NOVEL WEB The Gates of Akan-Var
Hoplite hadn’t spoken once since the night Lance had drawn him out of his madness, he wouldn’t respond to questions, complaints, not even from Lance or Michael. It had been three days since then, and Alistair was beginning to think the Outworlder would never open his mouth again. The wagon veered as Hoplite adjusted his course, moving to avoid another cluster of twitching Fiend bodies. It had become apparent soon after they had set off that Halm had cleared the way forward for them, as the Fiend said he would. Indeed, these past few days had been outright peaceful compared to how the trip started.
They should be arriving at Akan-Var this very day though… and he knew that short-lived peace would soon come to an end. They would be deeper within Kazon’s realm now, the bastard, Alistair would relish removing The Lord of Hate’s head from his body. After that was done, her soul would finally be free… then he could return to the caravans. They wouldn’t allow him to live with them ever again, but the Atheyare would at least allow him to see Vivia once her soul had been returned… right?
He exhaled sharply through his nose as he thought of his exile… an exile that he had brought upon himself. He shook his head lightly, there was no point in thinking back on how things could have gone. Even if he hadn’t been exiled, he’d still be here, sitting in this wagon to go slay Kazon. Yet… if he’d not been shunned, he would at least have had a home to return to once this quest was concluded. These dreary thoughts were going to take a toll on him… it was time for a change, any change.
He frowned, lifting his head to stare at Hoplite’s back, “You still not going to talk?” He asked casually, raising his voice to be heard over the wind.
No reply, as per usual. Well at least he wasn’t sitting on his rear acting like a mumbling fool anymore. It was so… unbecoming of someone like him. Alistair couldn’t blame the man completely for having broken down though, based on what Michael had said about this ‘re-indoctrination’, Hoplite had gone through literal hell. Could Alistair really claim that he’d have fared any better, being forced to relive such torment?
“It's no use.” Elum said, the Ifrit sitting directly across from him, “I was making fun of him yesterday remember? Trying to see if I couldn’t get him to snap back at me... Nothing.” He continued with a shrug, “He’ll talk when he feels it's necessary I’m sure.”
“I hope so,” Alistair replied, leaning his elbow on the rim of the wagon, “It feels wrong not to hear ‘affirmative’ or ‘negative’ every now and then.”
He says that, but the truth was that Alistair was concerned about Hoplite snapping again… if that sudden aggression returned at the wrong time it would not end well. This man had managed to kill Tuji, and none of the Godlings here had been capable of defeating the son of Zodd on their own, at least, not yet. If Hoplite decided to kill a member of the party, he wasn’t sure there was anything they could do to stop him. Alistair needed to get stronger, and quickly, not just to kill Kazon, but to stand a chance against Hoplite if he went mad.
It would be a fight that could be hopefully avoided… Alistair knew exactly what the metal behemoth was capable of. It made sense now why the Outworlder could compete with Godlings and entire armies of monsters, the blood of a Dragon flowed through his veins. Just like Alistair and his friends, Hoplite bore divine blood. The sources of their divinity were different, true, but now that he thought about it, this meant that, in some capacity, they were related.
Would Hoplite be considered a cousin then? Or something different? Would a Dragonling be more of an uncle than a cousin? Alistair supposed that it would depend on who Hoplite’s father was… which, if he was an Outworlder, only meant there could be one Dragon that could have possibly sired him.
The Banished Child, the First Dragon and the child of Zodd, Saihara, and Draoi. Atheyare lore-keepers had a few conflicting tales about how the Banished Child had been created, with more than a few claiming that The First Dragon was the result of an orgy between the three Pillar-Gods. This was unlikely, in Alistair’s opinion. It didn’t make sense for Saihara to want to indulge in such debauchery, and the same went for both Zodd and Draoi.
Alistair subscribed to the more popular theory, that in the formation of Ahkoolis, the Banished Child had been born along with the planet… by accident. The three powers converging to create the world had made The First Dragon as an unintended byproduct. Either way, every version of the tale ends with the Dragon being banished from this realm by his parents. The reasons for why this banishment took place are ultimately unknown, lost in the First Godling War or even before that.
