Chapter Seventeen
Thankfully Dahlia slept heavily until daylight streamed in through her window and awakened her to her duties. She thanked the gods that Borreal hadn’t called for help that evening. The previous day had left her tired enough and the night had held enough events to sap her reserves. Meager though the night’s rest had been, it had refreshed her enough that she could face the morning without cursing as she pulled herself out of bed.
A message waited for her with breakfast. It had been sent to all the captains and briefly outlined the night’s events without mentioning which barracks had been involved. It also included Borreal’s intel report that there had not been a relief force waiting outside their perimeter.
From one of the dead officers Borreal’s team had recovered detailed plans and instructions to enter should Macada be taken or killed and retrieve a member of the research team that was involved in a project currently classified as restricted.
Dahlia snorted when she read that. So the enemy knew what the project was but that same information was not shared with the captains dedicated to protecting it. Typical bureaucracy. She assumed Borreal had been informed as it was highly relevant to the investigation. She would have to be content with that.
The message finished that the current measures in place had been a success and, as no sensitive information had made it out of their walls, they would remain in place until further action had been decided.
Dahlia was curious as to the nature of the project. There had to be a connection between the journal that had been recovered and the project they’d abducted the researcher from but she couldn’t even guess. Given that the only thing she knew about the journal was that she was referenced her best wild guess was that they were attempting to replicate her abilities but that seemed as far fetched as it was terrifying. Besides, her ability to create puppets hadn’t been identified until she was far away from Ahriman so he wouldn’t have had any opportunity to record it in his journal.
Pushing aside her pointless theory and the rest of her breakfast she gathered up a second cup of strong tea and went to locate Sabir. Nothing had changed but she at least needed to let him know to stay the course.
As she suspected, he was already up and working. He was in the office working out postings schedules. The man was as solid and dependable as a rock.
“Good morning, Lieutenant.”
“Good morning, Captain. Anything new?”
“All negatives. No troops on our border and no changes to our current plan.”
“At least that keeps it easy.”
“True but I would love some insight into this. We suffered no casualties and no losses while they’ve born the brunt of it. They must have an excellent reason for such risky maneuvers.”
“Captain DeMorra, might I ask, were they as risky to their superiors? I mean the men were lost but other than a couple obscure directives and a general awareness we’ve gained nothing.”
“Very true, but in terms of strategy they lost a significant advantage when we gained awareness of any movements at all.”
Sabir hesitated. “It seems to me that they lost the advantage of our complete ignorance when Macada misstepped and was forced to reveal his presence by killing our guards. The second attack may have been an attempt to move before we discovered enough to anticipate them.”
Dahlia considered it. “That would also suggest that our enemy fears we would be able to discover their purpose relatively quickly given how fast they moved. But from what I’ve seen we don’t seem to feel that way. So the question becomes, what are we missing? It would have to be something that we had before last night.”
“Do you think the enemy knows Macada was destroyed? Perhaps they think we’re still able to probe his mind.”
“Perhaps. It’s hard to say. All we had was him and the knowledge that the journal was important to them. We must leave that to Borreal since we have not reviewed the journal.”
“I suppose so,” Sabir inclined his head thoughtfully.
A knock sounded and she went to the door. Traedon was on the other side looking flushed and off-balance.
“Captain DeMorra. Captain Borreal requests immediate assistance. Something is happening to the prisoners. Captain Lenoi is holding them stable but they are deteriorating.”
Dahlia took off running with Traedon matching her stride. He gave her more details as they ran, “It seems something was triggered in their minds. They started screaming and ripping at their heads. Every available guard is restraining them and Captain Lenoi, who was nearby, stepped in to stabilize them but it didn’t look good when I left and she’d only been holding them for a couple minutes.”
Dahlia ran faster. Captain Lenoi had long ago mastered the extent of her psychic abilities and though her practice was impressive it was a secondary ability and she worked through finesse and technique.She didn’t have the brute strength and power that she would need for what she was currently attempting. The captain could very well be tearing her own psyche in the process, much like overexerting a muscle.
