Untitled

Flying 211

Night fell with the suddenness of a dark blanket thrown over the sun. The woods became silent, the creepy silence that made Parmenides lurch at even the slightest of sounds to see what his imagination conjured up that was slipping up behind them. Fatigue paranoia. He shook his head to rid his mind of the terrors that seemed to come from all directions. He had taken the first watch. Treste tried to indicate that she could manage a watch, but Parmenides only put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back. He threw some Wisp powder around her. Nothing. He raised her visor. Sunken cheeks and black smudge shock circles encased her eyes. He could see the pain in them and the crusted vomit with blood on her lips. The strangler roots must have crushed some of her ribs. He hoped that none punctured an intestine or lung, but the blood was not a good prognosis against that hope. She was valiant and would try to take a watch, but it was his job to protect the wounded. And she was desperately harmed. When he pushed her to the ground, he had one hand behind her to ease her to the earth. She did not resist.

(to be continued)

Flying 212

The rest of the night he kept a keen watch. Only two threats came; two poison moles tried to burrow their way to Treste. They must have smelled the blood nearby on the ground where she had thrown up. They were stealthy, coming on very slowly. Only slight twin bulges in the ground revealed them �two faint wakes of underground travel. They would attack from underneath the sleeping person by injecting a poison that induced a coma. After that they would burrow into the person�s body and eat from inside out. The thought of that happening to Treste make Parmenides� blood run cold.

Parmenides waited until they were about a foot away from Treste. Then he sprang into the air and landed one foot on each track behind the moles. He had crushed their tunnels and escape. He drove his sword repeatedly down each track. He felt the hit on each one; there was a slight resistance as the sword went through the ground, then in the empty tunnels it passed quickly. But when he struck the moles, there was a slow mushy movement of his sword after the slight resistance when it went through the ground. The hits were marked by a greenish red blood that seemed to act like glue when he extracted his sword through the ground. Oozing up to the surface, the blood gripped and absorbed the dirt like honey poured onto desert sand. He smoothed over the raised areas of the tunnels where the moles had met their end. Shallow graves for the saw blade scavenger ants that would no doubt be there right after morning. He would have to be on the move before they got there. He spent long minutes cleaning his sword on the edge of tree bark, then using large oak leaves to finish the job.

The gloom of the night and the cries of the predators filled his hours and mind for the rest of the night. He glanced back every few minutes to check on Treste. He hoped that she would make it through the night. He hoped that they both would.

(to be continued)

Flying 213

The easy edge of dawn filled the sky with a light milky blush. The cries of the predators had vanished about an hour before. Now, there were sounds of leaves rustling and wings flapping. A slight breeze stirred the tops of the massive oaks. The air had a damp musty smell of leaves wet from dew. Time to move.

Parmenides reached over and put his right hand on the top of Treste�s left shoulder armor guard. He gave it a slight push and pull. She shook with a start, grabbed at her sword, missed the handle, then fell back gasping in pain.

�Got to be broken ribs and more,� thought Parmenides.

He leaned close to her helmet. �Don�t try to speak. Save all your energy. We must be on the move. If there is any rescue team, if the Keep hasn�t fallen, then they should be a day and a half from here. That is, a day and a half, given that we do our best to move towards them.. Just give me five fingers that you understand.� Parmenides looked at her right hand. It opened slowly, turned palm up with five fingers spread.

�Good. This is going to hurt, but I�ve got to carry you farther into the woods towards the Keep. You�re going to have to ride me piggy back. I want you to cover looking at the sides, for I am going to have to keep my dead down to make haste. No talk, no resistance. We must move now. I�m going to squat down after I help you to your feet. Get on my back right away. I�ll fashion my arms as slings to carry your legs. It will help place most of the weight on your legs, away from your ribs. Ready. Up. Good.� Parmenides grabbed her by both arms and lifted her. Without stopping the movement he swung around while transferring his right hand to hers for support, squatted, then pulled her so that she only had to make a small jump to get on his back. Small as the jump was, he heard her cry out between clenched teeth.

�Let�s go for the Keep,� he said with grim determination in his voice. He felt a slight one tap on the side of his helmet.

(to be continued)

Flying 214

The second day was worse than the first, if that could be possible. The thick, dark woods were not flat, but crisscrossed with small hills and valleys, some of which had stagnant pools in low lying places. Pools that bubbled with yellow gas, the bubbles not breaking right away but building into foaming mounds of pearl yellow slime. When at last the top bubbles burst, they did so with a yellow haze spray that hung in the air like a floating blanket of living putrid, witch fingers. Parmenides knew to stay away from those layers of gas. His helmet would filter most of it, but just a small bit would produce nausea for days. And that would be disaster for Treste. He had to make many round about diversions to avoid the stagnant pools and their yellow veils of sickness.

(to be continued)

Flying 215

Midday found Parmenides struggling up a steep thirty foot high bank. Grass and ivy covered it making it hard to get a good footing; the ivy would snare a foot while the grass would slip from underneath. It was a grueling climb. He got almost to the top only to lose his grasp on a small tree and go sliding back half way until he dug his hands in the ground and ivy and came to a sideways stop. Treste was hanging on by a thread. He started again. When Parmenides made it to the top, he did a quick scan. To his right, nothing but a large rotting red oak lying on the ground where it had crashed years ago. Left, healthy trees, but surrounded by ripper thorns. Get into those and you would never get out. Straight ahead, a small path through a scattering of younger red oaks. Behind, he looked down at the jagged, switchback track he left through the grass and ivy.