There were still countless tales claiming everything from stealing divine sweets, to challenging the very Gods themselves for dominion of Ahkoolis. Most people believed the latter, after all it made more sense for a Dragon to desire to rule. Stealing cosmic cookies was a bit too ridiculous a concept for Alistair to accept.
“Hello?” Elum asked, his red snapping fingers appearing in front of Alistair’s face.
Alistair snarled and slapped away the offending hand.
“I’m thinking here, leave me be!” Alistair told him sharply.
“Well I’m trying to pass the time!” Elum shouted back, “And I know there isn’t anything going on in that blonde head of yours, so don’t go saying that you’re ‘thinking’.”
Ever since they were kids, Elum had a special talent for saying just the right things to irritate him. Thankfully this was a two-way street.
“Just because you can’t think to yourself doesn’t mean I can’t.” Alistair retorted, “Not my fault you run at a mind-melting temperature, moron.”
“Nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh- I’m Alistair I think I’m so smart!” Elum mocked, pitching his voice higher while flailing his wrists about like a tantruming child.
“Seriously?” Alistair asked, lifting a brow “Are you five?”
“I think yer both five.” Michael said scooting closer to them, “Who goes ‘nuh nuh nuh’? Kids, that’s who.”
“Nuh nuh nuh- kids that’s who!” Alistair mocked, now flailing his own wrists about as Elum just had.
Michael didn’t seem to understand that Elum and Alistair’s banter wasn’t truly meant to be scathing. It was merely harmless fun to pass the time.
“Oh yeah?” Michael asked, “Well ‘nuh nuh nuh’ yourself pal!” Michael mocked, pitching his voice high.
Ah, well perhaps the Outworlder understood better than Alistair initially thought. Maybe he had a friend he could act like this with back in his own realm? Well then, if he was going to join in on the childish insults, then Alistair wouldn’t stop him. Anything to help keep him out of his own head… He heard Twindil sigh, and he looked over to see a flat stare and deep frown on her face. Now there was someone who didn’t get it, all these years and still she always tried to shut the banter down, even before she joined Afina’s Church.
To be fair though, neither he nor Elum ever explained it to her. It was sort of an unspoken arrangement between them. Acknowledging it in any way would only spoil the fun.
“I do hope you all restrain yourselves once we reach the city.” Twindil sighed, “I would hate to get cursed because a horde heard ‘nuh nuh nuh’ from around a corner.”
“Yeah,” Michael said with a nod, “That would nuh nuh nuht be good… Eh? Get it?”
Nobody replied.
Things went on like that for another hour or so, the sun coming to hang directly over a cloudless sky. It was getting warm in the wagon again, but thankfully the heat had been lessening the further south they traveled. There was only a bit of sweat that beaded at everyone’s brows now, as opposed to when the journey started. That had been the worst leg of the bridge trip for sure, it had felt like he’d been bathing in sweat.
He dearly wished he could sink into a proper bath, but he knew that would be a long ways off-
“I got a buddy that I hope made it down here from the Sparrow,” Michael started with a yawn, “Me n’ him kinda talk like you guys do, grew up on the same backwater farm planet, enlisted together, all that good stuff.”
All eyes, save for Theopalu and Nolvi’s fixed on him.
“Of course you grew up on the same planet.” Lance said, “You’re both Outworlders.”
“It’s a bit more complicated where we’re from.” Michael said with a small grin forming at the corner of his mouth, “See, our people own hundreds of worlds, not just Earth.”
Alistair shook his head and Elum scoffed, but Lance and Twindil leaned toward him, their interest clear.
“Earth is the homeworld, it's where we Outworlders started, but when Lord Jyn came along, he sent us to the stars, told humans to conquer them with him.” He explained casually, “He’s a natural born super-human that guy, he can live forever and he’s got a brain bigger than this damn bridge.”
“You have hundreds of worlds under your control?” Twindil asked him, her eyes narrowing, “It is common knowledge that a few worlds surround ours, but not hundreds…”
“Hundreds of stars maybe,” Elum chimed in, “But hundreds of worlds like this one? Not possible, so stop exaggerating.”
Michael smirked, licking his lips before crossing his arms, “We’re a species of conquerors, and the universe is a bigger place then ya’ll think it is. Their ain’t just hundreds of worlds…” He paused, his smile never leaving his face, “There are billions of worlds. You could count every grain of sand on every beach on this planet and you wouldn’t even come close to a hundredth of what’s out there.”
Alistair almost scoffed at Michael, the mere thought of such a scale was ridiculous… yet, that did not mean his claims weren’t credible. The Outworlders had built ships to traverse between the stars, who was to say that they didn’t colonize other worlds? He struggled to wrap his head around the idea, it seemed to border on fiction and yet… here he was, and one of their very ships was up somewhere in the sky… Twindil paled, leaning back with eyes wide.
She didn’t seem to think Michael was exaggerating, but Elum merely scoffed. “Ludicrous. I’ll ask Hoplite once he’s out of his dour mood, he’d not make up stories just to impress us.”
Michael shook his head, and replied in a decidedly condescending tone, “You want a story, little buddy?” He pointed upwards, “You know that gigantic thing that showed up next to your moon? Yeah, that ain’t just some big comet, that is a bonafide spacecraft, one of the scariest ever made.”
The wagon went silent for a moment before Twindil asked, “Your people are capable of crafting such marvels?”
Michael’s smile suddenly died, a deep frown replacing it as his eyes became nigh-vacant.
“We…” He started slowly, “We didn’t make that one.”
“It was the…” Lance started, hesitating briefly before saying, “The Final Kind’s ship, yes?”
The Final Kind?
“Alien freaks.” Michael replied with a nod, “Like I said, billions of worlds, but that comes with billions of potential problems, and them’s the biggest problem we got.” He took a deep breath, his jaw clenching tightly before he continued, “War here is restricted to being planet-side, it's hard for me to explain but… War between worlds is common where we’re from, imagine billions of people dying in a single shot from that thing in the sky, that’s what it was capable of. That’s what the Final Kind has been doing to us, they can go between stars too, so it was just a matter of time before they found us. Lord Jyn tried to be amicable o’ course, tried to tell em’ to mind their own business… but then they tried to kill him. Lord Jyn didn’t appreciate that one bit, and neither did the rest of humanity. When Lord Jyn was around it was hardly a fight, he could do things the Final Kind couldn’t handle, I heard he blew up a fleet of their ships by just lookin’ at em.”
As Michael continued his tirade, Alistair’s eyes widened. Lord Jyn was supposedly all-powerful and long lived… and Hoplite was the son of a Dragon… could it be that-
Hoplite’s pace suddenly slowed, shifting everyone toward the front of the wagon with various gasps or curses. He eventually came to a complete halt, his helmet firmly fixed on the horizon ahead of him. Michael squeezed between the space occupied by Alistair and Elum, resting his elbows on the rim.
“Sir?” Michael asked.
“Turn on your comms.” Hoplite replied curtly, finally breaking his days long silence.
Michael’s face suddenly became serious, his fingers pressing a small button on the side of his helmet. A strange noise could be heard emanating out of it soon after, sounding almost like crumpling paper before it became silent. He strained his ears to try and hear anything from Michael’s helm, curious as to what was going on. He could swear that there was a faint voice coming from the helmet now, and while he couldn’t make out the words, Alistair was certain that the voice was distressed.
Michael’s eyes suddenly widened, “Come in, this is private Michael Harrison from the Eighth Arm marine division, can you read me?”
A few seconds passed, the tiny voice in the helmet seeming to respond to his words with a frantic desperation.
“Calm down.” Hoplite said to no one, “This is Hoplite Thirty-Seven, we are inbound to your location, we will be there ASAP, hold out until then.”
Oddly, after Hoplite spoke those words, the voice seemed to become excited, as if it could hear him. Well, if Michael’s helmet could transmit long distance messages, there was no reason that Hoplite’s wouldn’t. What had they called this before… was it ladio? Yeah, the ladio. If they were talking to this stranger by introducing themselves by rank, were they also Outworlders? They had to be, why else would Hoplite break his days long silence? There was also the fact that they were able to speak to them with the ladio of course.
