False Skies (Challenger's Call Book 5), page 14
But I still needed to be brought up to date, so I listened carefully as the statuesque demigoddess explained where Wes’ loved ones were, how they were part of a group of seven worlds that had all been run by this one, how she was some magical, nine-bodied demigoddess in charge of watching over them, and how people here got stronger the more they fought back when life kicked them in their teeth.
She didn’t explain that they could get stronger even more quickly by making sure other people stayed down after life kicked them in the teeth, but that was probably unnecessary. In fact, the only difference from Earth in that regard was that the power one gained here by doing that was usually much flashier than the power one gained back on Earth by doing the same thing.
They had a much harder time understanding Wes’ magical designation as a Challenger, and that he was in charge of rescuing the other six worlds from catastrophes called Trials and Tumults.
“So wait,” Christina began, the blond cheerleader raising a finger to show she had a question, “you guys had all these problems come up, so you looked around on Earth for some kind of savior, and decided to pick Wes Malcolm, from New Arlington, Texas? How did you know Wes was a hero?”
I caught the full meaning of that phrase.
Christina wasn’t debating the fact that Wes already was a hero before he left Earth, or even that he was still a hero while his body was wrecked. She was just asking how this woman and the teenage nerdgirl in charge knew enough to tell, and pick Wes as the best candidate.
That shouldn’t have stung, finding out that my ex-girlfriend had such a high opinion of my old nemesis, but it did. Oh well. It is what it is, I told myself, as I waited to hear the answer to Christina’s question.
This actually was something I wanted to find out. But the tall woman’s answer surprised me.
“No,” she said as she shook her dark-haired head. “I’m afraid that wasn’t what happened at all. We didn’t summon Wes Malcolm, or even look for him, because we could not summon a Challenger at that time. We were facing the greatest danger to my worlds that we had ever seen, and because my primary body had already Called a Challenger for the last Tumult, and she could not perform another Call so quickly.”
“Why?” Davelon had asked, leaning forward, examining the demigoddess with the same careful gaze that his father had probably used in numerous interrogations.
The dark-haired woman sighed as she answered him.
“Calling a Challenger is an act that consumes much of a Starsown’s inherent power, in ways that cannot be recovered without decades of rest. It is something we do only in great need, and both my primary body and I have worked hard to predict future cataclysms. We had Called a Challenger before Wes, at a time when two Tumults were occurring at once, a rare incident that justified the use of a Call. What followed mere decades later, the occurrence of at least one Tumult on every world, was an anomaly we have not seen in our entire lifespans, nor did we have the resources to prevent the devastation those simultaneous Trials and Tumults would cause.”
“So how did my brother get here, then?” Rachel asked, shifting in her chair to lean forward as well.
“We do not know,” the regal demigoddess admitted, her dark, curly hair dancing as she lowered her head. “All we know is that one minute, we were weeping over the inevitable, horrible fate facing billions of lives, and the next minute, your brother was strolling through the mists, asking who we were, why we were all crying, and what he could do to help.”
Damn it, I thought. That did sound like Wes, even if it didn’t explain how he had managed to pull that off.
Wait, I paused, remembering the events of the day before.
He had been playing his father’s game, I realized. The same game my father insisted that I play.
“And this happened only recently?” Wes’ mother asked quietly. “My son coming out of nowhere, and volunteering to save your worlds? This happened some time this past Earth year?”
“It would have been a few months before summer on your world began,” Guineve nodded, as I finally remembered her name again. “I remember the exact Earth day, in fact,” she added softly.
Mrs. Malcolm’s eyes widened when she heard the date, the very night Wes had gotten back from the hospital, after that guy that I had bribed had injured him again. Not my fault, I told myself in a practiced manner, Dad’s orders. Couldn’t have refused if I had wanted to.
“He showed up then,” Wes’ mother said slowly, in a disbelieving tone, “at that moment in his life, to help you. And you… let him?” she said, struggling to finish her question.