�Clear,� he said. �I�m going to swing you around so that you can lay back and rest.�

One tap.

(to be continued)

Flying 216

Parmenides got out his canteen and food emergency pack. There was enough water for the time left, but he could afford giving Treste some of his. She probably needed it; she could not keep anything down, which meant that she was probably becoming dehydrated. He was disturbed to see small black pieces of what looked like dead ants in her vomit. Clotted blood. Not good. Still bleeding inside. Even if they were found by a rescue team, she may not make it back alive. Unless, he got to the rescue team fast. He set a goal. �Both of us make it, or neither. Done,� he whispered to himself.

He had been watching the bank from which they had come. When he turned around, he froze with fear. A large group of acid slugs from the dead oak had almost encircled them. Acid slugs were easy to kill, but they were very dangerous. Not even Keep armor could resist the powerful secretions that slugs made to disable their prey. Treste was sitting, but her head was forward and down. �Probably in light shock,� he thought. He shook her head and she responded.

�Acid slugs! We�ve got to make a run for it. Get out the slug pack of vicious salt and be ready to throw it ahead. On my back in three. He turned around and made slings with his arms.

�One. Two. Three.� She got to his back, but he had to struggle to get her on.

He paused for a second to let her get the salt from her reserve pack.

�Armed?�

One tap.

�Ready?�

One tap.

(to be continued)

Flying 217

�We�ll start at the right where most of them are, then swerve to the left to get to that path through the young red oaks.� Parmenides eyed the escape path, then returned his gaze to the advancing slugs. Slugs were slow, but they had a field attack brain. They could not be underestimated in their ability to plan and react.

He started off with a fast burst with a zig zag movement at the slugs that formed the majority of attackers. Each slug was about a foot long, grey with dark blotches of black patchwork stripes on the skin. They left shiny slime trails behind their movement through and on the fallen brown oak leaves. Their eyes were bulbous black pearls on the end of tubes that looked like grey dandelion stalks, only they stretched and moved. They had mouths, with teeth, but they could not be seen until they ate. Then the mouth unzipped itself into a lipless hole full of white needles. All of the slugs� eyes raised up a good three inches as they apprehended his charge. The slugs stopped and drew themselves into round balls of blotched greasy skin, their rat, beady black eyes protruding from short tubes that looked pasted onto the ball. Their skin began to shine with acid slime, the touch of which was disaster.

�Just before we get to them, I am going to turn and make a dash for the path. Throw some slug salt on them and let�s hope that they will alarm the rest enough to ball up and for us to make it through.� Parmenides was closing the distance between them and the slugs rapidly.

One tap.

(to be continued)

Flying 218

The slugs were only two steps ahead. Shiny slime balls, glistening with acid. The small drops which hit the leaves turned the leaves into curling, sizzling, white crips with a green smoke coming from the white. Parmenides faked to the right then turned to the left sharply. As he did, Treste threw slug salt at the lot. It was a good throw. The salt hit them all. Pulsating gobs of slime emerged from the slugs that twisted about. They were actually shedding their skin, though the salt was on the leaves so where the new skin emerged and touched the leaves, the rippling gobs of slime erupted again. Their mouths were open, exposing the needle teeth. Parmenides thought he could hear hisses, but they were already about to enter the path that ran between the young red oaks.

Three taps on his helmet. Danger.

(to be continued)

Flying 219

Parmenides looked up to see five slugs on the path. Acid slugs were slow, but they had a novel trap weapon. Their slime trails were like spider webs. Step on a trail and you could maybe travel three more steps before your foot stuck to the ground. The Keep had discovered a solution that would neutralize the slime stick, but it worked slowly. It was even odds to live if you were alone, faced a group of slugs, and had stepped in one of their trails.

�Any slug salt left?� Parmenides yelled, without turning his head. He had to make quick decisions on the run.

One tap.

�They are in a V formation, which means that most of the trails will be along the sides with maybe one or two right before the lead slug. We�ll go straight in, then you throw on the right and I�ll go over them there.� Parmenides was breathing heavily as he gathered speed for a jump.

One tap.

(to be continued)

Flying 220

The slugs balled up, but their eyes on stalks weaved to follow every movement of Parmenides. About ten feet from the lead slug, he saw the first trail laid down straight across the path, then another straight to the lead slug.

�Trail at ten feet, then one down the center to the lead slug. Going to jump the first trail to the left, go straight for the lead slug, you throw the salt as I jump the straight on trail. Be ready for the jump.�

One tap.

He didn�t know where the strength came from. His legs were burning with exhausting pain. His lungs did not seem to get in enough air. But, he bore down and jumped the first trail. Jogged to the left. Straight on at the lead slug. Jumped the straight trail about three feet from the lead slug. Prepared to jump the other slugs. Treste threw the salt. It hit the lead slug and the next slug. He jumped.

(to be continued)

Flying 221

His foot twisted on something, a small granite rock. His aim was off. His jump faltered in the air; they hung in flight, but a doomed one. They would land on the last slug on the right. He could not twist, for that would put Treste in danger. Bam! He hit with his right leg, then belly flopped on the last slug. In a second he struggled with all his might and was up and running. Treste had thrown another batch of salt on the slugs on the other side. Hits. �Maybe�.� He thought to himself

The world around him groaned and slowed. His vision narrowed to the leafy few feet ahead of him. He had begun to run through thick, molasses; his legs seemed to stick to the ground. Each step pasted itself firmer. Then, the pain flamed into him up through his midsection like dragon fire.