“How many are with you?” Hoplite asked, “And what is your exact location? Give me landmarks, we don’t have coordinates on this planet.”
A few more words were exchanged between the two parties over the ladio before finally the transmission ceased, the crackling from Michael’s helmet becoming inaudible. Alistair was just about to ask what was going on, but the words caught in his throat as the wagon propelled itself forth at a terrifying speed. He and Elum lurched backward, trying to brace against Michael to keep themselves upright. This proved to be a fruitless endeavor though, as all three men ended up toppling over, laying flat over one another in the wagon bed. Michael cursed, shoving them off him before rising.
Lance, Twindil, Nolvi and Theopalu all slid backward, colliding with the rim of the wagon before their hands could brace against the wagon's walls. Twindil gave a small squeal as the world around the vehicle became a blur, Hoplite upping his pace to a level none of them had seen before. This all took place, and still somehow that old coot Theopalu still managed to keep snoring!
“The wheels are going to break off at this pace!” Alistair shouted as Lance struggled to move past him, “Slow it down!”
If Hoplite heard him at all, he gave no indication. Even if he had, Alistair doubted that he’d listen to reason. Lance too tried to get Hoplite to slow his pace, but still he didn’t reply, nor did he slow. The horrifying creaking of the wagon filled his mind with images of himself splattered across the stones of the Greatbridge, his skin scraping away as he slid into a gruesome death.
Thankfully though, these thoughts never came to be. After nearly an hour of sheer terror, the wagon’s pace finally slowed. Alistair held a fist to his lips as a wave of nausea came over him; men were simply not meant to move that fast! He inched over to the edge of the wagon behind Hoplite, resigning himself to his fate as hot bile began bubbling up his throat. Instead, he found himself gaping in shock at the towering structure that now cast a shadow over their little cart.
A towering wall stretched out as far as the eye could see in both directions, looking almost exactly like the Fiendwall back in the Faelands. Almost, it seemed to loom over even that mighty construction, this could only be one place… the Gates of Akan-Var. This massive construct could have been the twin of Akan-Dar’s walls. Finally, after a week of hard travel, they had all made it through the first leg of their journey…
It would be harder from here on out.
Yet, while the walls were impossible to miss, the gates themselves proved more difficult to see. He always thought that they’d be scaled to match the fortifications they were set within, yet that was not the case. It was only when they reached the base of the wall that they saw it. It was an almost humble thing compared to the wall, no bigger than any other gate he’d seen in his travels. The cyclopean construct seemed to be almost completely intact from this distance, but as they drew closer the signs of decay became more apparent.
They must have been made out of a generic type of rock, not Setstone like the Fiendbridge. Massive chunks of stone had been taken out of the walls, leaving the surface of the wall pitted. Had there been a siege here at some point? This didn’t look like normal weathering, and Akan-Var likely had many enemies in the past… as Akan-Dar did now.
The gates themselves were made of the same sturdy rock as the walls, but they looked in even worse condition. Chunks of the gate had been completely punched through by something, leaving the other side visible, and it sat ajar, leaving enough space for an entire caravan to pass through. There were no Fiends anywhere to be seen either, at least none that were capable of moving. Halm had cleared them all out, as he had said, but where was the orc now? Had he not said that he’d be waiting on this side of the bridge for their arrival? Maybe he was on the other side of these battered gates, clearing the entrance so they wouldn’t be immediately swarmed by Fiends.
“Private Ortega, we’re here.” Hoplite said, “Remain hidden, we’re passing through the gates now.”
Only desperate screaming could be heard from Michael’s helmet as reply, a blood-curdling shout of pure terror. Alistair’s hand found the handle of his hammer as the cart quickly charged toward the gate, already mentally readying himself to summon Baomiel for the battle ahead.
“They found her!” Michael shouted, “We gotta hurry! Hold on Ortega, we’re inbound!”