Robert Charrette: Find your own truth

Kham and Ghost climbed into the Searaven, and Janice reached up behind them to close the Wichita's hatch. Gripping the wheel with both hands, she used her strength to wrench it out of true. The bugs wouldn't be getting through that anytime soon.

A tingle in the mana flow told her that the insect magician was stirring at last. Maybe he sensed that his prey was escaping. A sharp clacking announced the onslaught. The bugs rushed into the compartment from both ends, but she was ready. Mana bolts ripped through the leaders of each pack. The magician's spells splintered on her defenses. She reached deep into herself and took the mana in her hands, howling her defiance at Spider. It was time. Wolf wins every fight except her last.

Gray Otter was the next dancer to be brought before the sprouting tree. Tears coursed steadily down Sam's cheeks now, but the power grew. Another dancer came before him. Then another. Far and near, the dancers were giving of themselves. The energy surged bright and fiery, consuming another portion of the threat.

The earth moved closer to safety.

Hart knew about Dexsarin.

She threw herself at Georgie. The traitor mere hadn't expected such a reaction and was slow in getting his weapon up. His first bullet caught her in the side. Ballistic armor protected her but the impact twisted her around, and she crashed into him clumsily. They fell heavily to the floor. She was on him instantly, clawing for his face. If she was going to go, so was he. "

The gas swirled around them, disturbed by more than their struggle. Aleph's scream resonated in her being as the ally spirit fed her the knowledge that magic surrounded them. Wind impossible in a closed vault howled in her face as though she were in the midst of a gale. Her hair whipped wildly, stinging her eyes and lashing her skin.

Georgie was caught in a gust that snapped one of the straps on his rebreather. The mask fell away and his struggles redoubled. He had lost his starlight goggles in Hart's attack, and she could see his eyes go wide with fear. He knew about Dexsarin, too. But Dexsarin gas could never remain a compact cloud in the midst of a natural whirlwind. The bilious mist swirled up from the floor and wrapped itself around Georgie's head. He snapped his mouth shut, but Hart opened it again with an elbow jab to his solar plexus. The man gasped, hauling in gas as he tried for air. The knowledge of what he was doing was clear in his eyes.

Hart rolled away, equally fearful of the gas. The pocket hurricane roared and the noxious streamers grew thinner, dissipated, and were borne away on the magical wind. The tempest died.

Hart was surprised to find that she hadn't, but she knew she might yet.

Gunfire sounded from outside the vault. She moved to the door and froze. From the warnings Sam had passed on from Urdli she knew what they might be, but had failed to imagine the horror of the half-insect, half-human things she saw swarming over the meres. Before she could gather her magic three of the meres were down, torn to pieces. She cut one thing down with a mana dart in time to save Julio from the creature's attack, but the radio specialist was gutted almost instantly by another that crawled over the back of its dying fellow to strike at the mere.

There were too many of them. Hart reached out for Aleph to join its power to hers, and in doing so felt a rippling surge in the mana flow around her. She grabbed it, forming it into the most powerful spell she could channel. Shaping it, she realized the strength of what she touched. It was far stronger than any magic she had ever experienced or seen, more powerful than a dragon's. Maybe too powerful for her to use and live. But what choice did she have?

The last mere went down and the bugs swarmed toward her. She stretched out her arms and let the mana flow through her. The world went white, and she felt the insect things scream as they shriveled. One, larger than any she had seen, staggered toward her. Its chitinous hide was burning, and it screamed in outrage and pain. It was dying, but was still driven to kill. Its claws caught her in mid-body, ripping through her armor. It tossed her back into the vault, and Hart felt broken.

The mana had seared her nerves as she channeled it, but she had tasted Sam's essence in the energy. It had been a glorious moment. He had seemed as tall as a mountain and filled with the power of the gods. He was dancing with the Dog and doing what needed to be done.

He was beautiful.

But he needed her still.

She passed out three times before she managed to open the latch of her shoulder bag, and once more before she dragged the pouch free. The rest of the dust must be freed. Her numbing fingers managed to spread the thong. The bag tumbled from her grip and the dust puffed out.

It was done.

She fell into the darkness that seemed so eager to take her.

A young shaman wearing an eagle headdress came before Sam, his face sour as he crouched down. After a moment the Indian laid his hands on Sam's head, then drew them down past his face and chest before spreading them wider to run them down Sam's arms.

"I beseech you, Dog. Turn your eyes from the realms of power and look to the land of the people. Think of the people here. We answered your call, answer ours. Preserve us from those who would harm us. Turn the power of the Dance on our enemies. They are your enemies as well."

Sam didn't understand. "What are you talking about?"

' 'I will show you.''

The shaman spread wide his arms; they seemed plumed in golden feathers. Light flashed from the Indian's eyes, and Sam saw a threat to the dancers flying toward him on whirling wings.

No precautions could have assured complete protection if Sato had accompanied the Red Samurai, so he had decided to remain in the mountain meadow from which they had staged their raid. He watched as the helicopters of his Red Samurai lifted off. From where he stood he could observe personally as the helicopters approached the valley where the ritual was under way.

When Masamba's astral reconnaissance had not proved satisfactory, Hohiro Sato had ordered a satellite download. The results were even more disappointing. Infrared had confirmed the presence of many people in the valley and the absence of any significant vehicles. Whoever was brewing the magic in the mountains was powerful, powerful enough to generate energy that blinded the satellite's visual sensors as it passed over the site. Physical recon was the only recourse.

He watched the flight bank toward its goal.

One craft would have been enough for a reconnaissance, but he was concerned that an immediate response might be required. Thus two Ares Firedrake gunships accompanied the trio of Federated Boeing Griffin combat-insertion craft. If they uncovered any physical defense for the mysterious magicians, the fire-power should be more than adequate. If they encountered a magical defense, Masamba was here to counter it. The mage had dropped the legs from his briefcase to form a table, opened it, and set up his tools. He had assured Sato that proximity to the site of the mysterious ritual would increase his effectiveness in countering effects, even if he could not pierce the magical veil.

Once the site was secured, Sato and his aides would board the fourth Griffin and join the Samurai on the ground to inspect the victory. Very soon, he would have an answer to the question of what was going on in the next valley.

He did not have long to wait.

Rolling in with unnatural rapidity, thunderheads gathered over the surrounding peaks. The sky darkened and took on a greenish hue. The air grew still and charged. The helicopters flew stolidly on in the deepening gloom.

With a roar that might have been the earth drawing a breath, the wind came. Thunder boomed and echoed from the mountainsides as the rushing air swept through the valley. The clouds roiled and began to spin ominously. A hole opened in the cloud cover, a hole into darkness. From the blackness came a swirling funnel that stretched toward the Samurai helicopters like the tentacle of a monster seeking food. The copters broke formation, but too late. All but one were caught in the cyclone, to whirl, tumbling within its cone. That one, a Firedrake, almost slipped free, but the funnel shifted and a down draft sucked it into a rock face. Gunship and crew perished in a fireball whose explosive fury was drowned by the rumbling thunder.