12 Miles Below VII: Path of the Mitespeaker, page 23
All around him, the soldiers were gathering up and organizing, but he hardly noticed, deep in thought.
Something that involved the council of representatives had happened at the Icon, and the Hersir-commander was speaking to them directly? Not the Víkingr that the Hersir served, but the council.
It was a completely different branch of government. Technically the Víkingr served the council, but the council never gave the Víkingr any direct orders. Bad idea to let the representatives of craftsmen or banking have an opinion on military affairs.
So this had to be about the human appearance.
Those in the Icon had likely learned the news by now and it had caused some kind of turmoil. Rashant shook his beak, clearing his thoughts.
Politics was going to be convoluted for a while, with a mythological ancient appearing alive and just as powerful as they had been rumored to be. Far out of his pay grade.
The human had blessedly remained where Rashant had left him, and more importantly, nothing was set on fire. Around him, Rashant could see a flock of Deadland soldiers had already gathered, all of them looking down at the human without a shred of hesitation anymore.
“It’s really an ancient. Fury and pestilence, they’re so big,” he heard one whisper. “He’s more than seven feet tall!”
“That’s the armor he’s wearing, scrubjay. The ancient inside is a little shorter,” another said, but the tone certainly sounded questioning.
Others were equally speaking in hushed whispers to one another, body language muted to keep it covert. “Nadria was in the command center when he fought off the drone squad, she said he dodged every attack and even slapped one out of the air with his hand. Full collision, and it didn’t even stop his march forward.”
“Is that true?” another asked as Rashant hopped in between the gathering. They had their backs to him, so he could only take a guess that was what they were saying given the rest of the context clues.
“I know the drone squad, they all said the same thing. Wasn’t his hand though, he used the human blades, the big ones Greyroamers use. Slapped the drone out of the air with the flat side. It was such a precise hit the payload didn’t detonate but everything else in the drone failed and it crashed behind.”
“You all heard that they say he can speak to the infestation itself?”
That part made Rashant stop in his tracks, turning to the speaker. How—where had these soldiers even heard that already?
They instantly noticed his gaze and went quiet. Beady eyes started staring at him in silence. “You need something?” one of them asked.
He could tell the others wanted to ask him directly for answers on the infestation, but all of them held back, staying in line.
Right. He wasn’t truly one of them yet. Four years in this outpost and he still couldn’t quite be part of the Deadland legion. The inside jokes and all the camaraderie were reserved only for the Odin who risked their lives for each other.
“Nope, just doing my job,” he said and hopped away, squeezing past the final group before finding the power line and making his way down to the human. Here, at least, the Deadlanders were giving the human a wide space, not a single Odin on the power line this far out.
“Any news?” the human asked, helmet looking up and directly at Rashant as he made his way over. The rest of the Odin nearby all hushed, straining to hear the language he knew they wouldn’t understand.
“Yes, they agreed to it. They’re currently getting the cells prepared and out of storage from what the second-in-command told me. Lot of movement around the camp. I didn’t wait to ask more information, but power cells are heavy things that need vehicles and tools to move around. It will take them a little bit.”
Power cells were larger than Rashant, and made of metal. Those things were heavy enough to seriously injure anyone if it tipped over out of balance.
The human gave a strange gesture with his head, a sort of slow up-and-down bobbing motion. “Good, I would have been troubled if the answer had been no.”
Rashant believed the real meaning behind that was, I would have had to do some terrible things with fire to your outpost if the answer had been no.
He had seen the human outright bath himself with black smoke at the edge of the Deadlands, walking away from the infestation. And shortly after, burn his canteen with flames from his hands until the entire thing was red hot. Everything he’d learned about the ancients was proving to have been under what their historical strength had been reported as.
Which was insane to think about. And probably the reason the Deadland soldiers all around them were in such quiet contemplation.
Their entire mission was to fight and contain the manifestation of insanity, and they’d often see their own brothers and sisters fall prey. This far from civilization, strength and bonds were everything. And here comes an ancient straight from myth that not only strides through the infestation without a mark, but wields fire as if born with it in hand.
Blessedly, the supply officers arrived with a heavy load carts bringing more food than Rashant had ever seen. It was as if they were resupplying a listening post’s worth of food for the week.
“Is this edible for you?” Rashant asked as the supply officers scurried away, abandoning the carts to rejoin the safety of the surrounding Odin flock.
The human picked up a bug skewer with two fingers. “Armor says it’s edible. And I’ve eaten worse.” The helmet turned to the abandoned carts, and he loomed over the contents. “Nuts are all fine too, I’m more surprised you have meat. And eggs even. Isn’t that like eating your young?”
“By the Icon, no Odin would ever think to eat an Odin egg!” Rashant felt slightly nauseous at that idea. “Those are gawdrenling eggs, they’re domesticated. The idea of eating one of our own is repugnant.”
The human looked from the egg and back to Rashant. “Okay. Sure. Completely different things, I understand.” The hand went to another egg sack and wiggled the rectangular, jelly-like egg. “And this? Armor denotes it as an egg? How is this an egg?”
“That’s a snake egg.”
