Everett and his brothers were almost home. They broke camp later in the morning and hitched up, to make their way through the woods to the nearest blacktop. The game trails they had to follow were narrow, and more than once they had to take a detour to get the trailer through a tight spot. The rough terrain was fine for the horses, well trained as they were, but less so for the exhausted Rangers and the heavily loaded trailer.
After the beating they received taking down Spooky the Bear, everyone with the exception of Finn looked stiff and worn down. Everett could easily tell something was up with Finn, even if the guy didn’t seem physically worse for wear after his ordeal, a testament to his and Saul's combined healing magics, Everett guessed. Still, the guy’s movements were jerky and exaggerated, and his gaze lacked focus from time to time like he was drifting in and out of the moment or looking at something far away.
People handled their little brushes with death in different ways. Everett knew that. However, though he'd just been through not one but two close calls, Finn wasn’t really acting like a man wrestling with his own mortality. Instead, he seemed distracted and restless. Overstimulated. The behavior bothered Everett for some reason he couldn’t pin down, but he tried not to dwell on the mystery. It was just another thing to keep track of until they got home.
Saul was their walker today, still a little weak from using his Gift so much on the infection Everett and Carl acquired during the night’s fight and then on whatever happened to Finn. Everett lost a good pair of pants to the bear’s claws not to mention a few pints of blood, but the infections were what sapped Saul the most. Despite the ridiculous strain they’d put on the medic, he still soldiered on, walking beside his gelding, quietly competent and thoughtful like Everett knew him to be, especially when it came time to dig deep. No one would hear Saul complain about his duty, even if he felt like hammered shit.
Carl was pretty much fine, doing his ninja sense thing, but Everett could see the anticipation of homecoming building in him. It manifested in frequent rides ahead and slow, reluctant return trips like a dog testing the length of his leash. Carl’s mouth moved in the general shape of words, muttering to himself or maybe his horse, and, more than once, Everett thought he might have heard little wisps of song.
All of this the Rangers’ mobile armor and artillery, their tank, cataloged and stored in his ever changing picture of his team, because that was his job.
Keep them all alive.
He also kept a close eye on the trailer’s axle and suspension. Since it was their last one, Everette really didn't need it to fail so close to the finish line.
Before they'd set out on this mission, requisitioning the iron, rubber and the extended workshop time to engineer good shocks and light-weight wheels had been a huge pain in the ass, and he’d had to do double duty several times just to earn his chance to present his plans to the higher ups. In the end, however, with the amount of overland travel the Rangers ended up doing on this trip, Everett judged all of the extra time and effort to be worth it. The alternative was to have horse and Ranger alike weighed down with all the salvage they'd found, and no one aside from him and maybe Finn would be into that sort of backbreaking trek through the wilds.
Despite his worry, the trailer was holding up well. Of course, Everett’s Gift helped with that, allowing joints and welds, traditionally the most vulnerable parts of a design, to stay together when they had no business doing so. He could feel the changes in the matter that he'd wrought with his Gift even from here. The steel, plastic, and rubber pulled at each other along Everett’s carefully selected seams like industrial magnets if industrial magnets got superpowers from flying into the heart of a magnetar after getting bitten by a radioactive spider made out of superconductors. The magic allowed for a lot of shortcuts in the fabrication process, but it also meant that any failures in the design were entirely his failures.
Hence, his worry. If the trailer failed within sight of the walls of New Hope, it would be months before they’d let him get his hands on top tier materials again, a setback in his development Everett didn't want to happen.
The Church evaluators called his Gift 'Attraction,' but Everett felt the descriptor did little to really capture its potential. What the magic really did was strip away key molecules’ natural physical properties and replace them with ones of his design, though right now all he knew how to do was to give said molecules an irresistible pull toward one another. At least that's how it worked so far. Just calling it 'Attraction' almost seemed like an insult to just how versatile Everett knew his Gift could be if given half a chance and some good materials for experimentation. Such materials were increasingly hard to come by in New Hope, however, and any that the Rangers were able to scavenge out here in the wilds were desperately needed for crucial infrastructure in the city.