Over the last stretch she sprinted, sacrificing a bit more of her energy in hopes of forestalling a disaster. As she entered the building the psychic energy hit her like a battering ram and she heard the screams. “Borreal,” she screamed over it all, “Borreal!”
“This way!” She saw him shoot out into the hall and he motioned her into a large cell where two of the men she’d brought in were being held. There she found Lenoi. The woman who normally stood as straight as if her backbone were made of steel was down on her knees and one hand. The other was outstretched and lifted up, convulsing with the strain.
Dahlia touched her shoulder, pressing energy into the fallen captain to lend her strength. She addressed Borreal quickly. “Their minds are being torn apart by something inside. I can’t stop it all but I may be able to save one.”
“Pick the one with the least damage.”
“Ok, I’ll tell Lenoi to release the others.”
Dahlia focused and projected to the edge of Lenoi’s mind a whisper that cut through the screaming.
We can only save one. Let the rest go and we’ll try for the one on the left.
Lenoi nodded weakly and the shaking of her hand reduced to a tremble. The prison exploded with noise as the screams intensified.
Dahlia blocked it all out and focused on the one man, delicately sending energy into his mind. Whatever was going on in there she didn’t want to get caught in it. It seemed Lenoi’s grip was strong enough to stop the destruction though. Dahlia steadied herself, built a solid shield in case Lenoi’s grip weakened, and entered.
She was struck by the sight of sick, green blood dripping from gaping black slashes. Lenoi was holding an enormous scythe halfway through a swing. The scythe glowed the same sick green as the blood and the wall she’d found in Macada’s mind earlier. Lenoi held a shield around herself that the blood had adhered to. It was slowly infecting the energy of the shield with the same sick glow.
Dahlia looked around quickly and noted that the blood was doing the same thing to the landscape, sickening and dissolving it. No wonder the men screamed. She steadied herself again. First things first, she needed to stop the scythe so Lenoi could get out.
The root of the energy was hard to locate. It wasn’t at the bottom or on the holds that would be used if someone were to swing it. She finally located it in the pin that connected the blade to the staff. This would be tricky, if she released the blade before destroying it then the blade could do something nasty like swing wildly. Seeing the blood on the ground she had an idea. It made her nauseous but what was one more scar on her psyche, really?
She located the essence of the blood and sickness; the intent to consume and spread. She imposed her own will on it, a combination of dominating and understanding the construct. It was the understanding, the acceptance of this monstrosity and it’s touch on her psyche that made her feel ill. She held on to her resolve and her body began to shake with cold chills as she directed the blood to the scythe. She saw Lenoi’s eyes widen in fear as the energy surged towards her and the scythe.
“Hold on for just a second longer and be prepared to get out of here on my word,” she sent a thought out to Lenoi.
Lenoi nodded. The steel in her eyes pushing out the fear, she held on and the blood left the landscape and swarmed onto the scythe. It consumed the blade as the scythe rocked back and forth, bucking against Lenoi’s hold. Dahlia couldn’t aid the woman, she had to remain completely focus on the blood and the sick energy attached to it.
As it touched the pin between the blade and the staff the creation itself began to implode in a self-consuming cycle.
“Go!” she sent to Lenoi.
She saw Lenoi vanish from the man’s mind and she released her direction on the blood and focused a shield around both the scythe and the blood. The sick, hungry energy pushed against her shield as she strained to contain the implosion. It tore at her shield, trying to break loose and consume everything around it. She felt ill as she forced herself to contain it despite the damage to her own mind. The force hammered against her and she shook until her teeth rattled in her skull.
Then it was over. The scythe and sickened blood were both gone, the sickness having consumed itself and the infected blood when nothing else was available. She released her shield and followed Lenoi, fleeing the man’s mind.