“I’ve never seen a snake in person before,” Keith said, looking over the egg. “Normally, snakes are more theoretical creatures from our archives, or another term for backstabbing assholes. And family.”
“I am not quite sure how the word could mean both family and backstabbers, I admit. Is it dependent on context?”
Keith gave a slow head gesture. “More something unique to my personal situation. Anyone else who says a snake, they usually don’t mean family. I take it they’re very real down here? The animal variety.”
“Snakes are killed on sight if they’re around,” Rashant said. “They’re known to crawl into the outpost and attack Odin while sleeping. It takes a team to safely kill them. Anyone caught unaware or without gear is in terrible danger.”
“Uh huh. I’ve also had to deal with guests breaking into my room at night to watch me sleep,” Keith said, hand letting the egg sack drop back onto the cart. “Fortunately, not to eat me. Everything else is another question.”
Given the size of the human, Rashant was fully convinced nothing in the ecosystem had ever threatened Keith. The human likely lived life without once having to worry about wild animals assaulting him in his sleep. This fear might be uniquely Odin in nature.
Keith grabbed one of the meat plates next. “And this sausage meat slurry is just everything you get your hands, or talons on, ground up?”
“For the most part,” Rashant said. “There’s a few factories where we domesticate rabbits and gawdrenlings. But, this far out here, all meat is probably scavenged from dead animals or hunted down.”
The human looked down at the sausage. “Why a sausage?”
“Some civilians like the texture and taste of natural meat, but that’s more for luxury. Out here, it’s a harder life.” He wasn’t quite sure, but logistics said processing meat was far more convenient like this, so that was that.
One of the human’s hands reached out to unhook his helmet, and the raven got his first view of what a human looked like under their armor. He’d known before, the Icon had plenty of images and videos, but seeing it in person was different.
Two eyes centered close to one another like a typical predator. A tuff of hair at the very top of the head, along with hair growing in various places of the face. Dots of ultraviolet all across his exposed skin, contrasting with the skin’s mild coloring. Like some kind of venomous animal patterns. His skin looked like rougher, a more tan version compared to a newborn chick’s exposed skin. No feathers anywhere, and no way to read any kind of expression on the human’s features.
Then the jaws opened and Keith took one of the bug skewers, putting the entire thing in his mouth before dragging the stick out, all bugs gone. Rashant heard crunching as the human’s hidden teeth obliterated the entire meal.
The rest of the Deadlanders were staring now in awe. “Not too bad,” he said, half munching. “Armor was warning me birds have less taste buds than humans so the food might be bland, but turns out you still have good seasonings. Sauce is interesting. Could use a lot more salt though.”
The human’s hand reached out to one of the water barrels, fingers wrapping around in slow motion, halfway to touching one another. Then he lifted it wholesale out of the cart with a single hand and tipped it into his mouth.
A moment later, the entire water barrel was returned to the cart—empty. “Ah, that hit the spot. Out there I was getting thirsty, couldn’t drink anything since it was contaminated.” The hand went down for the second water barrel and equally drained the entire thing in one go.
That was enough water to last an entire squadron of Odin an entire week. And the human was going for a second one. It was returned back to the cart with equal amounts of ease. Only one barrel remained. None of the supply officers thought the human would drink this much. And it took three Odin working together with tools to lift and move barrels of water like this. The human was using a single hand and made it look like lifting a feather.
The hand reached down for the meats next. The platter was lifted to the human’s nose, where he took a whiff. “For raw meat it doesn’t smell too bad either. Hope your chefs aren’t too annoyed if I burn some of their seasonings on this.”
Fire engulfed his hands and quickly swallowed up the entire cut section of meat. The human was literally cooking the entire thing on the palm of his hand. Every Odin around took a step backward.
Keith noticed the reaction.
“Tell them not to worry, I did promise I wouldn’t burn the outpost down,” he said, cutting the flames off and verifying the cooked meat. Satisfied, he tossed the still-smoking medallion of meat onto a massive tongue that dragged the item away into darkness and a flash of those crushing white teeth. Rashant was so horrified and fascinated by the butchery he almost didn’t hear the human talk.
Those teeth were just as lethal as any wild animal out there, just like the Greyroamers’. He nervously rocked back and forth on the line, feeling that gut panic deep within at being so close to a potential predator.
The only thing that set him at ease even slightly was how slow the human moved. The lumbering hand, the steady head movements. It was deceptive. He’d seen the human in combat mode, and his movements were far more normal then.
Rashant didn’t know if the human also suffered from the same lethargy that large animals dealt with, or if he was simply mimicking it until the moment he needed to speed up again. He assumed it was the latter.
This wasn’t the only meat the human cooked. Most bugs that were skewered or served fresh he would burn. A few vegetables would also get the same treatment. The ancient wielded fire as if it were a plaything, manipulating it with far more finesse than even a Smiðja working in the forges.
The bread ended up appreciated the most, with the human tossing three or even five loaves at a time into his jaws. Other parts he simply didn’t touch. Including one platter of meat he claimed wasn’t fresh enough and would make him nauseous to eat even if he burned it. Or some nuts that were too bitter for his tastes. Everything else steadily vanished away.