Therefore, if Everett wanted to work with the good stuff, he needed his builds to not fall apart spectacularly within sight of the city's walls.
Please stay together just a little longer. That's all I ask.
The woods were alive with activity now that the suffocating presence of the carnobear was gone. It didn’t take long before mother nature, or whatever took her place when the world ended, started healing the wound an aberrant predator like Spooky had caused in its brief tenure as the area’s resident ass kicker. Even post Fall, nature abhorred a vacuum, and that gap attracted all sorts of opportunistic critters.
Prowling roarjacks stalked just out of sight somewhere in the underbrush, stunning rodents and small reptiles with their hypersonic shrieks before leaping in for the kill. Occasionally, Everett would spy watchful nother eyes that peered out from tree trunks and fallen logs as if to dare predator and prey alike to come close enough to get a face full of their razor sharp pollen.
Above, in the forest canopy, Chitined pixies rode atop black-bristled squirrels, taking potshots with their crude slings and blowguns in an attempt to chase off the Rangers, whom they considered interlopers in their new territory. Their yellow warpaint and mandibled mouths marked them as Hopper variants, but that was the extent of Everett's knowledge on the creatures. Their hooting, clicking pseudo language streamed down from a dozen little mouths, and judging by the tone, Everett was pretty sure he was being cursed in as colorful a way as the pixies’ tongue would allow.
The little projectiles from the pixies weapons didn’t hurt, really. They didn’t have the mass or energy needed to pierce far enough into human or horse to be more than a nuisance, but Finn did take a tiny dart in the eye, the poor man. It really wasn't his week.
That’s when the Rangers learned that the little bug people used stinging nettles for ammo, and Saul had a hell of a time flushing out the poison and getting the affected eye back open. He was already fairly low on juice, and everyone could tell the procedure was a struggle for him, not that the medic would have admitted it with someone in need of his care. Cap offered to have another Ranger take walker duty, but, of course, Saul declined, choosing to hump it all the way back to Hope.
Once the column made it to Highway 9 they were on the home stretch. The terrain was noticeably flatter, and the trees thinned out significantly until they became little islands of shade in a sea of tall, green grass. Already, Everett could smell a hint of salt in the air, meaning they’d come near enough to the coast to be under the goddess’ protection. He dropped back to the rear of the formation, keeping an eye on things and presenting himself as the primary target to any monsters that might have followed their trail. The edge of Lady Yshmari’s influence repelled most non-native creatures, but if something nasty was hunting them, he would be there to interpose himself between his people and whatever hellspawn the world threw at them today.
Because that was the job. Take the hits. Be the anchor. Keep them alive.
Dog, Everett’s horse and best buddy for life, strutted back and forth from one side of the highway to the other without Everett’s prompting. The jacked quarter horse was bred to haul, and his long steps ate up a stunning amount of ground. For him, the column’s pace was a torturous slog, so Everett let him weave a serpentine pattern at the rear, walking his pace to allow Everett to see everything from multiple angles. Once in a while Everett would stand high in his stirrups, towering above all but the trees to keep his mental map up to date.
Positioning. Alertness. Energy. All went into the calculus of how best to defend his brothers.
Soon, Everett spotted the top of the Outer Wall, a spiked, black and gold asp that loomed up from the horizon and presented its spires…or spines if he were to keep to his metaphor… as a warning to all would-be invaders that the people here were not prey. The city might have had its problems with chaos spawned monsters from within, but the wall was what really allowed life on the inside to thrive, keeping the worst of the outside world at bay so that people could live with only a reasonable amount of fear and uncertainty. The outer wall had only been breached once in the thirty years of its existence, and the story of that day passed into legend before Everett was even born.
