Army of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 2) (18 page)

Quinn went quiet, unable to vocalize his fears the deeper into the idea his wife pitched herself.

Worriedly, Axandra watched him slump into the nearest seat. He lost his fight and now he resigned himself to the possibility of losing his dearest love.

“I do not possess all of the answers,” Casper explained with regret. “I do not know what you will do with a single creature within. I suspect it will starve without the nourishment it requires. How long it will survive is unknown. There is a great deal of mystery still left to these creatures. Though my people have intersected with similar species, there is much we cannot know. It is simply beyond our capacity to understand something so fundamentally different from ourselves.”

“Thank you, Casper,” Axandra said, giving up on questions. If she did not act quickly, the growing nervousness would cause her to abort her plan.

Quinn's reaction did not help.

Kneeling in front of him, she clasped his hands in hers.

Please, Quinn,
she implored directly.
I need your help.

My help?
he scoffed in kind. “Me?”

“Yes,” she answered aloud. “I need you to bolster my strength. I don't know what might happen. I might need you to pull me back.”

“Dear Goddess,” Quinn looked toward the heavens in prayer. “What am I about to let you do? Ok. But let's hurry. I don't have much resolve left.”

As she anticipated, the two Elite guarding the room refused to let her pass.

“Narone would not approve,” stated the young man whose name escaped her at the moment.

“Commander Narone isn't here,” Axandra pointed out. He was fairly new to the squad and pliable under her influence. She attempted to appeal to the guard's compassionate side. “And I don't have time to wait for his return. Franny may die before he comes back. I think I can help her.”

The young recruit wrestled with his conscience. He hated to see someone perish. He had no strict order or precedent for this situation. What he did have was the leader of his people staring him down, and she endeavored to make him feel as uncomfortable as possible.

“All right,” he permitted.

“Calvin!” his partner hissed behind the Protectress as she marched into the dim room. “What the hell!”

“Are you going to tell her no?” the argument ensued without her attention.

The ancient Franny Gilbert lay prostrate on the mattress of a narrow bunk, draped in a drab white sheet and brown wool blanket. The covers barely moved over shallow, open-mouthed breaths. The victim showed signs of the detrimental impact of the parasite— anemic skin tone, cracks around the mouth, protruding bones. The parasite had the ability to drain the body in any time frame it wished, and quite rapidly if it decided it needed to relocate. The deterioration happened at an alarming rate, visibly dehydrating as they watched on.

“Hurry,” Quinn said, both urgently and with reluctance.

Axandra laid her hands on Franny's icy skin and dove into the fading mind as though from an ocean cliff. Instead of cool blue water, she encountered waxy sludge, sallow yellow in color. A stench pierced her nostrils. Knowing these sensations were merely her own mind creating a physical representation of the mental environment, Axandra chose to ignore them, brush them aside and attempt to repaint the picture.

What are you doing here?
asked the disembodied voice of Franny Gilbert.
Your Honor, it isn't safe. I'm sorry.

I know it isn't. But I'm here to help you. Where is it?

I don't know,
Franny replied wearily.
I don't know. I'm sorry.

I will find it. Franny, I know it wasn't your fault. Everyone knows that.

Thank you, but I am still responsible. I should not have let it happen. I didn't even know the Stormfly was there until it attached.

Franny's voice followed her as she traveled through channels, each lined with dark walls devoid of color or design. These were blocking walls, constructs created within Franny's consciousness to protect vulnerable parts of her psyche. Behind each, Franny tried to keep her old memories and thoughts secreted from the Stormfly. Most performed successfully. Some appeared slightly aged, cracked or chipped. The degree of damage increased as she traveled in this direction, so Axandra deduced the creature must be hidden nearby.

Suddenly illuminated, an opening between the walls led her into the chamber she sought. Before her, looming at the height of two grown women, a glowing mass appeared wedged into one of the dark walls. From all sides protruded twisted tendrils, each pressing into an adjacent wall or sinking into the yellow muck. A pulsing sound on the lowest boundary of auditory frequency emitted from the Stormfly, accompanied by a rhythmic change in the intensity of its internal glow. Perhaps its own circulatory system caused the rhythm, like a heartbeat. The tendrils extended outward, penetrating neurons and nerves, dictating speech and movement separate from Franny's consciousness, although at this moment the creature focused on gorging itself on her body's nutrients prior to its expulsion from the deceased host.