Rashant watched along with the rest of the Deadland soldiers as the human ate the equivalent of several dozen full-course meals. And he wasn’t stopping either. Dish after dish. Where was it all going to in the first place? He thought two entire carts of food would be more than enough, and now he was thinking it hadn’t even been close.
Finally, the human stopped, one hand brushing the sauces off the sides of his mouth, black smoke trailing from the cracks of his armor, eating away the debris that now coated the top of his hand.
“Different from my usual diet,” Keith said, licking the tip of one armored finger. “But I haven’t eaten in maybe two days now and counting, and hunger is the best spice. Compliments to the kitchen.”
Rashant could see the Deadland soldiers had now fully realized what kind of monster was sitting cross-legged in the middle of their outpost after seeing the primal display.
The same size as an entire mountain lion and far, far more dangerous. Rashant had a feeling that if such a lion were to cross paths, it would shy away from the human instead of the other way around.
He looked around the circle of Deadland soldiers all flocking to see the ancient in person. The whispers of awe and even hope that their eternal war could potentially be won.
“The Hersir gave me orders to attend to any other needs you might have, would you like me to bring more water or food?” He didn’t know if the supply officer could even afford to put more food his way. And that was just a single day’s worth of food for the human.
Well, not his funds in the end. That was logistics problem to deal with.
“Those power cells would be nice right about now,” Keith said, tapping his legplate. “It’s been a good twenty minutes, shouldn’t take that long to wheel in a single cell. You want to explain what’s going on up there?” The giant gradually lifted one hand, and a finger uncurled in the direction of the tower. “Because that doesn’t quite look like bureaucracy to me.”
Rashant looked over to the command center. Where Hersir-commander Yill, Roark, and what felt like all the outpost’s Gungnir were scrambling around. When had they all gathered up? Or had he just not noticed on his way down?
Maybe the old Hersir-commander was surrounding himself with them after what happened in the control room, where multiple Deadland Skálds had outright resigned over attacking the human? Gungnir kept law and order, after all. It was their duty.
He knew Roark obviously favored them anytime he needed things done. Old ties to his past, probably. But he’d never seen all of the outpost’s Gungnir mustered up together like this. It felt odd.
A few were watching from the tower as Keith had devoured the food, expressions unrecognizable from this distance.
“I’m not sure,” Rashant said. What he did know for certain was that it shouldn’t take this long to bring out the reserve power cells from storage and cart them over to the human. It should have been done in under ten minutes at most.
He had a feeling there was something bigger happening inside that control room.
“I may not look like it, but I come from a family of snakes myself. The backstabbing kind,” the human casually said, slowly standing back up on his feet, hands guiding his helmet back onto his head.
“Ah. That’s what you meant about family,” Rashant said, blood going cold under his feathers.
“Yep. And unlike the snakes you Odin pick off, I’m the type to set an outpost on fire. Food just isn’t enough of a bribe to ignore another murder attempt, unfortunately.”
“I am deeply aware of this,” Rashant said. “I don’t know what command is up to, but I sincerely hope they’re not doing something stupid.”
“You and me both then, Rashant,” Keith said, the helmet locking around his throat with a hiss. The armor cycling through paces with a very faint whirling inside. As if preparing for battle.
Rashant’s instincts were screaming at him that, in the next five minutes, he needed to be anywhere else but here.
CHAPTER 17
FORCE MULTIPLIER
The moment that truly changed his life wasn’t any single discovery, nor the day Relinquished learned his name. It happened before even that.
One day when he made the journey to visit his distant teachers, and found the ruins of a dead city instead.
He’d arrived weeks too late. The city was gone, and not a single survivor had been allowed to escape. Relinquished had woken from torpor, turned her gaze to the obvious black spot on her white walls, and ripped it apart. A normal cycle of that era.
While the occult lineage of that city were trying to take knowledge from him—and many were driven by greed for what he brought—there were still others within who truly grew to be friends with the wild hermit. His first, and only, friends.
Because, in this city, he wasn’t seen as a curse or a malediction. He was a hero, a man who was bringing back unknown eras of humanity.
In that moment, he felt the draw of emotions in a way only a human could: a drive for vengeance. Grief overtook him. Emotions he’d never felt for a lifetime, violent in their nature, seized his untrained mind.
He turned his abilities to wage a one-man war. He inscribed fractal after fractal on the metal grafts within his skin, building on his original fractal of resilience, until he grew far stronger than any man known.
And then his rampage followed. Relinquished would learn to curse his name within the week.
The Records of Aztu - Page 12
Elderly Odin could easily die from a strike that would only annoy a younger Odin. Roark had been skilled enough to disable the old Odin commander without killing him, but it still required him and his team to methodically beat down all of Yill’s command staff so that he could precisely incapacitate Yill himself without distractions that would risk the old raven’s life.
It had been a mess. Blood and feathers lay just about everywhere inside the command center, along with a few wounded of his own soldiers tending to their broken bones. But they’d pulled it off without anyone outside the tower noticing.