(to be continued)

Flying 222

Parmenides went face down into the ground, spearing the leaves with his face visor. Treste could feel the shudder of the impact shake his body inside his armor. Treste rolled off to his right. Pain etched into her gut. She turned around to see if there were any slugs closing in. None were to be seen. She crawled over to Parmenides and turned him over. The slug had splattered across the stomach section of his armor. It was turning white and sizzling with the acid slime. She could see that a very small hole had already burned through. And the smell of chemically scorched flesh was strong enough to make it through her visor slit filters. She had but seconds.

(to be continued)

Flying 223

She reached in her backpack and got out her flask of water. She drained it on his stomach, while taking clumps of leaves in her left hand and wash/wiping the slime off. She had to be quick and very careful; the slime on the leaves, though diluted, could still damage her gloves. From her emergency pack, she pulled out a packet of white powder, flipped back her visor, opened the seal with her teeth and dusted his stomach area well. She used part of her emergency shield on her left hand to force open the hole in his armor. She dusted the inside of the hole moving her hand in a circular motion to get the powder underneath the armor in all possible spots. The moment the powder hit any of the slug slime, it changed into bubbling pearl colored goo that smelled like rotting crawfish. She repeated the process, fighting off Parmenides� attempts to grab his stomach or her hands.

�Not enough,� she said to herself, through clenched teeth. The pain in her stomach felt like someone had a dagger in it trying to cut his way out. She bit down on her lip until the blood came; it masked the pain in her stomach somewhat.

She rolled Parmenides to his side and tore through his emergency pack. She grabbed his packet of white powder in its side pocket. With a forceful movement that brought tears to her eyes and more blood to her lip, she turned him on his back, grabbed his flask of water, and repeated the process. The bubbling goo formed again, though much smaller in area. For a minute it went on, but stopped almost as fast as it began. The bubbles popped and there was left a dark puddle of liquid about the consistency of mud at the bottom of a shallow pond. It began to run slowly down the sides of his armor carrying bits of leaves with it.

She reached into her emergency pack and brought out some Wisp powder, which she threw in a circle around them.

(to be continued)

Flying 224

�Parmenides,� she said. �I�m going to take off your stomach guard and have a look. It�s going to hurt, but don�t cry out, we could be heard.� She lifted his visor to see him grimacing with his eyes tightly shut. His hands were made into fists clenched tightly against his sides.

�Understand?� No response.

�Understand?� she said louder.

He raised one agony bent finger of his right hand. Barely, then let it fall to the ground to join his left hand, the two of which began clawing at leaves or anything they could snag.

Treste reached over to the right body side of Parmenides� armor. Pushing hidden buttons on his chest plate joint under his armpit, the stomach plate came loose and she lifted it slowly up. She stopped after a few inches, bent over and saw underneath. Some of the skin, about the size of her palm, from his stomach had been eaten away by the acid and had attached itself to the burned portions of the armor. She could see the actual muscle tissue of his abdomen moving as he breathed. It was white with black edges, burned and inflamed raw. To remove the plate would mean peeling off the skin and perhaps more. That would be not only painful for Parmenides, but would do no good. She reached into the emergency pack and retrieved a patch of finely woven fabric. She placed it gently over the burned area. Parmenides arched his back in agony and his hands beat against the ground.

�Hold on, Parmenides. Two more things, one of which will help a lot, she said in short snippets of breath. She could feel her stomach clench. She thought that she would throw up, but she forced it back.

(to be continued)

Flying 225

Two packets. One yellow, one blue. She ripped the yellow one open and sprinkled the mustard colored powder on the fabric she had placed on Parmenides� stomach. The smell was that of rotten eggs. She threw the empty packet to the side and tore open the blue packet. Violets touched her nose. She made a circle of bluish dust around the fabric, then a light dusting on it. Finally, she eased the stomach plate into place and reset the buttons for integrity.

The blue powder helped. Parmenides stopped clawing at the ground and reaching for his stomach. She knew it would, but it would only last a half a day. She had her pack left, but wondered if it would be possible to even get the plate to open again. Parmenides� hands trembled like a dying bird�s wings against the ground and he gave a long moan. �His wound, how long could he last?� Treste asked herself again and again.

That question seemed to drift around in her mind, like a bird trying to find an open spot in a thick wood. The bird found a ray of light, an opening and flew through it. She eased herself to the ground, not even realizing that she was losing consciousness.

Both lay unconscious on the ground, strewn on it, dropped puppets in strange patterns of legs and arms. Night fell. Sometime during the night, Treste woke up and sat guard as best she could. She thought of their condition as the dragon ate away at her stomach and she had to open her visor to spit out what little blood came up. Sometime in the darkest of hours, she let herself over slowly so that she could rest touching Parmenides. Darkness came to her mind in a flood of black ink.

That was the second day.