The land was mostly flat now with the gentlest hint of rolling hills. Well inside the area of influence the goddess produced, the Rangers now trudged along sprawling gold and green farmland with diligent hands tending to wheat, cabbage, cotton, carrots, potatoes, and a host of things Everett couldn’t identify. Most farm workers wore earth colored shirts and pants with wide-brimmed straw hats to protect from the sun, and a scant few wore shoes, electing to save on that particular expense, at least in the fields. The goddess didn't allow burs or thorns to grow in her fields, and no venomous snakes (at least the small ones) dared cross into her domain. Off to his left, Everett spotted an Old-World harvester puttering along in a perfect field of wheat, field hands following along behind to scatter something they kept in sacks on their belts.
The Wall loomed larger the closer they got to the city itself, towering above everything with its seamless, dark stone work contrasted by sweeping inlaid arches of gold. The spires, rising from the battlements, stabbed up into the sky with their sharp, golden points. Each spire contained a pair of Church Guard, no doubt tracking the column with their precious and carefully preserved magnification optics as the well armed Rangers approached.
The highway cut through the farms and into the fenced cattle fields and down to the only gate in or out of New Hope. The gate, two heavy wooden doors the size of houses, shone in the morning sun, a combination of golden, miracle grown wood and heavy black iron bands. The gates were open wide to allow traffic to and from the farms, and hand-pulled wagons, together with hunched men carrying towering bundles of wheat on their backs, waited in a queue to be admitted into the city. However, everyone, Guard and workers alike, stood frozen just now, staring at a well regimented group of white and gold figures just off the road to the right.
“Aw hell.” Cap growled. “On your best behavior now, gentlemen,” he called just loud enough to be heard by the entire column. “We’re about to be in the presence of divinity.”
Everett straightened himself in the saddle and smoothed some of the wrinkles in his pants. It did no good with his gear as filthy as it was, but he felt he should do… something. Make an effort to give the goddess her due.
The white and gold shapes resolved into a retinue of Guard Elite, resplendent in their golden armor and white priest stoles, long spears with fluttering ribbons of regimental accolades fluttering at their tips. The Roman style black plumes of their helmets were crude imitations of the Wall, complete with golden, metal towers and crenellations in their silhouettes. Everett knew for a fact that even the brushes of those plumes were made of nastily sharpened wire that could cut if one were to say… receive a headbutt from one of their number. Their formation stood at perfect attention facing a field to the right where three figures posed.
The goddess Yshmari herself, a tall, willowy woman in bleached white robes, held both of her arms outstretched to her sides. The loose satin fabric of her robes and her golden hair flowed behind her, shimmering, blown by a wind that only she could feel, and her pale skin seemed to catch the sun as she tilted her face toward the sky with her expression bordering on rapture.
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The goddess’ two giant body men, Shepherd and Volkner, stood a few yards away, gripping giant swords, heavy as metal girders, points stuck in the dirt at their feet. Both behemoths wore composite get ups of black synthetic weave with crimson enameled steel along the joints and necks. Their black, visored helmets revealed nothing of their faces, but both of their heads were turned to observe the Rangers’ approach. The heavy-payload submachine guns dangling on their hips went untouched for now, but Everett had seen just how fast those things came out of their straps. Prodigious size didn’t necessarily mean slowness in body or mind, despite what the movies told you. Everett made sure to keep his hands on his reins, where the knights could see them.
Carl, having now slipped behind Cap in formation, turned his head and spat. “Looks like she brought her dogs,” he hissed, his fingers twitching but far, far away from the rifle on his back. No one drew steel in the presence of Yshmari. No one except Shepherd and Volkner, at least, and if that happened, you wanted to be just about anywhere else. The thumb tip sized rounds those death machines fired were enough to penetrate an inch of solid steel with enough energy to spare to dismember or disintegrate, and they came at three per second. The swords they carried had enough mass that cutting through a man didn’t even slow their arc.