That was understandable, given the condition that Wes had wound up in again.
“Let him?” Guineve tilted her head. “Of course we let him. We would have asked him to do so ourselves if he had let us finish the question. We would have even begged him if he had refused to help us the first time. The lives of six worlds were at stake.” The demigoddess closed her eyes, head lowered again, as if in memory. “But he gave everything he could freely. He only hesitated long enough to ensure the risks he took did not come back to harm his loved ones on Earth, which as far as we all knew,” she added with an edge as she turned to glare at me. I tensed to prepare for another attack, but then she relaxed the next moment. “As far as we all knew,” she continued in a level tone, finally unclenching her fist, “there was no danger. And as soon as he knew he could take some of the power he gained back home, he became positively thrilled over the chance to save so many lives.”
“Wait,” Himari suddenly spoke up, the Japanese girl raising her hand politely, “madame, please explain what you mean by taking power back home.”
“I have mentioned it once before now,” Guineve replied graciously. “When one overcomes a Challenge, they gain power from the experience. If they gain a sufficient amount, they undergo something called a Rise, and become smarter, stronger, and healthier afterwards. I do not know why the same thing does not happen on Earth—that has baffled us for centuries, if not longer—but I do know that when a Challenger returns, they keep some of the power they gain here from Rising and overcoming Challenges. Wes Malcolm claimed to be suffering from a condition that did not follow him to this world, and seemed to be using the power he gained from saving the lives of our people to improve his body and mind. I,” the composed woman suddenly hesitated, “I understand he was somewhat successful.”
“Walking,” Wes’ mother said in a trembling voice. “My Wes started walking again. After that time. After that date you mentioned.”
“He did?” Guineve said, blinking. “I… I am glad it worked. His condition did not follow him here, so I did not know how severe it was.” The woman blinked again quickly. “I am sorry to learn his suffering was so serious.”
“Serious?” Mrs. Malcolm hissed in a disbelieving tone, and the demigoddess actually flinched. “You want to hear serious? I saw death in my son’s eyes that day, Ms. Guineve. I saw him look at all the tubes sticking out of him, lying in that hospital bed. I saw his hand twitch toward them.” Stephanie Malcolm’s voice was cracking now. Not my fault, not my fault. “He stopped when he heard my voice, and looked at me with shame. I said nothing. Because how could I?” the woman added, her voice breaking. Davelon’s mom reached over and put a hand on her friend’s arm. The blonde woman strangled a sob, and kept speaking. “My son had worked so hard just to get better. He had tried for so long. And every time he got a little bit of success, it was taken from him. That time, he knew he had nothing left.” Tears finally spilled from the widow’s eyes, and her body shook, but she kept speaking. “His last chance to keep any of his dreams at all had just been sabotaged. So how could I make him feel bad for wanting death in that moment?”
“Death?” the tall goddess said in a small voice, shaking herself in an effort to maintain her composure. One of her ivory-colored hands had started reaching for her face. “Wes was… our Wes was…”
“Yes,” Mrs. Malcolm said, her own sobs drying just a bit. “And for all I know, he went right back to wanting it every time I wasn’t watching. But then he changed, Ms. Guineve,” Stephanie Malcolm added, slowly rising from the table. She had been sitting near the end, and she carefully picked her way past the last few seats, working her way closer to the other trembling woman. “He started smiling again. He got excited about something he was trying to hide, but he couldn’t stop me from noticing him throwing himself back into his physical therapy exercises, or trying to memorize information from books again. It was gradual, like he was testing something he was afraid wouldn’t work, but then it just poured out of him. He talked about finishing school online, even attending college online. Finding some kind of job that he could still do, even if it wasn’t his dream job. And one night, he called me into his room, to show off that he had finally managed to start walking a few steps again, without his cane. He had gone from despair, into that, Ms. Guineve. And I was so. Proud,” the blonde woman gushed, making no effort to hide the tears streaming her face as she stood before the self-declared guardian of this world. “Are you telling me that you helped save my son’s life, Ms. Guineve? Are you telling me that you helped him grow? Are you telling me that you let him come here and do things, and didn’t try to sabotage him whenever he succeeded at anything at all? Didn’t throw things at the back of his head when he wasn’t looking, or push him when he was trying to walk up or down a flight of stairs? Are you telling me you let him come here, and helped him, gave him any help at all? Are you saying that when he started getting better, you let him? Didn’t try to stop him?”