(to be continued)

Flying 226

The third morning. Parmenides awoke with a start. He tried to move, but a searing pain went through his stomach muscles and chest. It seemed to him that his front armor plate was on fire, burning on the inside. A quick look revealed that he was in trouble; his stomach plate was covered with leaves that were singed with black goo. The plate had a hole in it two fingers would easily enter. It was ragged and pocked with marks from the acid. The smell was worse. The rotten egg odor told him that he had a bad wound underneath the plate. But, he was alive, thanks to Treste who must have treated him.

Treste!

He looked wildly around behind him. She was sitting up, but slumped against her sword which was propping her up.

�Treste!� he called. No answer.

�Treste!� he called in a hushed shout. No answer. He could not yell, for that may bring predators.

(to be continued)

Flying 227

He rolled over and eased himself onto his knees. A fast scan of their surroundings found nothing but the trauma of last night shown in the gouges on the ground left by his hands clawing against the matted brown dirt and leaves. To the side, then all around, he could see the Wisp ring powder that she had cast. He eased back his visor. He knew that he could not rise to walk. He bent over and on hands and knees crawled over to Treste. Each movement was a Mauler taking a bite from his stomach. To her left side was a small pool of vomit with the black ant bits of clotted blood.

He reached over and touched her shoulder. She raised her head slightly and her hand tightened against the grip of her sword. She opened her visor slowly. He face was ghost pale. One pain slit eye met his.

�Thank the stars you are alive,� he gasped as a storm of fire hit him in the solar plexus.

�Barely,� she replied. �And I don�t think you are much better,� she remarked. It was a factual combat statement, straight to the point with cruel, yet crystal clarity in assessment.

�True,� he replied. �The slug acid must have penetrated my stomach plate. How bad is it?�

�Bad. Palm size portion of skin is gone, some of which has bonded to the plate itself. Some damage to the muscles, but not much. Yet. Another two days and infection will set in and we don�t have any more yellow packs. I used them both last night.� Treste gasped, then sank back to the ground, her head hitting with a soft thud. Just speaking that much had exhausted her and brought back the terrible stomach pain.

Parmenides spoke. �Assessment. Both of us are in very bad shape, but we need to make another half mile towards the Keep. You cannot walk. Nor can I. But, I can crawl. I figure that it will take us all day to make it, given that we do not meet up with anything serious,� he said in a low whisper that bordered on the cry of a wounded crow �rasping pain.

Treste turned her head so that she could look at Parmenides. �You won�t make it carrying me,� she said.

(to be continued)

Flying 228

Parmenides held her gaze. Time stopped. Their eyes penetrated each others� souls. The bond between them solidified the air into an invisible glow that swirled around them. For a moment, for a split second moment, they were together always.

Treste broke the gaze. She looked over his shoulder, and jerked her head forward at an approaching danger. �Something in the bushes!� she yelled in a shout that sounded more like an anguished cry. He spun a quarter turn to glance back behind him.

(to be continued)

Not right! He wheeled back around and saw her hand which had gone for her dagger. She had it and it was on the way to her throat.

(to be continued)

Flying 230

He had thought that she may have some triage idea derived from his assessment of their situation, and his hand was already on the move. It caught her daggered hand before it reached the soft target of her throat. She pulled, but he held tightly. He shook his head and guided her hand to put the dagger back in its sheath. Both shuddered from the pain each suffered.

They gazed into each others� eyes again. The glowing bond came back. Invisible raging pulses between them.

Parmenides spoke softly. �Never do that again. Promise me.� He trembled from the effort to say the words.

She shook her head. A small trickle of clotted blood and spit eased from the corner of her mouth. �You can make it, but not if you have to carry me. Keep logic says that you must leave me behind.�

(to be continued)

Flying 231

He stared into the sheer darkness of her tormented thoughts. She would defend his trail as he advanced to possible recovery. Defend as she died. The bond flamed. It was invisible, but the strength of its presence could be felt by spirits of the world as if it were a gale force.

�I tell you this only once. If you do that again, I will carry your body on my back until I drop. Dead.� The flame shimmered and plumed the air, halos around the sun.

�I�,� Treste started. But, Parmenides interrupted, firmly, shaking his head.

�Either we both make it, or we both die trying. No other options. Understood?�

She reached over and put her left hand on his right hand, the one which still covered her dagger.

�Done,� she said. And shook life a leaf in the wind as she did. She knew that she was condemning Parmenides to death. His eyes never left hers; agony was there. Bad torrential pain. There was also a firm determination. Solid. Rock solid determination. Granite hard with mountain strength.

�Done, Then, we must hurry, for the sun is well up.�

(to be continued)

Flying 232

He crawled closer to her and moved so that he was along side of her. She reached over and began to climb onto his back, inch by inch, section by section, lift and pull by lift and pull. It felt that she was climbing a sheer rock wall taller than the Keep. It took every bit of her strength to make it up. And it took every bit of strength for Parmenides to hold steady and then begin to crawl. But he did. One hand, one knee at a time. Each yard was its own fire agony. Slowly he crawled, trying to ease the tortured skin of his stomach. He could feel the patch begin to soak with blood, then wad up around the marred edges of the stomach plate. Bare muscle rubbed against the plate, each time tearing away small bits and filing down sinews. He could her Treste moan when he would have to lean quickly to avoid a hole or stretch to go over a fallen log. Every once in a while he could see bloody spit slide down his right arm.

Six hours of unending agony. He could feel Treste starting to go slack on his back. He stopped.

�Treste. Treste!� No reply.