Cap called for a halt at a respectful distance from the golden Guard Elite formation. The goddess continued to stand there in an empty pasture, her face toward the sun and arms outstretched. A radiant, feathery light coalesced and trickled from the goddess’ hands and face to float down to the ground like dandelion seeds and then disappear into the soil. To a man, everyone stared at their Lady with their breaths held, some with awe, some with trepidation.
Then, the earth below and around the goddess began to deform. Mounds of grass covered dirt, dozens of them, rose up from below. They expanded gradually, bloating until they were as tall as a normal person’s waist and as wide as a single lane on the old highways. There was a subtle vibration in the air, a frantic tremble that touched the skin on Everett’s face and gave him goose pimples under his armor. Dog stamped the road nervously underneath him.
Slowly, the grass and dirt of the mounds crumbled away in loose, wet clumps revealing prone, pale-haired cattle with blunted horns. They laid there in the dirt, still as death with jaws open and their blue tongues dangling from their mouths. That is until the goddess clapped her hands with a sudden *crack* Everett felt in his chest. The sound split the air like thunder, echoing off the Wall so loudly, the Ranger’s ears rang, and several farmers shared his pain, clutching their heads. As the echoes died away, the cows, one by one, stirred, taking their first breaths, lazily rolling onto their stomachs and staggering clumsily to their feet, a new batch of animals born to feed the people of New Hope.
A collective cheer went up from the farmers and hands that were lined up on the periphery and in the queue to enter the city. Claps and whistles with a few shouts of “praise be!” filled the air as Yshmari turned around, smiling, keeping her arms outstretched now to receive her due praise. She dipped her head in the slightest of grateful bows.
The goddess literally beamed. The corona of light that bloomed from her skin made Everett’s eyes water like his pupils were chemically dilated. Yshmari took in the smiling faces of the crowd one by one from right to left until her gaze fell upon Cap and his junior Rangers. Her smile stayed in place, but her eyes hardened to a degree. Her subcutaneous light source dimmed considerably, as she strode imperiously toward the column, her movement over the uneven pasture so graceful and otherworldly Everett had no doubt she could literally walk between raindrops. The dark armored bodyguards kept pace with thumping footsteps audible at a truly impressive distance.
“Daniel Herbert Caplain, you have returned to us,” the goddess said. Her voice was a high tenor, delicate like wet fingers rubbing crystal. The grin on her face looked genuine, but her tone was hard to categorize. Alien. “And I assume you have brought with you more treasures from before the great change?”
Cap straightened ever so slightly in his saddle, a departure from his normally lazy manner. “Yes, ma’am-”
“You will address Lady Yshmari as ‘goddess’ or ‘Holy One,’' rumbled one of the bodyguards, probably Shepherd if Everett had to put money on it. They had freakishly deep voices along with their freakishly large size, benefits of the goddess choosing them to be stewards of a fraction of her power. “We’ve been over this, old buzzard.” Most certainly Shepherd, then. The word was that he was a Ranger candidate once, but he washed out, not having the right temperament for the job. Cap was not Shepherd’s favorite person.
Cap took off his hat and sat it on his saddle’s pommel. His hair was a dull gray, seemingly having given up trying to retain any of the original black of his impressive mustache. The old Ranger worked his jaw for a moment, seeming to think on his words carefully, but he didn’t look at the black clad knight even to acknowledge that he'd spoken. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I have to ask. Has the law changed while we were beyond the walls? I assume we’re all still free to believe what we do.”
The pale goddess stood tall and regal in her spotless robes, manicured hands, and flowing golden hair, the picture of divine right. Everett had seen a picture of an old painting of a queen once, and the lady in the painting didn’t pull off the look nearly so well as New Hope’s goddess. Yshmari’s paused for a tense few seconds seeming to consider the question, but then she gestured in deference with her palm up to confirm that the people could, indeed, still worship who or what they chose and call her what they wanted to call her. “You speak of your faith like it is a tangible thing that can be taken from you. I do not have or want that power. One might even say that you are a dying breed that deserve our grace and understanding as you cling to your old world's ideals. It is important that you remember where you came from, even if such remembrances might blind you to miracles performed before their very eyes,” she said with a slight smile. The herd of cattle, up until now just doing cow things like munching on grass or sniffing at the air, simultaneously raised their heads to stare blankly at the Rangers with dull, black eyes that belonged more on a doll than on something alive and breathing. Everett shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.