“More,” the sobbing goddess replied, covering her face now with both hands. “I should have done more. I could have done so much more. Oh, dear Wes, how could I not see what you wouldn’t say…”
I couldn’t understand what happened next. Because the next moment, the two women who had never seen each other before today started clutching one another, choosing to trust each other, at least for as long as they shared the same grief.
***
Wes’ Perspective
The Malus vessel is changing course to the west by thirty degrees, Atlantis advised me. I passed on the information to my ship’s captain, who made the necessary adjustments.
Then I went back to waiting, gripping Breaker’s handle as time passed.
Slowly, hour by hour, the shroud began to recover. It would probably be ready by the next hour. Then we could finally put this invasion to rest.
From what I could tell, the Atlantean fleet was handling the remaining battlegroup carefully. Poseidon and Mithra were using their powers to isolate the Malus fleet one cruiser at a time, which allowed the Atlanteans to focus their fire upon it and bring the vessel down. It was time-consuming because the Icons had to ration their still-recovering power, and my ships had taken some damage in the process, but there had been no crew casualties yet, and they had already managed to sink several of the Malus ships. The fact that the Malus fleet had no screening elements meant that it was easier for the Atlanteans to surround and attack from multiple angles.
I would have to let them handle it, though. The enemy battleship would take all of my crew’s skill to bring down, especially if I wanted my own ship to survive the fight.
Almost there, I realized as I examined my weapon. That was fortunate, because I was already getting several ‘are we there yet?’ looks from Petal and Val.
The Malus ship is changing direction again, Atlantis informed me. Current course is taking it towards a smaller Pathway, leading to the Golden Sands. Said ship is also slowing down.
That was even weirder.
Maintain your pursuit, but slow down, I ordered, and Gabin complied. I didn’t want us to risk discovery before my dagger’s shroud was ready.
Alert, the Well said suddenly, unidentified type of magic exiting from the Pathway to the Golden Sands. Recommend caution.
Our caravel halted immediately. I tightened my grip on Carnwennan. Five more minutes, I sensed. I could shroud our ship again in five more minutes.
Unidentified magic is moving toward the Lord Challenger’s current location, Atlantis continued. Spell appears to be based on a Subideal of Air, and is growing in power as it moves toward your location.
This was bad. I hadn’t even known magic could move through Pathways, and said as much to Breena.
It usually can’t, she replied, sounding worried. Sending a spell through a Pathway takes a massive amount of both skill and mana. Even you wouldn’t have enough mana to do it yourself, Wes. It could be powered by some kind of rare artifact, but it seems too independent for that. I think either a circle of High Adept Air mages combined their talents, or an actual Master Air mage directed that spell through the Pathway, and is still controlling it. But there shouldn’t be that many High Adept Air mages, even in the Golden Sands, and there hasn’t been a single living Air Master in the last century, on any of the worlds.
So this is a really big deal, I said, counting the seconds until I could activate Carnwennan’s shroud. Gabin, I want this ship to become as hidden as possible. Val, help the crew engage all stealth scripts. When I activate my shroud, I want us to retreat as quickly and quietly as possible. We’re abandoning our attack on the battleship.
I was still confident in dealing with the enemy crew aboard the Malus vessel, but contending with mages powerful enough to hurl spells all the way through a Pathway and still direct their travel was a different story. I wasn’t going to confront a foe like that out in the middle of the ocean.
Gabin and Val did everything they could to conceal their ship. A few seconds later, Carnwennan’s shroud activated and I assisted as well. Our ship vanished completely from sight.
Spell is still moving in the Lord Challenger’s direction, Atlantis advised me.
I passed the order to retreat, and we did so as quickly as possible. Our caravel turned about and swiftly cut its way through the waves.
Unidentified spell is reaching your location now, Atlantis continued, and I looked up to see if I could pinpoint whatever magic appeared to be tracking us. I saw nothing, but I felt a sense of something pulse as it passed over us.
Wes, Breena said, her mental voice sounding strained, I think that was a tracking spell. Whoever cast it was strong enough to pierce all our concealment measures—all the way from another world, mind you—and now has a fix on our location. It’s not permanent, though, and it has a range limited by the strength of the casters.
Got it, I said, coming to a decision immediately. We’re abandoning stealth measures, and putting all of our energy into speed. Let’s get as far away from this location as possible.
The crew acted immediately, but the next moment felt as though they weren’t acting nearly fast enough.
Another unidentified spell has entered this world from the Pathway leading to the Golden Sands. Said spell is from the Ideal of Air and resembles a mass of air pressure constantly rising or lowering in temperature, which has served to create a large storm heading to the Challenger’s location. Atlantis recommends evasion.
They’re attacking us with a thunderstorm? I demanded incredulously. How the hell are they managing that all the way from another world?
They shouldn’t be able to, Breena replied as soon I shared the news with her. This is a level of power that would be rare even for Master Air mages. It’s probably being guided by the tracking spell, though, which means we’ll be fine as long as we can outrun it.
Since that was already what we were doing, I didn’t give any further directions.
But when the storm began to gain on us, it became a lot harder not to yell at the crew to go faster.
I reminded myself over and over that this was a super magic scriptship, able to handle the seas far better than a normal vessel could. The next moment, I reminded myself that we had walked into the most elaborate trap I had ever seen, involving one or more magic users powerful enough to send spells at us all the way from another world, and that if they were willing to go to this level to trap our ship, they probably had a decent idea regarding its ability to survive a magical storm.
Said storm was visible in the distance now. Clouds thickened before my very eyes over the horizon. The storm continued to grow as it chased us, and I recalled that storms over water can increase in size if they continue to suck up moisture. I had no clear way to measure how powerful the storm was for a naval outing, but the concern on Gabin’s and the rest of the crew’s faces did not bode well for us.
Atlantis, I said, trying to think of ways I could be useful right now. Can you calculate our relative speeds, and determine whether or not we can outrun this storm, or how much longer this tracking spell will last?
Affirmative, the planetary intelligence answered me. Storm’s current speed exceeds the maximum velocity the Planetary Lord’s vessel can reach. The tracking spell’s remaining strength is unknown but shows no sign of dissipating any time soon.
I passed on that knowledge to Gabin. He reached the same conclusion I did.
“We need to find shelter,” we said in unison, surprising each other in spite of the mindlink. After blinking for a moment, he continued speaking.
“There could be an island with a natural harbor some distance away, but I wouldn’t know myself,” he admitted, “My crew and I had left our home planet before the Flood, and we never had an opportunity to fully explore it.”
“Via?” I asked immediately as I turned to look at her, sending my same query to Atlantis. The planetary intelligence was still updating itself on much of the world, having been asleep for thousands of years. But Stell’s local Satellite had spent centuries on this world and had spent most of that time exploring it.
“That way,” the beautiful light-brown woman said confidently, pointing starboard and behind us. “A modest island, but one with a large, rocky harbor. Ideal for our current needs. At the speed we’re going, we should have sight of the island in under two hours. Which,” she added as she looked back to consider the growing storm chasing us, “is a good thing, I think. Because that tormenta is going to catch us in no less than three hours.”
