up, his M4 on his chest, his head was bandaged.

"Good morning, young man." The woman caused him to jump, instinct took over, and he wheeled around, bringing up his M4, flipping the switch.

"Who are you, and what do you want." He carefully stepped back three paces. He looked at the older woman who was dressed as if she was some sort of strange nun. Not in black and white, but in white and red, a peculiar headdress he had never seen before.

"I know this is very strange to you; please put your weapon down. I assume that it is some sort of weapon. I know little of weapons, but I have never seen anything like it. Is it some sort of crossbow?" She did not move toward him, but her smile was calming, and she had a happy face. "I hope you do not mind, but this is not me."

Suddenly she appeared much younger, her hair in braided buns like the Princess from Star Wars, but still the same white and red robes, the same woman. How could she do that, but it was all a dream. He must have gone to sleep again.

"I do not want to alarm you, but you can not sleep here. The Crossroads is too close to the Fade. You have already lost one of your group; he is lost to you; you must not stay in the Crossroads."

"What Is the Crossroads? What is the Fade? Who are you? How did we get here? What is going on? Why are we here? Why am I here?" John just wanted a handle to hold on to; he had started wondering if he was losing his grip on reality.

"You are at the Crossroads. I was Justinia the Fifth", her body shifted to the older woman in ornate vestments, "but I am truly Dorothea," as quickly as the last change, her apparent age and clothing shifted to a younger and simpler form, " and you passed through an ancient portal to what is called the Crossroads. You must leave it soon or never leave, and what is going on? Life, change. Life is what is going on; your future."

She turned and walked toward the forest, "This is beautiful. I wish I could have seen it. What is that plant there?" She pointed to the field beyond the fence.

John turned to look where she pointed. "You mean the corn? It is just corn." John had lowered his rifle.

"Corn, really? I have never heard of it. As I suspected, the hidden writings alluded to this would have been very … disruptive. I suppose that is why they were forbidden." She walked toward the forest where Mariah and Sarah had gone; Dorothea glanced over her shoulder to John.

"Find the courtyard, use the green portal, now you must go John, or you never will leave the Crossroads. Leave through the green portal in the courtyard at the center of the Crossroads or be trapped forever. Remember, you are the key. Now, wake up." With that, Dorothea was gone.

John startled himself awake; he was leaning over now, against the base of the pillar. Everyone was milling around, some glancing back at him. Eric, Jose, and Little John were keeping an eye on him and Daniel.

John struggled to get up; Eric and Little John rushed over to help him stand. "Listen, Boss. You can rest for a few hours, we have no idea how long we have been here, but you need some rest."

"No, we need to leave; I know we need to leave. Has anyone seen an active portal?" He asked Eric, who looked at him as if he was growing horns.

"Just the black one's boss, but that is no good." Eric glanced at Daniel, who was awake again and talking weird stuff to people only he could see.

"No, look for a courtyard and a green one. I don't know what it is, but she said to look for the courtyard and find a green one." John was trying to walk; he carried his gear and walked as best he could. "Listen up! We need to find a courtyard and a green portal; now, we need to get out of here. Look hard for a courtyard. Stay together and stay away from the black ones!"

They started searching, but Eric held back along with Sam.

"What courtyard?" Sam looked at him almost with as much concern as she did, Daniel, who was now laughing with friends only he could see. It was not a joyful laugh.

"What green portal?" Eric had a copy of the look Dr. Sam had. Including the glances at Daniel.

John had expected this conversation, and the truth was he was looking at Daniel and wondering if they had reason to think he was as nuts.

"I honestly don't know. When I fell asleep, I dreamed of the place in Missouri." John couldn't look at them.

"Your old nightmare?" Eric had heard it before, knew it almost as well as John. Practically as well as his own. "The one with Mariah and Sarah?"