�Treste, you quit, I quit. We die right here.� His stomach rippled with flames. His arms and legs were all but dead numb from grinding across the grass, rocks and brambles.

�You with me? Teammate?� He struggled to get the words out, swaying as each came.

One small, one small, light delicate tap. But, it was to him a new beginning and all that he needed. He put one hand out, brought up the following knee and dragged them on.

(to be continued)

Flying 233

Two more hours, grueling, passing the limit of exhaustion. Parmenides was so rung out that he had to think to breathe. He knew that Treste was on the edge of not having enough grasp to simple hold herself steady for balance. He moved like a tortoise balancing a coin turned up edgewise on its back. And there were obstacles. Dangerous ones.

An hour before, they had to remain still as an eyed-by-a-fox rabbit under a large bramble bush (a poison blackberry whose fruit dangled with a delicious aroma right at the tip of Parmenides� visor); a flight of Hunter Vultures had come by. They went overhead high, but came back lower and circled. A black ring of flapping ragged wings against the royal blue sky. They must have smelled traces of blood left on the trail. But it was not strong enough to bring the huge birds down to walk along the ground to pick up a stronger scent. Once landed, Vultures have a hard time lifting off. However, Vultures don�t give up easily. Circling on the updrafts for an hour, Parmenides could hear the snuffing from those that made low passes. He remembered the class on the Vultures. Hunter Vultures did not eat dead prey; they caught the wounded and killed it with their massive beaks that were lined with teeth like saw blades. Descending on the victim, they hack sawed and shredded the subject into pieces, which they gobbled up, lifting their beaks to the sky and letting the meat fall down the throats of their featherless necks. If the Vultures spotted them, they would only be bones in the sun within fifteen minutes.

(to be continued)

Flying 234

The Vultures finally moved on leaving a whiff of rotting meat in the air, but Parmenides waited an extra fifteen minutes. He had heard that they would fake a leave, then swoop back to find the subject running for cover. Cover it would not find. He was right. They did come back in a loud low pass. He could hear their massive wings beating the air with powerful noises. They screeched a baby wolf cry as they came to startle any prey into some detectable movement. Parmenides and Treste remained a small, motionless, black part of the brambles until Parmenides was certain that the air sharks had left.

They began again. He moved slowly on until they came to a small clearing surrounded by a thick curtain of more blackberry brambles. The mouth watering smell was almost too much to bear for Parmenides whose mouth had long ago turned into a valley of dust clots. A small loam covered bank with some poplar trees was at the far end of the blackberry thicket.

�Far enough,� Parmenides groaned as he reached the bank. He had been counting his body lengths. Her answer was only a light sigh. He went down on his right elbow and stretched his right leg. Slowly, he eased his body to the ground and as he did Treste rolled off onto her right side, then onto her back. He tucked his right arm under and rolled onto his back beside her. He eased out his sword with his right hand, spread his left arm shield, turned toward Treste. She had taken out some Wisp powder and had tried to throw it in a circle around them. Most of it got no farther than their feet and heads, but it did make a circle.

�Done,� he said.

�Done,� she said.

It had taken them all day to make the quarter mile. An eternity.

Night fell easing through the trees like dark fingers crawling through long fair hair. Parmenides fell asleep leaning on his sword. He did not realize when sleep took him; his intention was to stay guard. It was the pain that did it. His body could not stand the pain of consciousness and took his mind to the comfort of darkness. Treste, once she had thrown the powder, slowly eased around and put her back to Parmenides. If he was to stand guard, so would she. The focus of her eyes on a blackberry, glistening with its syrupy poison delicious smell, was the last idea that she had.

And that was the end of their third day.

(to be continued)

Flying 235

The morning of the forth day was a cold drizzle, the kind of wet cold that sneaks up and gets in toes and fingers making them ache. The clouds overhead almost touched the tops of the tall oaks of the forest as if the sky had decided to drop down a dark gray cotton fog to make the world smaller, only a few hundred feet high. The grove of poplars where they had taken refuge acted as a temporary tent, which was welcome to them. The light green leaves shook and made a soft water drumming sound as the drops fell from the higher leaves to the lower. They had no water and reached up to sip some of the drops that dripped slowly from the closest leaves which were larger and made palm sized catch plates. Parmenides broke open his last food pack to share, but Treste only shook her head. Her stomach could not keep down anything.

�Forth day,� said Parmenides in a low pitched murmur.

Treste tried to speak, then held up one finger. Parmenides could see that she was deathly pale; he doubted that she would make it through the day. For that matter, he doubted that he would last any longer than she.

Small gusts of wind began to push through the tops of the poplars splashing drizzle rain spray on them, drops that trickled down their armor carrying the remains of their agonizing crawl from yesterday. Black streaks of neutralized acid slime with crusted blood clots in it. Tracks of vomit that had pooled into dark nuggets of dead ant blood clots in between Treste�s glove fingers of her right hand. Smears of yellow and white powders crisscrossing their torsos in mad dashes for asymmetry. Grass, mud, bits of leaves rubbed into paste on Parmenides� knees, the tops of his feet, elbows and forearms. The smell of raw flesh and old blood �sweet rust.

Death was relishing the meal set before it.