Seemingly unflustered, Cap simply put his hat back on his head and tipped the brim in deference. “We’re much obliged for what you’ve done, ma’am. It’s plain for everybody to see, we would be out in the cold without you, but Rangers ain’t ones to accept telling a man what needs worshiping. Freedom to choose is more important than the choice itself.”
The goddess glided past Cap into the heart of the formation, putting a perfectly manicured hand on top of the pile of salvage that was the haul. Saul stepped back to give her room, keeping the hood of his cloak even lower over his face than usual as if afraid the goddess might be able to see through the unnatural shadows inside and be displeased with what she saw. However, she paid Saul as much mind as one might an insect crawling next to a pile of fecal matter. “Your love for the artifacts and culture of your dead civilization would be admirable if it did not cost our people valuable resources to keep your expeditions supplied, Daniel. I was under the impression you left with two wagons. I see only one upon your return.”
“Yes, ma’am. This was a rough one. Lost one of the trailers a couple days ago.”
“‘You lost one.’” She drew the words out like she was tasting them. “One that cost valuable steel, petroleum, and manpower. Yet, you have all of your beasts,” she said glancing over at Saul’s horse with a look of distaste. “You were able to save them but not your precious cargo.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Cap, and her mouth turned down in an annoyed frown. “And how did it occur?”
“Rough terrain after a run in with monsters near our objective,” Cap said carefully. If the lie was evident somewhere in his voice or on his face, Everett couldn’t detect it, and he had the advantage of already knowing it was a lie. Poker with Cap was probably a nightmare.
“I see.” She ran her hand over the steel railing of the trailer then paused, rubbing her fingers together as if examining the filth she’d just picked up. “Nothing the Guard needs to look into then?”
“No, ma’am. Just a bad trail and worse luck,” Cap replied. Everett held his breath hoping the goddess would be done with her questions soon before they would have to give specifics. “We did bring a sizable haul of crystal this time.” That was Cap’s trump card. C-crystals from outside the goddess domain were a net positive for the semi-closed ecosystem that held New Hope together. They helped smooth a lot of wrinkles.
The goddess’ hand, currently sliding over the bound chests and bundles, stopped abruptly. A hungry look passed over the goddess’ face, and Everett saw her perfect lips part slightly. When she spoke, there was a breathiness to her voice. “Give them to my men, and I will see that they are distributed properly to account for your failures.”
“Finn!” Cap shouted. “Give ‘em the precious cargo.”
Finn rode quickly over to the armored knights, untying a saddlebag and holding it out to Volkner who snatched it like it was stolen property. The knight's armored hand dwarfed the bag, like it was a child’s coin purse. There was a slight tremble in Finn’s hand before he rested it on his saddle’s pommel, and his expression said he’d rather be anywhere but here. They couldn’t all have Cap’s poker face, it seemed.
Volkner walked the satchel over to the goddess and opened the flap. She briefly looked inside and pulled out a faded, red c-core the size of a pool ball, a look of disgust on her face. “This crystal is severely degraded. Explain,” she demanded in a low, dangerous voice.
Degraded. What did that even mean?
Cap shrugged. “If you say so, ma’am. I’ve got no explanation. Got it from a nasty mutant bear north of Highway 9.”
“Very close then. In the woods,” she seemed to speculate as she held the crystal aloft and stared like it might hold the truth.
“Fairly close,” Cap hedged, unwilling to get too specific about where they found the thing, lest it bring the Guard down on the people of Fistshollow.