"Yeah, but this was different. A woman dressed up as a nun, but it was mostly white with a red sash, not a black one, with gold trimming. She changed from old to young, from formal to informal, but it looked like some catholic church getup, but I have never seen anything like it." John looked at them and saw the concern, "Look, I don't know if it was the head wound, but she said we couldn't stay here, that there was some sort of courtyard and a green portal. We got nothing else, maybe it is my head, but at least we are moving, and we need to be moving to find a way out." He kept his cool, although he was more than a little concerned about his mental health. Head wounds can mess you up.

Sam and Eric looked at each other, then back to John. Eric started, "Ok, I agree. We were doing nothing back there; everything was dead. The active ones were just creepy, but how do we know where we are going?"

"I am not sure it matters. We have not seen any of these portals, and I can't help but feel like we have covered most if not all of this Crossroads, and we have used up all our water. Daniel is getting worse; he doesn't speak with anyone now." Sam looked at Daniel with both concern and fear. "I don't know what else to do, this might be a courtyard, and we are out of water. We are dead here if we do not find water. If one of the portals shows up green, I guess we go through it."

They all searched the portal frames; most looked inactive, neither moving black or some active green portal. After a while, one of the researchers approached Sam, who brought her over to John.

"John, Rachelle thinks she has found a pattern. She loves puzzles, and patterns finding is one of her gifts; listen to her." With that, Rachelle came forward; taking out a notepad, she showed a pattern in the portal frames, a sort of map. There seemed to be wide boulevards with ranks for portals between them. She had carefully plotted the positions; it was clear that the ranks were concentric circles. All this took time, but what is time when there is no sun or moon. Concentric circles meant a center, and centers are usually significant.

"Good work Rachelle. You might have saved our lives." That was high praise for John, who was moving to the nearest boulevard and started walking in the direction Rachelle thought was the center.

Glenn walked up to the young woman packing her gear to catch up with the rest who had started to follow John. He had been looking for an opening to talk to Rachelle; she was not beautiful, but she was pretty and the only woman near his age.

"Wow, you got an attaboy; it took me two years to get one of those." He smiled at the young girl.

"I just hope I am not wrong; I could get us all killed." She smiled back; a small tear rolled down her cheek; the fear in her eyes was unmistakable.

"No," Glenn shifted his M4 to his back; he took the box Rachelle was trying to carry. "We were dead, trapped in that damned Temple; John got us here, now you might get us out. He saved us then; you are trying to save us now. That is all that counts, not giving up. Going on. That is all that matters."

"Thanks." She smiled again at Glenn; this time, the smile reached her eyes.

Sam caught up with John; they discussed the situation and decided Rachelle's observation was their best shot and decided to make for the center, hoping the courtyard would be there. Following the boulevard, they finally came to what could easily be described as a courtyard.

A broad circle with a central four-sided stone tower about two stories tall topped with what looked like miniature ramparts for decoration. It had four portals, larger than the others they had seen, even larger than the one back in Iraq, which had been the largest so far. Around this tower were ranks upon ranks of portals. John got the impression that they were like headstones in a graveyard.

The portals seemed dead, or perhaps closed, but they did not seem 'alive.' They had already checked dozens, maybe hundreds of them, all sense of time was lost, they may have been there hours or days or weeks, except their parched lips and grumbling stomachs told them differently. The water was now gone; they knew that time was running out. Although it was not cold, it felt like the warmth was being drawn out of them. Each felt tired; they were slowing; this place was drawing the life from all of them.

John sat down across from the tower; his head was back to throbbing, his legs were numb as was his lower back. It seemed all he could do was breathe—just a minute to rest, that is all I need.

"John! Get up; you can not sleep here; none of you can. This is the center. This is the courtyard; you can not sleep here." The old woman was back.

John could see that she was ramrod straight, and the gentle smile and eyes were replaced by pursed lips and the stern gaze of command. She must have had some power at this stage of her life.

He looked all around; it was even stranger than before. All around him, people were resting, looking at the central tower. He happened to glance down, and to his shock and surprise, he saw himself asleep on the ground. "What the fuck!" He jumped back a half step. Turning to the apparition, he asked: "Am I dead?"

"No! But you will be if you don't now get moving." She was stern now. "You must wake up, lead your people out. There is not much time; you have to find the portal and leave."

