D. MacHale - The Soldiers of Halla

Most walked, but there were many, probably officers, who rode on zenzens. The large horses with the multijointed legs bucked and bridled as they were coaxed along the rocky path toward their meeting with the gars. There were also small, mechanized vehicles that carried equipment of some kind, but I couldn’t tell what it might be. Were they weapons? Provisions? From that high up in the air, I couldn’t tell.

Most disturbing of all was the line of covered transport trucks that followed at the rear. I figured there were even more klees inside, but had no doubt what they would be used for after the battle. These would be the transports that would bring the captured gars back to Leeandra. These gars weren’t going to be prisoners of war. They were to be food for the Ravinians. The sight of those trucks turned my stomach for so many reasons. Not only because of the gruesome cargo they were meant to carry, but because of the vicious philosophy that drove the klees to be hunting gars in the first place.

There was only one thing I was happy about while looking down on this army. They had not reached Black Water yet. I had no idea what we could do to stop them, but at least we wouldn’t be too late.

Kasha said, “They have another half day’s journey. Then they must make their way over the mountains to enter the valley before reaching Black Water. We have time, Pendragon.”

I nodded, but didn’t say what I was thinking: Sure, but time for what?

We flew on, headed for the mountain range and Black Water. I remembered hiking up the narrow, rocky path that led to a narrow cleft in the mountains and a long, winding path that eventually opened up onto a beautiful, green valley. I remembered the large lake in the center of that valley, and the forest, and the seven waterfalls, one of which protected the entrance to Black Water. It was only when the sunbelt hit that waterfall at a certain angle that it cast a shadow that blocked all light, making its water seem black. That was the only way into the second valley, which was the home of the gars. It was surrounded on all sides by impassable mountains. The only way in was through that cave tunnel behind the waterfall. Or you could fly. Obviously, our plan was to fly.

“It might get a little bumpy over the mountains with updrafts,” Kasha explained. “Make sure your belts are tight.”

Boon and I buckled down. As fun as it was to fly in an open cockpit, it wouldn’t have been wise to get ejected by sudden turbulence. Soon we were sailing over the rocky spires of the first range of mountains. Kasha was right. It was bumpy.

“Do not worry, this is normal,” Kasha assured us.

In no time we had cleared the front range, and I could look down onto that amazing, green valley that was so out of place among the gray, dry mountains.

“Nothing has changed,” Boon called out above the whine of the rotors.

It reminded me again of what Nevva said to Saint Dane. The valley was as spectacular as I remembered. Nevva expected it to stay that way. I wondered if it would.

We had gotten maybe halfway across when we were hit with sudden turbulence. The gig must have dropped several yards, then suddenly rocketed higher. I looked to Kasha, waiting for her assurance that we were okay.

She didn’t give it.

“That was not normal,” she announced.

The craft was suddenly thrown again. It was like we where hit with something that knocked us sideways. Were we under attack? I couldn’t tell. The gig wasn’t damaged and we definitely didn’t hear anything being fired from the ground.

“Are those updrafts?” I asked, hoping that she would give me a simple, “Yes.”

She didn’t. Kasha looked worried. That was something I hadn’t seen in her before.

“Whatever it is, it is not natural.”

We were hit again, and again. Each time, the little gig was buffeted. First one way, then the other.

“I cannot maintain control,” Kasha announced with a voice that was way too calm for the circumstances.

“Get us down!” I shouted. “Whatever it is, we’re better off not flying in it.”

We were hit again. The gig began to spin.

“Kasha?” Boon called nervously.

I looked over the side to see that the ground was coming up fast.

“There’s a clearing beyond the lake,” I announced. “I’ll try to keep us in the air long enough to reach it,” Kasha replied.

The gig was rocked again. We nearly went over sideways, but Kasha was able to right us. It was amazing that she was as skillful as she was, considering she hadn’t flown in a long while.

“Brace yourselves,” she called out. “I don’t know how hard we’ll hit.”

She held on to the control stick with both paws, fighting gravity and the rotors and whatever force was knocking us out of the sky.

“Thirty feet!” I called out as a warning. “Move forward!

We were still over the water. It wouldn’t have been good to land on wet.

We were hit again; this time we were knocked forward, as if we had gotten a huge kick from behind.

“Whatever it is, it’s coming at us from all angles!” I shouted.

“Losing control,” Kasha announced calmly, as if she were actually not losing control. “Twenty feet. We’re over land.” “Put it down!” Boon called.

Kasha dropped the bottom out. We half fell, half descended under control. I grabbed on to anything I could find to brace for the impact. We were hit one last time. The force knocked the gig onto its side. We were so low, the overhead rotor hit the ground and tore apart.

“Cover up!” I shouted.

Boon and I huddled down into the cockpit, desperate to protect ourselves from flying shrapnel. Kasha didn’t flinch. She maintained control until the end. The gig hit the ground with a violent thud that felt as if it shook my teeth loose. We were down. Dazed, but down. What followed was a jumble of hands and feet and paws and fur. The crystal engines whined louder for a few seconds more, then calmed down. We weren’t moving anymore. I took mental and physical inventory. Was I alive? Yes. Was anything broken? I didn’t think so. What about the others?

“Kasha? Boon?”

“I’m all right,” Kasha answered.

“I can’t move my arms,” Boon announced, scared. “I’m trapped.”

The gig was on its side. The rotor was gone. The side rotors were winding down. The fuselage walls were crushed in around us. We were all still in our seats, held in by seat belts.

“We gotta get out of this,” I said.

No sooner did we start to pull ourselves out of the wreck, than the scene turned chaotic. The attack came from everywhere. We were descended upon by a group of gars that screamed and yelled to intimidate and confuse us. They didn’t have to bother. I was plenty confused as it was. I have no idea how many there were. Ten? A hundred? They wore hoods, much like the gars I had first encountered on my original visit to Black Water.

“Friends! We’re friends!” I shouted, but I didn’t think they heard me. Or understood. Or cared. They were too caught up in their attack. They moved quickly, as if not wanting to let us get our wits back. As chaotic as it seemed, I got the feeling that it was being orchestrated. I guess you’d call it organized chaos.

They first went after Boon. They violently pulled out the chunk of fuselage that had pinned him inside and dragged him out of the gig. He didn’t fight back.

“We’re here to help you,” he called in desperation. “Listen to me!”

They didn’t. Boon was a klee. Klees were bad. That’s all they cared about. Kasha was yanked from her pilot seat and pulled away the same as Boon. She didn’t try to speak. She knew it was futile. As the gars hauled her out, they cheered at having bagged another klee.

Finally they came for me. I felt hands reaching in to grab at me, and 1 was rudely pulled from the wreck. They dragged me out and threw me on the ground next to the destroyed gig. I think it wasn’t until then that somebody realized they weren’t dealing just with klees. I heard somebody shout, “It’s a gar!”