Lady Yshmari nodded absently, her attention fixed on the core while a complex storm of emotions passed over her face. Then she flexed her fingers slightly, crushing the sphere in her hand with a crack, and luminous red dust exploded from the crystal enveloping the goddess hand, arm, and shoulder. Everett winced reflexively, his mind instantly running through all the scenarios where exposure to c-energy was a quick ticket to death or exile. He imagined the invisible chaos particles suffusing his skin and warping his being until he’d never be able to return home.
However, the crimson potential coalesced, liquified, and pooled on the goddess’ glowing skin then disappeared into her. When the deed was done, the goddess closed her eyes and let out a long, contended sigh. “You are very lucky, Daniel Herbert Caplain. The power contained in that vessel was enough to destroy you and your men utterly if it was mishandled. Now, with me, it fuels our city and enriches the lives of its people.”
“As you say, Lady,” Cap replied with a little bow. It wasn't lost on Everett that Cap used the 'Lady' honorific this time, the only sign that the old Ranger was feeling as uncomfortable as his men.
Yshmari wasn't paying attention to the Rangers anymore though. She blinked and shook her head, seeming to come back to herself and regain her poise. Turning on her heel, she strode purposefully back toward the gates. She called to Cap over her shoulder. “You are dismissed then. Get inside the gates and go about your duties. Just know that your future expeditions will be given fewer dispensations, as we cannot trust you to return with what we have provided.”
“Have a good one, ma’am.” Cap called after her, ignoring the growl that issued forth from Shepherd’s helmet. The old Ranger turned to the column and gave the hand signal to rally everyone up.
Volkner and Shepherd loomed there, staring at the Rangers for a long, significant moment, the metal slabs they called swords resting on their shoulders. Then they turned to follow their Holy One through the gathered crowd and into the city. The golden Elites executed a perfectly regimented left-face and marched inside the gates just behind them.
Once the Rangers and horses were gathered in a circle centered around Saul’s gelding, Cap looked each of them in the eye one by one. “We’ll talk about this later. Just remember she’s a god not a saint. Watch yourselves and be on your best behavior. Now, we’re gonna get inside the walls and get some hot chow, right boys?”
There was a collective cheer amongst the party.
“Get the cargo and my horse to the Station, and then you’re all released for the day. I’ll take care of post mission ops. Debriefing will be tomorrow morning.”
“Where ‘you headed, Cap?” asked Saul from his hood. He sounded stronger than he had earlier in the day. Maybe a little time and proximity to home gave him some of his strength back. Everett was feeling more energized as well with the gates close enough to touch.
“I’m gonna go to the powder depot and secure some replacement rounds before that cat’s done with her new toys,” he said. “Who knows when we’ll get resupplied otherwise. Now get moving so I can get on with it.”
With that the unsupervised junior Rangers were off to a new adventure: waiting in line for the Guard station.
They exchanged pleasantries with the farm hands about the weather and monster sightings and the like. A supercell rolled through a week and a half ago and tore open a localized rift that must have led to somewhere below sea level, because salt-water and, get this, live metal fish poured into the Hundred Oaks district for a couple hours. In addition, the sewer patrols disturbed a nest of slimes a few days ago, and people had been finding evidence of the creatures in the street now and then such as garbage piles dissolved into scraps of pitted metal, suspiciously clean gutters, and pets missing from their cages or stakes.
When the Rangers got to the gate, the Guards, a pair of flat faced men that looked like brothers, made the Rangers stop for inspection. The standard Guard uniform, a chain hauberk and gloves with a white tabard and open face helmet, seemed tight on these two like they’d picked uniforms a size too small, especially around the gut. The pair only made the Rangers unstrap half of the salvage to check for contraband, and when one of them tried to pocket a thumb drive from the fragile items box, Carl slipped a knife behind the man’s collar, laying the cold steel flat against the man’s bare skin. There was some protest, but the guard let it go when his brother didn’t feel up for a formal complaint or a fistfight.
That done, the column pulled through the gate into the interior of the city. Welcome home, Rangers.