John just looked at her, for the first time in a long time he felt great! He looked down at his body again, 'maybe it won't be so bad' then he noticed it. A thin silver cord, as delicate as a silk spider thread, connecting to something through the void in fits and starts. He looked at another person in the group, a woman this time; it was the same, a delicate tendril so thin it was difficult to see, then there were others, some much thicker like cords, and finally he looked at Daniel. However, the silver thread was there; a black line pulsed from him out into the darkness.

"What is that?" he asked the woman who was now young again.

"You will find out; it will be hard for some death for others. I am sorry. I can tell you no more. Some things you must discover yourselves." Dorothea's face was a portrait of sorrow; she turned back to John. "You must motivate your followers; time is short. The portal is waiting."

John was utterly exasperated, "What fucking portal! They are all dead!" The woman was now the older version of herself, her arms folded under her breasts, the look was of a matron dealing with a recalcitrant child.

John found himself feeling like he did in Catholic Elementary School. "I am sorry; they all seem to be dead. What do I do?" He looked exhausted. "I want to get them out, but how?"

"You are the key, John. You need nothing else." The younger Dorothea replied. "Now go, be the man you were destined to be."

John awoke for the first time since leaving Iraq; he was focused. He worked his way to standing, adjusted his kit, and slowly began to limp toward the column in the center. John checked each portal frame, first the one closest to the group, then began to work his way around. Finally, he came to the third, the only one which seemed intact. Yet it too was inactive, no vision of beyond, inert as any mirror could be. The adrenalin of the encounter with Dorothea was waning; he felt exhaustion creeping in again. The group had silently gathered around closing their things, thinking he would open the portal, all slumped, showing their fatigue. Deep below their feet, they felt what, for want of a better word, was a moan. Suddenly the ground began to shiver, even the empty portal frames shook, and some rattled, then without warning, the portal John was leaning against burst into a brilliant green light bright enough that they had to shield their eyes.

"Okay, everyone through. Eric, Paddy, you two first, get moving through, we leave nothing."

Eric, Paddy, and Glenn moved forward, the rest held back. "John, we can't see through like the last one." John looked closely; Eric was right; it was opaque, it started green but now was changing to a sky blue. "Well, if you want to stay here and die of thirst, it is your choice. When everyone that is going, is through then I will come through. I will be the last one. Now, unless you are staying, get your ass through and secure the other side. We are not staying in a kill zone. Move it now."

"Yes, sir!" Eric, Glenn, and Paddy charged their M4s and their sidearms. They checked their protective gear and put their M4s up to their shoulders just like they would a door breach; then, they stepped through the portal. The rest now realized they were getting out of the Crossroads, and they were eager to go and quickly followed, all but Daniel, who screamed: "Leave me, I want to stay, they are calling me, leave me!" José and Little John dragged him through the portal. Finally, John was alone. He double-checked the area, made sure no one was left behind, mentally double-checking the list of people who went through. When he was assured, they were all through, then checked all his gear. Satisfied they had left nothing, he stepped through the portal. Immediately the Crossroads portal closed, and the eons of silence returned.

New Horizons New Consequences

John stepped into a freezer!

"Holy shit, it is cold here!" Eric's observation of the century.

"Thanks, I missed that." Rachelle was digging through her bags.

It had been mid-Summer in Iraq when they entered the Temple portal; the high temperature on the day of the attack was well over 100. The Crossroads had been so neutral in temperature that no one thought about the temperature at all; that was completely different now.

People had broken into their bags for clothes to try and cover exposed flesh. Sharing where they could, the men were giving their larger clothes to the women who could at least layer desert gear. Even with that, they would not last long without help; even a fire would not do them much good.

The portal stood against a back wall of what looked like a basement storeroom—about twenty paces wide and maybe forty long. The charred and broken remains of stacked furniture scattered along the outer walls from the portal's base to the far end; luckily, it did not cover the portal. The room seems to have been a basement storeroom because there were stairs going up to what must have once been a door. The stairs were choked with rubble, but it could be climbed.