(to be continued)

Flying 236

Parmenides turned slowly around in the Wisp circle to face Treste, careful not to breech it. �Can�t go any farther. This is our last stop. If there is a patrol, they should be within hearing distance of my horn,� said Parmenides. And, of course, anything else. We must be prepared for whatever end meets us, soon.�

Both were sitting on the ground, looking at each other, knowing that when Parmenides blew his horn, they would either have a chance for the Keep�s rescue party, or, if the Keep had fallen or could not find them, death would be on them quickly in the form of whatever predators were nearby. Treste drew her dagger, spread her left arm shield, and maneuvered to lean against his back. She would guard his back and he hers. Parmenides drew his sword, placed in across his legs, and put his horn to his lips. He gave three sharp blasts and nearly fainted as the pain from the muscles in his stomach grabbed hold in a dragon�s grip.

(to be continued)

Flying 237

The exit attack plan from the Keep was perfect. The Guardians on the first level set controllable fires that would give off smoke, which poured through designated slots in windows. Flags were drawn down in hurriedly and black flags raced up the poles. Alarm bells clanged. Second level Guardians shouted battle cries and retreat horns.

The main gate opened and four wagons, one trailing a brown/gray smoke, rushed from it. The horses were at full gallop, unusual for a wagon team. Arrows flurried around the escaping wagons. Full fledged retreat and escape.

That�s what Telos and Hyle hoped whatever Wisp force out there would think.

The Wisps hidden on the far road banks in captured pigmy gorilla bodies (just a few hundred yards from the oaks that began the forest edge) thought that the Keep was finally theirs. It would be simple to subdue the escaping Guardians who obviously were in no condition to fight. The Keep Guardians looked to have panicked. Small wonder, who would want to face a Wisp or become a Wisp zombie?

They prepared the bodies of the pigmy gorillas for battle. These creatures were thick and powerful, though they could not move quickly over long distances, for they had such short legs and long arms. They were at best only four feet in height. Nevertheless, they could reach out and grab, hold and squeeze things that would normally be thought to be way out of reach. A gorilla squeeze was the vise of death. Twenty four pigmies and the four Wisps that controlled them moved into position to catch the wagons in a trap they had prepared. They had placed some arm sized branches that they had torn from nearby oaks quickly across the road when they saw that the Keep was losing the battle and the gates opened. Some Guardians and elite would try for escape and they would be ready.

And in fact, the escape wagons had come. When the wagons would come to a halt to try to find a way around, the gorillas would place the other branches behind the wagons. There would be debris web enough to snag the horses and wheels. After that, it was just a matter of slow entry into the wagons.

�Strategy was the key to success,� the lead Wisp, Zorbe, thought.

(to be continued)

Flying 238

�But, something is amiss,� came the lurching idea to Zorbe�s mind. The sentences describing the flow of battle raced through Zorbe�s tangled interpretation of gorilla fear language symbols and his Wisp flowchart strategic plan. �Something was changing. One of the horses has broken away from the lead wagon. A rider swung up to ride it. He had been hidden between the galloping two lead horses, an impossible feat. What was going on? Was he trying to abandon his wagon? Wait.� (Garbled gorilla language of fear and astonishment.) �He was carrying on his back a large pack. And now, he was headed straight for the Wisp attack party. They must be in total confusion. Even stranger, the wagons have broken into different directions. Two have gone to the Wisp flanks and two have followed the rider. But, the rider has broken off to the right and seems to be riding away. No, he is riding to make a circle around the Wisp attack party. From his backpack is streaming�.� Panic hit Zorbe. �Wisp powder. His gorilla attack force would be encircled in another minute.�

�Back away! Back to the oaks, now! Trap! Wisp powder!� shouted Zorbe in pigmy gorilla language.

(to be continued)

Flying 239

Telos and Hyle knew all too well where the Wisps would probably stage an attack; across the moat, down the road at the bends just before the road enters the forest. A few small hills would provide cover for a surprise attack. Wisps weren�t dumb but the location was a strategic given, IF the overtaking of the Keep succeeded in routing the Guardians. The citizens on the upper levels would be juicy pickings.

Telos could sense that the Wisps fell for Telos� staged panicked escape of the stampeding wagons. They would be on the move and so would her forces. They should have known better that Guardians would never panic or abandon the Keep. She, from her vantage point in the right lead wagon, saw that Sohta, the Rider Guardian on the breakaway horse, was already letting the Wisp powder stream from his pack. �Good. There was an attack party. Yes, there were the Wisps, in pigmy gorilla bodies, making a break for the oaks,� she smiled as she ground her teeth in readiness for combat. She could see the nestled humps Wisps made on the backs of four gorillas.

�Bad choice of bodies for the battle strategy, especially in this location,� she thought to herself. �Not enough speed to make it back to the oaks in case of a counterattack; certainly not enough time before Sohta placed the Wisp powder down preventing their retreat.� In fact, Sohta was riding like the wind in a storm, fast, furious and with pounding force the giant hooves made of his horse. The ground trembled and seemed to have its own thunder from the pressure the great horse, Amuart, put into each stride. Sohata finished laying his track in front of the retreating gorillas before they had even made it a third of the way to the trees. He continued his circle, closing in tighter and tighter.

Telos and the other wagons bore down on the gorillas. She clicked on the close battle shields for the horses, a spray that coated their special armor in Wisp powder. She gave the signal for her and the other wagons to lower the sytches, the huge razor sharp blades that were attacked to the sides of the wagons. The wagons bore down on the gorilla�s blades singing death in the air; chariots of wings of instant rending. The gorilla at the rear of the retreating group looked back, eyes goggling the wagons coming with their wings of slicing death at each side moving to position for the midsection slice. He barred his teeth, stopped turned and raised his club.

