Chapter 35
Where is it? Gasping for air, caught between panic and pain, Dylan defied his body and pulled himself up, scanning for the void. He couldn’t fight what he couldn’t see and remembered Zalee’s pouch. His lungs on fire, Dylan fumbled through the sack and hurled the Lemurian dust above him. The air crackled and exploded, illuminating the surrounding storm.
The void appeared to his right, hissed and recoiled from the light. Dylan took a breath and absorbed the life-giving rain. Rocco barked atop the slope, pacing. Instinctively, his power ignited, the droplets sizzling against his arms as the dust-light faded. The void shot through the darkness above Dylan. Pulling his hands together defensively, he closed his eyes, bracing for impact. The weight of its body crushed down on him, pain seared through his arm, straight to his skull. He took a breath. No void-effect. Squinting through the rain, a blazing spike of energy extended from his fists. The void hung above him, impaled on the spike. It glared at him, its mouth agape before disintegrating into the downpour.
Dylan lay motionless, the rain pelting on his cheeks, gazing at the fiery blade emanating from his hands. He tried to pull them apart, but like magnets, they snapped together. Focusing, he peeled them like unzipping a zipper and split the spike into two dagger-like blades. With just a thought, the daggers bent and twisted to his will. Bringing his hands back together; the spike sprang forth again, making it longer, wider, sharper, into any configuration he could conceive. He drew the energy back inside him and cautiously wiggled his broken arm. Not perfect, but better.
After climbing another steep ridge, Dylan and Rocco sought an easier path toward the top. The next slope angled to the East, a less difficult to climb, and brought them closer to the original path. Strangely, Dylan found himself enjoying the rain, the wind, and the mountain itself. His fingers tingled when he touched the Earth, as if there was a spiritual current of electricity passing between them. With each step, the connection to Shasta intensified, binding with him on a subliminal level. Rocco led him up the less difficult trail until they approached the snow-caps.
The rain ran off sheets of ice, forming a slick coat on the rock-face. Dylan’s sneakers slipped repeatedly, requiring ten times the effort to climb even a foot. He decided it was safer to crawl, rather than risk falling down the mountain again, but sharp wet edges tore at his frozen hands and knees.
Pain and fatigue owned Dylan’s body, though he was not truly aware of anything other than reaching the peak. He paused every few minutes to allow his blood and dirt-encrusted fingers to heal. With every foot he ascended, the tingling sensation grew stronger, the cells of his body reforming more efficiently.
He reached the first traces of the snow. The smoother surface was a slight improvement on his hands and knees, but the wind whipping Dylan’s wet skin made the raw chill nearly impossible to block out. He kept telling himself; Pain doesn’t matter, so long as he drew strength from the mountain and healed. He knew he needed to move faster and tried to walk again, unable to see more than a few feet. The packed snow was slippery, but manageable on taking small steps at an angle. Confident he had the hang of navigating the surface, he took a bigger step when the ground gave way beneath him. He slid for a few seconds before a snow drift slowed his descent. Frustrated, he tore his shoes off and threw them down the mountain.
“Now that was dumb,” he mumbled to himself, taking his soaking socks off. Rocco circled back and licked Dylan’s cold, wet toes. He looked at the shivering puppy’s bare paws. “If you can deal with it, so can I.” Rocco shook himself and growled in a show of toughness.
Dylan took his first few steps without shoes, and other than the biting cold against his feet, found an almost magnetic attraction between the glacial ground and his bare skin. The next chunk of land had numerous slippery dips and outcroppings to navigate, and on more than one occasion, Dylan easily carried Rocco over the icy formations.
“Rocco.” Dylan stopped, his body vibrating, compelled to look up. “We’re here. This is it.” The magnetic pull coursed through his center, down to his soul, stronger with each breath. There was no question where he needed to go now. The last stretch of his climb within reach, he thought of how far he had come when Rocco whimpered.
“What’s up?” Dylan could feel Rocco’s heart race inside his own. Below them, a light rippled over the ridge separating the two sections of the mountain. He knelt, pulling Rocco close when the first hover-jet screamed over the ridge. Its search light fell directly on them, three jets close behind.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“There!” a Terovian called over the whir of the hover jets. A blast hit right next to Dylan, rock, snow, dirt flying into his face.
“I’ll meet you up top, Rocco.” Dylan bounded upward, the ground exploding, casting waves of cinder and sparks over him.
The storm intensified, vicious winds lashing sleet against the mountain. A volley of blasts ripped through the air. He scrambled behind an outcropping when- “Yeow!” A blast singed his ear, the smell of burnt hair.