"Little John, grab anything that will burn, get a fire started." John was moving toward the other end of the room, trying to determine how people were. He felt better than he had since entering the Crossroads, his head cleared, and although cold, he could breathe.

He opened his bag and grabbed out an outer shirt, then handed the rest to Rachelle. "Pass this out; I don't know what will fit. Tell Dr. Sam to put some pants on, not shorts. Grab out some extra socks; your toes will freeze in minutes if you don't."

José was moving from person to person, checking their conditions. All seemed to have come through without injury.

John looked around; his team had already centered, set up a blocking line near the entrance. José was tending to any injured; Eric was double-checking the scientists. Sam was with him checking on them as well. They were all becoming a team.

"Sanchez, Rodeo, Hollywood, you're with me. Paddy finds a spot. Eric, you are in charge, the rest of you; clear some of this mess, build a camp, make some cover, and put on as many layers as you can. Let's go see where we are." He continued to move toward what looked like an exit; it was piled high with debris, which looked like it came from what once was the ceiling. Now open to the sky.

John led the group up the rubble pile; they handed back bits of furniture and material that would burn; by the time they got to the top, Little John had a decent fire burning with enough fuel to keep it going for a few hours. Most of the material had been singed by whatever event had destroyed the upper part of the building. It had not wholly burned, so would burn for them. He spared several documents; they were not heavily damaged, so he put them aside.

"We are not burning books. We will if we have to but let's not start out destroying what can't be replaced." Most of the documents were handwritten; in fact, he did not see any that looked like they were created on a printing press.

"These could be priceless; who knows." He did not immediately recognize the writing or even the alphabet, but he felt that he should. Like a dream, you knew you had but could not remember, some part of his mind told him he should be able to read this script. He just did not have time to think about what that meant.

Getting out into the natural sun was beautiful, even though it was colder than shit.

A quick survey said it was winter, maybe always winter from the looks of it. Snow feet deep, a frozen stream or river, was in the valley. Signs of battle were everywhere; damaged and burning wreckage was all around. Through the trees, John could barely make out the village's rooftops and what he thought might be a church.

"I think I see a village; let's move down toward it. Keep out of sight; we don't know if villagers will be friendly." John started toward the village.

"Boss, is that a good idea? I mean, we don't know fuck about where we are." Rodeo was right, of course, but the truth was, they needed help.

"Guys, I know, but we are out of options. No water, little food, and clothes meant for weather hotter and drier than hell. We won't last the night if we don't get help." He started down again.

The rubble left them in what was once some sort of outbuilding, maybe for storage. The upper floors were gone, shredded remains of walls were spread out up and along the hillside. The devastation was a scene John was familiar with; this was done by the shock wave of a massive explosion. Explosion shockwaves travel out from the source, then push outward; this building was pushed back and up the hill. That meant the explosion was behind them and slightly below.

John turned, got out his binoculars, and searched along his guessed trajectory. There he found the ground zero, about two clicks away and up the mountain slope a little; the explosion was in a building upon a prominence ridge sticking out into the valley below. The building must have been massive from the debris spread along and up the valley walls and along the valley floor. He could also see something else. People, there were small groups of individuals all moving down toward the village. He could make out what he thought were soldiers, and to his shock, they seemed to be wearing armor. Not real body armor, but cosplay stuff.

"Jesus, what happened? Did somebody put a bomb in a Ren-Fair? Maybe a vendor's gas tank blew or something, but that would have to have been a huge propane tank." He never did understand civilians who wanted to "play war" in general; if you want to do that, join up. He thought people who wanted to pretend to fight using some of the most brutal weapons ever devised were pathetic. Guns did ugly things to people, but you had a good chance of surviving; hell, the M4 fired a pill that was designed to injure, not kill… He shook his head; he had this debate with others over the years; it never ended well.

They were maybe twenty feet down the hill when they heard a lot of yelling and struggle. Seconds later, Daniel came running up the rubble pile; his wrists were bloody; he took one look around, saw John and the men, then took off in the opposite direction, running as fast as he could along the valley wall. About that time, Eric's head became visible over the rubble as he climbed after Daniel. He looked around and saw John coming back, maybe a dozen paces away from him now.

"He asked to pee, so we let him go. I am not holding anyone's … well." He looked embarrassed. "I never thought he would run. Sorry Boss."

"We will talk about this later; let's find that crazy son of a bitch, before he breaks something." John was already moving down the path Daniel had already blazed. "Get back there and keep everyone under control."

Daniel was lighter and not carrying the equipment that John and his group were. He was moving fast, slightly down the slope toward the path but up the hill. He was about 100 meters ahead of them now; his tracks were easy to follow. Here and there was blood, but not much. He would stumble every so often and put his hands down; less often, he would plain fall, then get up again and keep running.

He was skirting the group in the valley while flanking them. 'Where is he going? He is not just running in some direction; he seems to be going somewhere, but where?' They continued to follow but were slowly gaining ground. They could see that he had stopped and seemed to be waiting, but for what John could not guess.

John caught some movement to their left and below, along the path to the village. He glassed it; it was a group of about twenty cosplayers several looked injured, some limping, others helping, and one on a stretcher covered in blankets but not dead. John panned over to look at Daniel, who was hunkered down behind some bushes, and glancing back up the slope. 'What is he looking for?'

John started up the final 50 meters to Daniel when he finally saw what Daniel was waiting for. Further up the hill was a sight from the pits of hell itself. A dozen maybe more of … there was no other word for it – nightmares. Then it dawned on him, more costumes! Like a two-person horse costume. Twisted shapes, oozing along the ground. They were moving quietly and using the trees to block the vision of the other cosplayers. The 'monsters' were trying to ambush the other cosplayers in the valley. Wow, this was the most intricate thing he had ever seen, but that did not make sense. The cosplay made sense, but how did it fit with Daniel and the teams with the portals? Something just did not make sense.

John initially wanted to shout at Daniel, but then it occurred to him, Daniel was waiting for these monsters! How could he have known? Moving forward, trying to get to Daniel before the creatures did was severe.

Stowing his binocs, he signaled for his men to follow, which took a minute since they were more shocked by sight than he. "Come on, guys; we will figure this out later. Maybe we … I don't know, but we have to go get Daniel, now let's move." Not happy about it, but they did.

They were about 20 meters out from Daniel when the 'monsters' got to Daniel; when they did, he jumped out of hiding and started shouting.

"Brothers! I have found you, brothers!" Daniel screamed and ran toward the 'monsters' which only seemed to notice him as he grew closer.

John, Rodeo, Sanchez, and Hollywood were moving in a line toward Daniel. Each glancing over their shoulders. They were about twenty paces behind the group when Daniels world came to an end, and John, Rodeo, Sanchez, and Hollywood discovered they were nowhere near Kansas anymore.

A great apparition which looked as if it were wreathed in fire and molten rock, pulled itself up to its full height, perhaps twice a mans height, threw its head back and seemed to exhale a stream of pure fire directly at a Daniel who made no move to escape, but simply yelled at the top of his lungs "Yes! Brothers, I receive your gift!" Then flames consumed him. John and all were too stunned to act; they simply watched Daniel char then turned to ash.

About this time, the creatures seemed to notice John and his men, then move quickly toward them. That was all the men needed, "Don't waste ammo, burst mode only!"

At that moment, three rounds hit the flame thrower, Sanchez, Hollywood, and Rodeo added their fire, the creature went down then seemed to melt into the ground! Again, they were stunned. Bodies DO NOT MELT into the ground. They did not have time to think about the disappearance before the others came at them.

"Pick a target, two per!" John fired two three-round bursts into some creature that had been chewed up and spat out, or more accurately looked like stitched slabs of beef around a Halloween jack-o-lantern all wrapped in a clamshell skirt.