He swung at the horses as they went by, turned to take a swing at the wagon, heard a sizzle of air, and watched the lower part of his body fall to the ground, only to be followed by a spinning look at the sky before stomach bile choked his throat and the scene faded into a darkness of thuds and nothing.

(to be continued)

Flying 240

It was over in a shudder. The horses cut through narrow lanes made by the gorillas as they made a stand. The scythes cut the gorillas into pieces, cutting so fast and cleanly that the wagons hardly felt bumps as the blades struck and the wheels ran over bodies. The thought of a ripe watermelon being sliced in half, then quarters, then into bite sized pieces with a few quick strokes by a master chef came to Telos� mind. The wagon wheels left crimson spray on the dark sides. A few gorillas heads eyes blinked then rolled back; one had no body. The Wisps that were on the backs of four gorillas had left their backs to miss the blades and were low to the ground. In the rutted and bloody small gulley, they tried to slowly crawl away, but could not begin to even outdistance Telos, Hyle and four other Guardians as they hastened up to them throwing Wisp powder in front and around them. The group stopped stared at the Wisps, then Telos barked a few commands. Two were placed in Wisp containers and sealed. The others were slaughtered with quick blade strokes that first cut off their heads, then dismembered their bodies until all that was left were small bits of putty like meat.

�This danger is done,� said Telos, cleaning her sword on the ground, then with a small towel, which she put into a disposal sealer on the side of the wagon. �Hyle, signal the Keep to send out a patrol to take care of the carnage. We have three, at best four days to find Parmenides and Treste. We shall move as the wind in a storm and shall stop only for repair, and that would be absolutely critical. We eat on the fly or not at all. Done?� she yelled.

�Done!� came the thunderous reply.

(to be continued)

Flying 241

As soon as the four second wagon Guardians had cleared some of the oak branches from the road, Sohta reattached his horse and the rescue caravan sped off. Hyle looked over at Telos who had the reins. She had a strange look on her face. He had never seen that before. Strange to see it bunched up. Strange to see the lines across the forehead that bode of trouble. It looked like what he had heard about in talks with some of the old Guardians. Something they called worry or fear. But, no that would be impossible. Telos had no fear. The wagons plunged ahead at combat speed.

Hyle spoke to Telos. �Do you think we have much of a chance?� he asked, scanning the sides of the road as they hurtled past the trees as they entered the forest. Telos was driving hard, very hard. Sometimes the wagon tilted on the turns at a critical angle. He already knew the answer to his question; they would make the chance through unbridled speed.

�If they are alive, we need to be close enough to help them. I am going to make certain that we shall be close enough.� Telos never looked at Hyle. Her entire concentration was on control of the wagon. But, he knew that her mind had other deeper thoughts.

�I�m going to guess what you are thinking,� said Hyle. �I know the crease you get over your eyes, the one that looks like a series of slashes on your forehead. My guess is that you are wondering how Thrasymachus had Treste stationed with him? Right?� Hyle scanned the tops of some water oaks about one hundred yards down the road.

�You read me too well, Hyle. I thought that I had complete control of my body. But, I have my visor down. How can you see the creases?� Telos pulled in the left reins too take a curve. The horses went to the left sending the wagon into a drift as it rounded the turn, almost on two wheels. Hyle was holding his breath. He reached over with his right hand to grasp a holding bar.

�Maybe I know you better than you think. Your thumbs are a bit high on the lead horse reins. You do that when you�ve got more on your mind than the immediate challenge,� said Hyle, letting his breath out slowly. �So, I figured that the creases would be there, too. And you gave me that information. A bit of sweat started to trickle down his forehead behind his visor.

(to be continued)

Flying 242

�Something doesn�t fit,� said Hyle. Treste should have been in the main wagon, along with Parmenides and one other new outer, Brane. So, someone fixed it to give Treste the co pilot position. And, if my memory is not wrong, that would be Glaucon.� Hyle looked forward intently, then called down a speaker tube.

�Snipe. There may be a Sucker Bat in a large maple of the left side about half a click down. If it moves towards the wagons, take it out.� Hyle put the speaker tube back up and heard the returning message.

�Done�

Snipe was hunkered down next to his view position on the right side of the wagon. Medium height, thin, but not weak. Hawk face, chiseled cheeks with a bit of gray in the hollows. Big hands, but delicate long fingers. His hair was a stringy brown that could never be kept. His friends urged him to trim it short, but he left it long. He had an even disposition of comradeship, though almost everyone said that Snipe was always in the field, all business all the time. Inside the Keep, he even walked like a cat stalking a bird; low, softly, no quick movements, but always aware of the surroundings and situation, extremely quiet. Hyle asked to see the bottom of his boots to see if there were special pads installed. There weren�t. And, he had refurbished a weapon that no one used, a cross bow. His arrows could only go three quarters the distance of a normal bow, but within that range, they were instant, catastrophic death. Snipe was no one to mess with. He was called Snipe because he could hide in the field, in fact anywhere, and no one could find him, until it was too late and the practice game was up. Of course, the searchers would be counted dead by the observers.