The two raiders, almost on top of him. Dylan clenched his hands together. The blade erupted from his center, through his arms, pulsing blue fire. He crouched, timing, and sliced one through his torso. Dylan leapt to finish the attacker, his blade high overhead, but stopped when he saw the melted armor sizzling within the raider’s collapsed chest cavity.
The jets sped at him, all angles, Rocco barking from above. A blast destroyed the ground beneath him, launching him. The ground came fast. Dylan’s teeth cracked shut, his head snapped hard. Dazed, he rolled behind another outcropping, blasts striking either side. Dylan conjured his blade again, but the jets were ready and split up.
Dylan glanced at his blade, wishing he had a weapon he could reach them with. The heat from the blasts had turned the surrounding packed snow to slush. Instinctively, he reached into the muck and formed a Jersey-style slush-ball. Dylan quickly made a stockpile of frozen artillery, like he and Norm did every day, coming home from school in the winter. Slush-balls ready, Dylan’s hands ignited. So did the slush-ball “Just a little closer… closer.” Dylan fired the flaming sapphire ball like a heat-seeking missile. The jet exploded, sending fiery metal across the mountainside.
“I wish Norm was here to see this.” The remaining raiders split again, one high and one low. Dylan ran horizontally when he saw the first Terovian’s hover jet still running. He hopped on and squeezed the handlebars. The jet jerked violently, zooming into the freezing rain. The harder he squeezed, the faster it went. Hail pellets hammered his face, impossible to see. Dylan adjusted quickly and sped down the slope on an angle when two more Terovians appeared, firing. Caught in a crossfire between four raiders, Dylan banked like a motorcycle racer. The Terovians nearly collided and split up. He scooped up some slush when a blast hit his jet, sending it out of control. It bucked Dylan from side to side before finally flipping upside down and flying straight up into the air.
Dylan hung by the handlebars, dangling fifty feet above the ground, when the hover jet's engine sputtered and died. Gravity in control, he squeezed the handlebars, his energy coursing through the jet. The lights glowed, its engine revved and shot upward again.
That was crazy. The jets charged him in a cluster. Two energy daggers shot from his hands. Slapping them together, the spike surged, an atomic lance bursting the raider’s ranks.
He spun around, angling between two of the charging Terovians. A risky game of chicken. Splitting his blade into two, he slalomed and sliced through the jet engines; the explosion obliterating the riders instantly.
“Two down, two to go,” Dylan whipped his jet around, slowing to load up with more snow when the engine sputtered and died again. Smoke pouring off the engine. A string of blasts at his feet. He turned, rapid-fire blasts, hunks of earth flying. Nowhere to go but up. He dashed for cover. My leg! Heat, pain like molten slag melting his thigh. The smell of charred flesh, like steak on a grill. His body tightened and seized. Paralyzed. Engines closing. Another blast ripped through his shoulder.
Dylan writhed, his arm numb, wondering if it were still attached. The raider, nearly as large as Vorgan, pounced, dagger drawn.
I need help! The raider snapped Dylan’s head back, exposing his neck. A blur of snarls, Rocco launched into the Raider’s face and clamped his tiny fangs into the fleshy tip of his nose. The Terovian flailed, shaking the coyote from side to side, and-free- he slammed Rocco to the ground and turned back to the Scion. Gone.
“Lose something?” Dylan’s voice was icy cold, his eyes electric blue flames. The blur of the blade ripped through the raider, his blood splattering the white snow.
The last raider charged from below. Despite his burst of energy, Dylan was hurt, straining to keep his feet, when he heard Rocco whimper. He lunged toward the sound, another explosion of earth and cinder. Dylan scooped Rocco, blasts shattering the ground. The glacier rumbled. They dove for cover behind a small ridge. The rumbling louder, groaning like an angry god. A few rocks rolled past him. A wave of snow and boulders followed close behind.
Avalanche! Wrapping himself around Rocco, he wedged against the ridge. The tsunami dragged thousands of tons of earth and snow in its wake, devouring everything. The raider blasted wildly into the storm, the white tidal wave rushing toward him. He pulled up too late, his scream swallowed by Shasta’s fury.
The silence returned. Dylan’s fiery hand broke through the debris. He emerged from the waist deep clutter; the avalanche raging down the mountain like river rapids. Exhausted, he wrapped Rocco under his wet shirt, protecting him from the frigid blend of hail and rain.
Dylan winced as he tended to his shoulder and leg. His skin, scorched black by the Terovian’s weapons, had already begun to heal. He applied the comfrey poultice, hoping to speed up the process.
They rested for only a minute when Dylan’s thoughts drifted to the funeral. The sky is crying. A crack of lightning illuminated the peak, the cherry glowing within. Arise!