Echoes From Dust
by L. S. Popovich
In the Cauterhaugh, lifeforms and even the landscape are composed of synthesized metals, and beasts called cynths ravage the dwindling human settlements. Riku is a Mag, an inorganic human born in this harsh and unforgiving land.
Riku has grown up hearing stories about Mitchlum, a metropolis of habitable trees and the bastion of the Priesthood, which channels divine powers in defense against the encroaching cynths. Riku is chosen to undergo the sacred trials, assume a priest’s mantle and protect her homeland. Everyone has high expectations for her, but her destiny is hers to decide.
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Chapter 53: Rain
Telos watched the flickering net while she sharpened her weapons and mercilessly dispatched the cynths at the front. It was a gruesome task, but it kept her busy.
She practiced swinging her katana, then switched to her naginata, going through motions that had already become muscle memory. The best part about working for the Council, she decided, were the new weapons she was given.
A huge roar shook the cavern. Slowly, she stood to face the stampede. Without a moment’s hesitation, Telos darted for the necklace, grasping the relic when the first beasts drew near. The net blinked out, and a hoard of cynths burst onto the dry riverbed.
Flooded with adrenaline, she flung the ancient jewelry around her neck, and a rush of memories, emotions, and fantastic visions invaded her mind. Her surroundings appeared to slow down. She gripped the handle of her katana fiercely, but her bloodlust had cooled. “Damn Izzie’s weakness! If she’s done fighting, I’ll show her how it’s done,” she said. “And damn the whole system! I won’t sit by and wait for the war to start.”
A seething ball of acid whizzed past her head. The projectile vomit of a zanza-kurzo, a type of cynth she had fought many times. Without effort, she hacked off its writhing tail and finished it with a quick jab.
Retreating back up the slope, she took up the naginata and spun it idly in her hand. She didn’t even care that some of the weaker cynths slid past her in packs, like a living river of claws and fangs. What interested her was a unique variety among the masses. It had a lean snout and a greenish aura. Coated with sleek patterns, waving majestically, it pounded through the mindless hoard. Whatever it was, something in her hesitated and told her she should let it pass. It wasn’t fear, more like reverence.
Hastening after it, she weaved through the tunnels, slashing a few cynths that had the audacity to lunge at her, but the heat and cacophony in her wake told her it was a hopeless battle. Riku and Ovid might be able to hold them at bay for a short time, but there were simply too many to fight.
A priest ran into the cave, calling to the guards outside. The turn before the entrance was blind, so by the time Telos saw him there was no time to slow down. Stumbling at the last second, she narrowly missed the priest but slipped in a slimy puddle and fell headlong into the street.
Creatures issued out of the tunnel in a living avalanche. Looking up, she’d already lost sight of the rare cynth, or grotto-le, if that’s what it was. She heard Ovid’s clear, calm voice call her name.
“You’re just going to run?” he asked.
“Too many. We have to find another way,” Telos said. “Where were you?”
“What awful timing,” he said, but he moved toward her and suddenly fell forward with a huge crooked spike through his back. A corrosive substance bubbled down the length of the shaft and Telos watched it eat away at first his clothing, then his various components. With a swift motion she hacked off the projectile with her sword and drove away the surrounding cynths.
A hideous take-shin with gleaming tusks charged her, splashing through muck and crushing everything in its path. Sidestepping, she aimed a blow behind the round socket of its antenna and immobilized it instantly. She drove the blade home and, to her great surprise, the thing’s head exploded into smoking fragments. It was as if a bolt of lightning had traveled through her arm into her weapon.
A prickling sensation touched her skin. Droplets of rain began to fall. Rain was a rare phenomenon in Mitchlum; she had seen it only once or twice in her life. Veins of lightning crawled through the sky. But she didn’t wait around to stare. She pulled Ovid under an alcove. Looking down at the open cavity of his chest, full of whirring mechanisms intermingled with organic organs, she felt a momentary nausea. It was impossible to tell if he would survive, even if a medic attended to him soon.
“You blocked that attack,” she muttered, knowing he probably couldn’t hear. “I saw you step in the way.” The sound of his breathing stopped for a moment, and a soft sound that might have been a chuckle escaped his lips.
The cries of other priests drew her attention. She left him there and clutched at the warm necklace around her neck as she launched herself into the fray.
Copyright © 2019 by L. S. Popovich