(to be continued)

Flying 243

The wagon reached the area of the maple in just a few strides of the great horses. Hyle could hear the stones and bits of debris from the hooves and wheels rattle the sides of the wagon as if they were in a tin can being showered by steel sling shot balls. He looked to the maple and saw a large Sucker Bat spread its wings and begin its sail down towards the horses. It was about fifty feet from the lead horse on the left when Hyle heard the shooter�s hatch pop open. The Bat took a stroke with its wings to fix upon targeting the horse. Then, it furled around itself, wings in twisted curls, head falling to one side, legs dropping, and a spray of blood and tissue making an impact cloud where it had been hit by Snipe�s arrow. It was dead long before it hit the ground.

The hatch banged closed.

�Done,� rang out softly Snipe�s voice through the speaker tube, though there was no inflection, just matter of fact.

�Good shooting,� replied Hyle, and grabbed the holding bar as Telos took the wagon into another mind bending turn.

�You alright?� asked Hyle. You�ve been going strong now for a while.� He glanced over at Telos, but stayed only a minute to return to scan another grove of maples coming up on the right.

�I�m in the slot,� replied Telos. �Though we should rest in another fifteen minutes.� Her arms and fingers were like a master musician playing an instrument, only her instrument were reins to majestic, power horses.

�Good. We are making excellent progress.� Hyle scanned the maples. Nothing.

For two days, Telos went on at a relentless pace. They ate on the fly or not at all. The wagons looked like they had been through a gauntlet of wear and tear from near crashes, emergency repairs and the dirt, mud and bits of leaves and branches that clung to their sides. All were weary and one seasick. A veteran Guardian, Smoar, was at a station near the back of the second wagon. The turns after the first day were too much for him. His armor was soiled a green yellow with chunks from vomit. He had tried to use a hazard bucket, but the wagon took a turn as he was using it and he fell onto it. The wagon reeked of the travel food pack that he had gulped down a half hour before. But, no one took any notice by way of making a comment. This was a dash to save lives. A little smell was a feather in the wind.

(to be continued)

Flying 244

The third day, Camp had been made at a small clearing next to the road. Tall maples were all around, green leaves waving hands in the wind. A small border of Shasta daisy wildflowers, white with yellow centers, tripped along the very edge of the road where water would form in the ridge dams when the rains would come. Reaching the distance that they had calculated Parmenides and Treste may be, they set up search Camp. There were the massive oaks towering behind the maples shadowing part of the small circular turnaround in the road where the Camp was set. Some poplars were off in the distance towards the lower valley. The wagons had been set in a defensive ring. Guards had been posted at the quarters of the circle.

They had spent most of the end of the third day going out into the forest on patrols looking and listening for any signs of the two missing Guardians. Night patrols were forbidden, though, just before dusk, Telos and Hyle scouted the upper side of the valley in which the poplars grew. Hyle, being a master tracker, found evidence of pigmy gorillas. They were close and on the move. But, to follow them in the dark would flirt with calamity. Maybe, they were a back up second Wisp group for the Keep or a group of gorillas on their own. The last possibility was unlikely. Pigmy gorillas did not stray far from their habitat closer to the rain forest farther southwest. The two turned back and spent the evening doing watches and grabbing sleep that came upon them and the others in the collapsing moment they closed their eyes.

(to be continued)

Flying 245

The morning of the forth day reflected the rescue party�s fatigue. It was especially trying for Telos and Hyle. Gloom hung on them as the dreary clouds that had moved in to blot out the blue sky weighted down the tops of the tall oaks. The trees seemed to suffer from the heavy weight of the clouds. One morning patrol to the north had encountered a number of flying Sucker Bats. There had been a bad fight with two wounded from penetration of the Sucker Bats beak like nose. Both Guardians had lost large amounts of blood in the mere seconds the bats had their beaks through the armor and into the back of one guardian, the side of another. They were being treated in the number four wagon, which was the medic wagon. The bats had even followed the patrol back and attacked the wagon. Mistake. They were hanging (beak stuck into the armor itself) from its sides and top like black umbrellas smashed against a brick wall in a tornadic wind. The rest of them had been felled quickly by a wagon bowman and razor screens that flipped into the air to sweep over the wagons as the bats flew by.

Telos and Hyle were about to depart on a patrol to go towards the poplars and the tracks left by the pigmy gorillas.

�If they are around anywhere, we should be able to find them,� said Telos. She inspected her armor, sword, bow and shield, giving the shield a good rap against the shingle like bark of a nearby white oak. We�ll inspect that stand of poplars in the distance. Everywhere else has been searched. If we don�t find them, we�ll blow a Keep horn and see whether or not there is a reply. No reply and we�ll have to drop back, then counter to see what we may have stirred up. I suspect that there is more danger around than we may think.� She scanned the area continuously. Hyle could see that she was combat taut. Ready. Keen on the scan. And hungry, fight hungry, to find the missing Guardians.

�Hyle, get Trake, Bishopp, and Snipe. We five will take the point.� Telos moved with swift efficiency as she prepared her patrol.

Everyone froze in place the instant they heard it. Three sharp horn blasts. From a Keep horn. The moment the last note was but an echo in the trees, the whole camp was on the move. Trake, Bishop and Snipe had anticipated Telos� request and were by her side. They began a run on the double for the poplars. All were scanning as they ran. A second team of four went to the right, a third to the left. They were so highly trained that they formed the teams in split seconds and were only footsteps behind the team led by Telos.

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws