The tower shimmered green with a light that intensified at its zenith. A dark vortex swirled above, gathering the energies that streamed fluidic from the obelisk, and a beam of such cold force blasted into space. Where it ruptured the atmosphere, the sky bled ions in a rain of stimulant snow.
“Take it down,” growled Black Fountain.
“Sir,” said Bandersnatch, his second. Bandersnatch pointed to the sky at a craft descending quickly.
Black Fountain shook all three heads. “Destroy the tower.”
It was monstrous, made of thick stone dug deep with gashes as it was drawn from the ground. As their jumpship flew closer the tower became clear. It looked like it was made of glass, ancient and covered in sediment.
“All weapons, fire!”
Black Fountain’s command was instantly obeyed. Missiles and mortars and lasers and powerful jets of flame hit the tower from near, middling and far. The strongest of their ordinance did no more than clear off some dirt.
Another craft descended.
Black Fountain ordered another volley, which again did nothing.
Realizing he would not stop until she commanded it, Vala called off the assault.
She lamented not having formed a new team, though she understood her emotions at the time. But now she was crammed in a jumpship cockpit with the largest of all her comrades, his pilot, and his lieutenant who was not exactly a small man either.
“I haven’t formed my first command team yet,” the general had told her.
“Quark, bring us up,” Fountain ordered. “Give me a commanding view.”
The girl had exceeded all expectations when it came to learning Black Fountain’s abstract command lingo. No coordinates or degrees for her, only the unbridled bravado of the mighty section chief.
Another craft came down bearing the implausible design of Ulro. Black Fountain roared and Quark tipped the jumpship toward it, no longer banking upward for a ‘commanding view’.
The enemy craft was near enough to quickly overtake, and Albion’s munitions so far had proven dominant. Their tactical laser cut into the invader’s hull, forcing it to divert course into the scatter rockets they fired first.
Unable to accomplish their primary goal, they contented themselves with cleaning up the enemy ships in the vicinity and building a fortified perimeter around the obelisk.
So tall, thought Vala, staring up at it from the doorway to her ferrograde pavilion. Light plumed here and there where various points were being tested for weakness, then whorled away in the strong winds churning around the tower.
Vala knew the continued attacks were a wasted effort. Camped close, she, like all the Harbingers present, could sense the power emanating from the strange icon.
“Here we go,” said Ramses from just behind her.
When Solomon left, a cult of personality formed around his mystique. Most of those Harbingers eventually drifted back into their normal routines, but some persisted, studying topics considered absurd or taboo. It so happened that three of them were all assigned to remain at the front among Vala’s troops, and, as Ramses warned her, were fast approaching her tent.
“Captains,” she said to Paragas and Inan. “Lieutenant,” to Morana.
The trio entered in single file with the lieutenant last. Vala wondered at the girl’s eyes, which changed color from one moment to the next.
Vala took in the sight of the obelisk before closing the door. This world, with its milky green sky and blankets of gooey mammatus clouds, felt to her stilled by the tower’s rising and the prismatic disruption from its beam. The sight of a lone dactyl orbiting its hips seemed an act of defiance against that reverent pause. She shivered; not for the distance from a sun and the winds running roughshod through the camp, but for some presentiment she couldn’t yet define, though it passed through her bones like a chill night breeze that grips a flower’s root and shatters off its leaves.
“Thank you for coming,” she said when the door was shut. Closed off, the lighting inside the habitat was a smooth white that complimented the shadows it cast. She felt soothed in there, and at ease with the three gathered to meet her. She took the chair from her desk to the sitting room where her guests sat on couches.
“Thank you for inviting us, Colonel,” said Paragas, standing halfway out of his chair to bow. He had a mature image, reasonably built, and his eyes gave the impression of deep thought.
Surely the deadliest weapon is the mind, she mused. Could there be a stronger engine?
“We’ve grown accustomed to ridicule,” Paragas went on. His voice had a restrained grit that Vala liked.
“Even after Solomon’s return?” Vala was genuinely surprised.
“Especially after Sol’s return,” said Inan. She was one of those women Vala imagined had the same effect on men that thoughtful, weathered men with stoic poise and a smile always in danger of forming had on her.
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“Solomon’s return has made a lot of waves,” Paragas explained. “A wave might break against a barge, but smaller boats get rocked.”
Vala smiled. “I see your point. Well, there are no waves in this tent. We stand on solid ground.”
“Indeed we do,” said Ramses, looking up as if they could still see the obelisk. “In the presence of such an object, we’d be fools not to keep our minds open.”
He gave Vala a nod that said he was going to sincerely try to take these people seriously. She returned his nod with one of thanks.
“Thank you, Colonel,” said Paragas.
Such a humble man, Vala thought. It seemed he caught her smile, and instead of showing surprise or discomfort, he gave it back.
“Shall we dive right in?” He asked.
“Why not?” Vala replied.
Paragas leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Solomon stirred our curiosity, but not to the point where we wanted to leave Albion. Staying on the ship put limitations on what one could research. I tried to look for clues in every op I ran, listening to folk legends and bringing back trinkets. In all my time I only found two things of value.” He had a satchel that he set on the floor by his sofa. He leaned down and took out a chunk of crystal and a small scroll bound in what looked like bone. “I left then both on the ship.”
“So, you found those here?” asked Ramses.
Paragas nodded.
“Well, what are they?”
“This is a lost fragment of Alvia. There is one contained in the brow of every ifrit soldier. This substance was lying near the tower. My guess is it flaked off during Colonel Fountain’s assault.”
As if on cue, Vala heard a muffled blast.
“And where did you find these things before?” Rameses asked.
Paragas shrugged. “I found them both at curio shops on non-descript worlds. I felt foolish and desperate for keeping them at the time. I believed the scroll to be apocryphal, and this ore to be no more than a rare variant of quartz. But to find them both here, well, that’s remarkable.”
“Aye,” said Rameses, “it is remarkable. It tells us that the ifreet have crossed over before.”
Paragas reached in his bag and lifted a handful of the tiny scrolls. “They are all from the same passage. Feel free to verify that yourself.”
Ramses nodded and took the bag, then began plucking the scrolls from their bone-ring bindings and reading them.
Paragas waited for a satisfied nod to continue. “The ifrit scroll seems cryptic on its own. The scroll I left on Albion speaks of the Wheel of Destiny.”
Ramses leaned forward. “The Wheel is part of Alvia canon, but barely spoken of. Not until the very end if I’m not mistaken. What’s so special about that?”
“That’s where Inan comes in,” Paragas said.
Inan did not lean forward but remained sensibly reclined. “I’ve always found Alvia’s verses beautiful. Not the highest achievement of poetry, to be sure, but pretty in a visceral, rustic sort of way. I remember attending the lectures on the Klippotic Verge when the Cosmogesis guild began studying it. I went out of curiosity but found myself bored until Solomon presented his guest thesis. The things he said recalled to my mind the frayed edges of Alvia, and how little sense the ending makes. From the exodus of Beulah, it goes into the Wheel of Destiny with no explanation and ends so very abruptly. Skip ahead a decade or so to when Paragas and I became acquainted over our mutual obsession. He showed me his artifacts and I asked to borrow his scroll. It started me down a path I initially feared to tread. I began collecting fragments of the alleged lost verses, even ones I was sure were apocryphal. I’ve written several peer reviewed journals on the subject, should you wish to check my credibility. Suffice it to say the scroll Paragas found is among the most legitimate artifacts found. In fact, some scholars began using it as the standard they matched others against.”
“What does it say?” Vala asked.
Paragas cleared his throat. “And you, forever spurned, you languish in Briah, a flame in deep snow, sadly guttering in the empty wind. Outside your fondest home you stand to hold the doorways barred, only to return in your final death to seal away the awful scourge. Do you even know the power in your hands? Do you feel the flame that you hold? Amnesia stands guard, desolate futurity awaits. Shed your ballast before closed, the Wheel of Destiny fades.”
His voice sounded quiet and far away while he recited the verse, and one couldn’t help seeing themselves riding the wind while an ancient continent passed beneath them. Vala set free a sigh.
“Well,” said Ramses, leaning back and folding his hands on his lap, “that’s a lot to take in.” He made eye contact briefly with Vala, then looked directly at Paragas. “And who do you think these ‘forever spurned’ are? And what is the significance of the Wheel of Destiny here?”
“Ramses,” Valas said. He looked to her quickly, if a little defiant. “Would you be so kind?”. She gestured towards Paragas’s bag.
“Of course, Colonel.” He picked up one of the ifreet scrolls and unrolled it. He too cleared his throat, though more than needed. “The struggle for reunification, forced upon a cosmos in the midst of dismal winter, both consumed by renewal and the loud mourning of nine great souls, expanding and transcendent, lost in hidden lands where the sleeper covets dreams to shackle the ravening Worm. They sought the bounty of his ancient thought to raise up a cosmos of degeneration and decay into an age of learning and plenty.”
Vala sat still, her face growing somber. “It seems I need to study this poem better. Inan, would you recite to me the last canon verse?”
Inan nodded graciously before speaking. “And Briah sang as a wheel began to turn ‘round all. The Wheel of Destiny, the Wheel of Hope, spun by the hands of stars for the day of reunification. Emptied from Beulah rushed the hopeful wind into the darkest space and there, hidden from memory, the pieces of the Wheel were gathered in acausal preparation, for the heart began before the bones and beats its struggle within the Wheel.”
There was a quiet pause which Ramses broke.
“Sounds like the ifreet are carrying the next verse.”
“That’s what we thought as well,” said Paragas. “Though Morana here disagrees.”
Vala looked at her directly. “Why?”
The girl’s shifting eyes grew bright. “I answer you with another question, Colonel. Where does a wheel begin?”
The lights in the tent turned red. All five Harbingers stood and Vala tapped her Vam.
“Fountain, report.”
The ophidian’s voice rasped with excitement. “The Archeus have come.”