One monster after another went down with a couple of bursts; it was all over in seconds, brass laying all around. "Remind me to come back and grab this brass; we might need it." He caught a couple of hands full while regaining his breath. In reality, he was trying to get his mind around what he had seen. The heat of battle is not usually the place you get to have deep philosophical conversations with yourself. This one was no exception. The other guys grabbed their brass or what they could easily find. All but three cases were recovered.

By this point, John could think again, it had all been just seconds from first engagement to the last hostile down, and each time he watched their bodies just disappear into the earth, it was unnerving.

"You know what José and Paddy are going to say, don't you – demons." Rodeo said it half-joking; John was not at all sure it was a joke.

"I am willing to accept that explanation as much as any. I don't have a better one." He had had the same thought. His Catholic education was coming out.

"We need help from those villagers. I don't know what we could offer in exchange, our weapons are effective, but we have limited ammo. If the monsters are real, those people were injured in combat and had only sword and bow! How fucked up is that?" John shook his head and wondered about the situation. How could any of this be possible?

"Look, let's head down to the village and see if we can get some help before the other freeze to death. I need to think!" Without waiting for an answer, John pocketed the spent brass and headed down the embankment to the path. They walked down the track, not seeing anyone. There was a low ridge that blocked the village's direct view from this point, but twenty or so minutes, they should be clear of it.

Down the snake-like trail, they went, passing the ruins that contained their camp on the left, burning wagons and other things further on, there were the remains of a bridge which had taken a direct hit of something. The bridge itself was broken, with burning wreckage covering it. They were moving relatively fast, trying to keep an eye out for more of those twisted creatures. Their slings lose, and eyes peeled. There was a bend in the small river channel from what he had seen, which would then fall around to the left past the broken bridge. He stopped then and spoke quietly, but it still sounded like he was shouting in the deep canyon and stillness of the winter scene. His men's faces were all scarlet, their noses as well; he wondered if they would lose them. He wondered if his face looked as bad after all; beard and mustache can only do so much.

"Keep an eye out; we were moving faster than that party; I don't want to startle them. We can't risk a firefight; we will get our people killed if we do. Do not fire unless directly fired upon; we are complete newbies here, we can't afford any mistakes. Is that clear?" He thought for a moment; it was a desperate situation. They had little food, no water, and absolutely nothing to keep them from freezing to death. They needed help, or they would die; he had to make a drastic decision. "I have changed my mind. Go back to the camp. Tell them what happened; I will come back if I can but do not start a fight if you can help it. Is that clear?"

The men looked at him as if his head had split in two, which right now, it felt like it had. Sanchez, always the hothead, spoke for them all. "Sir, that is crazy! What if …"

"We have no choice. We are dying if we don't, and these people have been through hell; I can see the wounded. If we go in there geared up and in numbers, they are likely to assume we are hostile and just kill us. I won't let it happen that way. Now do as you are told. If it does not work, tell Eric to work with Sam; maybe there is another way out up there. Now go." They hesitated for a moment, then Sanchez turned and led the group back to what was now 'base camp,' leaving John alone.

"Well, in for a penny." John cleared his M4, took the magazine out, checked his PPQ. All were clear. He stowed the mags, cinched up his M4 to keep it out of the way, and walked forward with his hands clear of his weapons.

Rounding the turn and clambering down, across the frozen river, and back up the bridge's broken remains. John found himself back on the trail. Something told him that they were waiting for him just on the other side of the short bend, formed by a jutting mass of rock out into the trail bed and over the river. Hands out from his side, bent at the elbow, his nearly frozen fingers as clearly displayed as he could make them, he rounded the bend only to find something of his expectations: perhaps a dozen or more injured and what looked like a woman on a stretcher. Between him and them, he saw the most extraordinary things he had ever seen.

A tall black-haired woman in black leather armor, with a shield that had an eye of some kind, and a longsword in her hand bared for battle. That was impressive enough but to her right was a very stalky looking man as broad as he was high with a bizarre looking crossbow, and to his left, yet another woman, thinner than the first and taller than the short man. What caught John completely off guard were her bright red hair and - ears.

It was a good thing that there were no feathers; otherwise, John would have been knocked over.

No, no feathers - just lightning.