Now how would she accomplish pulling the creature loose? The sliver inside Tyrane was just a tiny fraction of one of these beings, with only a single connection holding it in place, easy to tear asunder with a quick jerk.

The size of this entity existed only as a perception of her human mind. If she chose, she could expand her mental form to tower over the being. While the apparent size felt intimidating, the close up view rendered a clear picture of each intrusive filament. Dozens of connections, varying in length and diameter, affixed the Stormfly firmly in place. Multiple points of contact and active tendrils increased the difficulty exponentially.

This was completely insane! How could she hope to handle such a task? A few Healers had managed to remove the creatures, given years of experience in the profession, but not without sacrificing the host. Axandra possessed no such training. Surveying the network of connections, she concluded why extraction proved so wildly difficult and why her own survival was considered miraculous. This also explained her symptoms of amnesia of certain time periods and events. The damaged tissue and dead neurons extended deep inside Franny's brain, represented by the putrid yellowish-green color and darkened lesions in the space surrounding her.

How long?
Axandra inquired into the length of time Franny carried the infection.

Quiet or you'll wake it,
Franny warned nervously, the mental voice a shrill whisper.
It came to me just after you returned home from your abduction. I couldn't stop it. I tried to fight it. Once it attached, I was helpless.

Such a long time. Axandra assumed she would be able to recognize the emanations of someone infested by a creature with which she was so familiar. She failed to notice its proximity; but with her own brain damaged, memories in shambles, back and arm wracked with constant pain, there were too many obstacles to detecting anything outside herself. Nor had she spent much time speaking to Franny personally. The councilor rarely lingered after meetings and avoided gatherings.

Perhaps any hope of Franny's survival was a ridiculous notion.

I know I'm going to die,
Franny thought to her visitor.
I tried months ago to end it myself and get rid of the thing, but it wouldn't allow me.

Not while you served a purpose,
Axandra explained.
I'm sorry, Franny.

I feel so sorry for you, Madam, all you went through for us. I did not give you proper credit. Let me make this easier for you.

What? No!

Franny allowed herself to die. Everything within the visible range distorted and disappeared, except the parasite, which immediately withdrew all connection points and moved with great alacrity toward the optic nerve.

Axandra pounced, hoping to snare a loose filament with her hands. The creature lashed in a dozen directions. The tendrils ejected spikes, piercing her hands. The blinding light snapped her backward, sending her reeling out of control. Returning to her own reality, Axandra open her eyes the moment the creature escaped. The tiny orb appeared to ooze around Franny's eye from the outside corner, deforming the eyeball momentarily. With her hands feeling numb from her mental excursion, Axandra was unable to reach out for the creature.

Quinn stood ready, glass jar in hand. He lidded the vessel with the creature inside. His thick hands trembled as he held the jar fast. He made certain not to look at the creature, understanding from reports that its emanations could still affect him from inside the glass.

“It didn't work,” he said flatly.

“Franny died before I could extract it,” Axandra sighed with frustration. “Which I'm not even certain I can do. The complexity is incredible.”

Drained of energy, Axandra rubbed the bridge of her nose and sat back on her heels. “Maybe—” she shook her head. “Maybe I'll wake up from this nightmare in the morning,” she wished to herself. “I don't know what else to do.”

“None of us knows,” Quinn sympathized.

“That's not good enough—”

“Your Honor, what are you doing in here?” Phineas Gage stood at the doorway between the two guards, for once his face showing emotion—a spark of anger and a wealth of concern.

“Offering Franny comfort in her final moment,” she explained. Gently, she draped the sheet over Franny's still face.

“My apologies that I could not tend to her sooner.” Gage softened his expression immediately in sorrow. Any death, no matter how expected, touched a Healer personally.

“Franny was beyond help at this point. The Stormfly had caused too much damage.”

“Were you attempting to use yourself as a container?” Phineas pressed, ignoring her benign explanation. “Madam, we do not know what will happen to you if you accept one of these creatures into your mind again.”

“I know the risk, Healer, but I'm trying to do what I can to help solve this puzzle,” she defended. She decided to avoid bringing Casper into this as she continued. “You've talked about the damage to my brain and the scars and lesions. What if that makes me immune to further infestation? If I can contain one of these creatures and it is unable to take hold, perhaps it will die. Maybe I can even take control of it. That might affect all of them.”

“I refuse to let you put yourself at such risk!” Gage barked. With a huff and a jerk of his shoulders, he firmed up his jaw and lowered the volume of his voice. “I am responsible for your health, therefore I must protect you from committing any act that may be detrimental to your health. Period.”

Pinching her lips and closing her eyes tightly, Axandra found herself without a rebuttal. For now, she acquiesced to his demand. She had failed in her attempt to extract the parasite or capture it using her own body. Until she could prove it was possible, she had no argument to make.

Signaling Quinn to hand the jar to the Healer, Axandra pushed herself from the mattress to her feet. “I do not know what is being done with the creatures once captured, so please handle appropriately. And carefully.”

Momentarily, Phineas appeared mesmerized by the contents of the jar in his hands. How was something so destructively powerful so easily contained within glass? He tightened the lid for extra measure. This was the first time he had seen one of the creatures up close. He expected something larger and more sinister in shape, perhaps with barbs or spikes on the mantle. Instead, he found an orb the size of a marble, glowing with an internal bioluminescence in a shade of violet that felt pleasing to his eyes in an almost euphoric way. A moment later he refocused, shaking off the mental effect and building a mental wall against it.

“Now, if you'll excuse me. I will take this and prepare the body for internment.”

“Please do so,” Axandra granted, sending him away. Choosing the most senior of the guards present, Axandra summoned Dalia. “A moment please. Can you give me a report on the situation upstairs?”

“One moment, Madam.” Aside, Dalia spoke briefly into her radio and listened on her earpiece.

“The fire is now contained, but not yet extinguished,” Dalia echoed the voice speaking into her earpiece. “The refugees have been moved to the Council Room and dining room. At this time, fifteen staff members are unaccounted for. I'm sorry, Miri is included in that number.”

“Thank you for the information.” Turning away, Axandra allowed the guard to return to her post. The improvement was negligible. By the clock, five and a half hours had passed since she stood on the courtyard stones and watched the army march forward. It was 3:15 in the morning. With so much adrenaline coursing through her body, sleep was impossible, belying the exhaustion weighing down her limbs and aching her joints.

“I need a minute to freshen up,” she said quietly to the general population in the bunker. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Fortunately, Quinn understood his presence was not required. He stayed behind at the conference table and began to converse with Casper once again.

Proceeding down an unadorned corridor to her room, Axandra let the relative silence creep into her ears and drown out the noise of voices and clatter. Closing the door muted any extraneous sound. The darkness allowed her eyes relief from the glare of artificial light. Her temples ached and a spike of pain shot through the base of her skull from her shoulders below.

A splash of cool water on her face made her feel somewhat human again. And at the moment, she wasn't quite sure she qualified.

How many times in the last eight months had she stood at the edge of her balcony, staring at the ground below and flirted with the idea of falling to her end, just to make everything stop? Confusion, guilt, pain, feeling unwanted, wasted. Each time, she took in a deep breath, smelled the air, and let her senses fly undirected. Almost immediately, she found Quinn at the other end. His existence eased her heartache and gave her reassurance. Yet, sometimes falling appeared to be the better solution. She remembered the strongest moment of consideration being the day Phineas suggested he might be forced to amputate her arm just below the elbow. Followed closely by her discovery that a Prophet man was her biological father, a pawn in the play to keep her people oppressed in servitude to the Stormflies appetite, she was one more tragedy away from flinging herself over the balustrade and put herself out of her misery.