Army of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 2) (6 page)

“What do you want from us?” he questioned, acknowledging the triteness of the inquiry, like so many books he had read.

“Your lives. Through you, we are fed. Through you, we survive,” the voice responded. “Like so many before, we will conquer and consume you.”

“How many do you need? Perhaps we can offer…”

“All of you. Do not fool yourself into believing we will accept anything less.”

“Then why are you communicating with me? There must be something else you want,” Tyrane surmised. If the only desire of the creatures was to consume, then they should remain silent in their intentions and not bring attention to their consciousness. Perhaps the creatures had a love of gloating, which seemed to be the case from the tone of the haughty, disembodied voice.

“Only to inform you of your inferiority,” it responded. “You are the prey. We are the hunters.”

He had to come up with a plan, quickly, before anyone else fell victim. He had to perform one more act to help his species survive.

+++

When he negotiated the tenuous peace between humankind and the Stormflies, Tyrane had no clear understanding of immortality. He knew old stories, the desires of wealthy men in other times to stay young and hold onto the wealth forever. Tales of the fountain of youth swirled in his mind.

After three hundred years of extended existence, he knew the reality to be bleak. His body had not changed in all that time. Nor did anyone else. They had no children—they were no longer capable amongst themselves. The Great Storm, the swirling mass of Stormflies, sand, mist, and lightning, saw to it that pregnancies terminated prematurely, and eventually that the Prophets were made nearly sterile. Only a few men were still capable of siring children, and insemination was only possible with a woman from outside the Storm, one unadulterated by the toxic by-products of Stormfly captivity.

Tyrane's plan was far from simple, though some components were surprisingly simplistic. One Stormfly would be implanted within one woman, and that one soul would act as a collector for the nutrition the Stormflies required to survive. She would go out among the people, absorbing emanations from others, and she would return them to the Storm. She and her daughters and her daughter's daughters would perform this duty into the foreseeable future. By using a Prophet to father her children, they would ensure that the future generations grew stronger and able to maintain the demand.

As a side effect of this arrangement, the people mistook the first woman to be a messenger of peace. Because of their natural aggression, humans had begun to fight each other for resources and land. Battles threatened the lives of hundreds, and there were few lives to spare among the new arrivals. It was Amelia's wish that the Prophets do something to put an end to the fighting.

And so the office of the Protectress was born; and the First Council, elected by the people, came together to write and endorse the Covenants and guide the people into prosperous times. All the while, the Protectress was afforded enhanced abilities which were used to supply the Stormflies with an almost constant source of nourishment. And for three hundred years, the plan proceeded perfectly.

Elora ruined everything. The woman argued for the process to stop. She did not want her child to suffer. She implored Tyrane to put a stop to the torture, and she convinced Patrum, the child's biological father, to take action. They could find another way to appease the enemy, but no more children should be abused. Her pleas fell upon deaf ears; and so somehow, Elora and Patrum helped the girl escape from her training and go into hiding.

Bringing them here, to this insufferable place under the hill. The Prophets carried the Stormfly burden themselves, and the Queen plotted the elimination of the human species. And Tyrane was useless. Useless.

You were always a fool,
Tyrane chided himself.
You thought you could control them. You thought you were superior. You were for a time, and you protected your race. Now you are a criminal and a traitor. You deserve this fate.

23
^rd
Unimont (Matersday)

Miri Stockers, personal aide to the Protectress and long-time resident of Undun city, sat on the grassy side of the Palace hill basking in the light of the two suns as they sailed overhead. While the air from the mountains offered a cool twinge, the suns warmed her pale face and freckled arms. Even though soaking up so much sun without proper sunscreen was an unhealthy idea for most people, every once in a while, Miri wished she possessed a healthier-looking complexion besides bleached pink. After a winter spent indoors, she looked the color of toothpaste, and felt just as loose.

This winter, happily, she avoided any serious viral infection. She was so prone to illness that she took extra precautions during fever season to avoid her ailing neighbors, to wash her hands thoroughly, and to eat the most vitamin rich foods. Her chronically weak immune system made these habits a necessity in order to avoid a season-long infestation of germs. At least one time per winter, she fell victim to the River flu, despite vaccination, and was laid up for two weeks. With her mistress being so horribly injured last fall, Miri did not wish to leave the woman without assistance at any point. Miri was too valuable in helping the Matriarch keep up appearances when it came to failing to recognize a councilor by name, or forgetting to put on shoes or a coat—at least when Mr. Elgar was absent. The fewer people noticing the Protectress' forgetfulness the better.

Doubts about the Protectress' abilities were soaring at this time. Morgan Mainsteer's newsletters were escalating the issue. “Our Esteemed Matriarch is weaker than any of her predecessors. She is unskilled and uneducated,” Mainsteer stated in a recent installment of his monthly publication. “Her lack of formal training is a detriment to her office. It is my most adamant opinion that she should be removed.” Miri read the sheets to stay abreast of the opposition. Miri only wanted to protect her.

Now that spring bloomed, and the couple's commitment to be bonded and married loomed in the near future, Miri felt safer leaving the Protectress alone for bits here and there. If the aide was needed, the Protectress would summon her. Needing a quiet break, Miri enjoyed sitting here on the hill's gentle incline, just out of sight of any eyes from above or below, listening to the wind rustle the golden, dry, knee-high grass. Little else penetrated her ears from here, save the intermittent solo of song bird in the distance.

Yet, a visitor approached. As much as she enjoyed Mikel's company, every once in a while she wished he wouldn't come looking for her. He didn't understand that desire for some reason, so whenever he noticed her missing from the Palace proper, he started an expedition to seek her out wherever she was hiding on the grounds. Granting him leeway, she understood he worried about the Stormflies. Miri was the closest advisor the Protectress had. The Stormflies would be in a lethal position if one decided to infest her, so Mikel implored that she stay inside or at least with company.

Miri just shook her head. Physically, she was worthless to a Stormfly. She possessed little strength of body due to her near-constant bouts of illness, and her inner workings left something to be desired. If the creatures were dependent upon absorbing nutrient from their hosts, they would find little to feed on in the frail, thin Miri Stockers. Besides, Miri was too familiar with the creatures themselves, having sensed them in the minds of her two mistresses, the current Protectress and the deceased Protectress-Past. She recognized what they felt like and what they looked like. She felt highly confident she would sense one coming long before it could find a way into her mind. Unfortunately, most others did not possess such ability.

With steady crunches through the winter fallow, Mikel trudged downhill to his lover's side.

“There you are,” he announced upon his arrival. “I've been looking for you. It's nearly lunchtime. I thought maybe you'd like to join me.”

“I've already eaten,” she said to him plainly. “I'm sorry. I didn't know you wanted to eat together today, so I ate at eleven so I could leave the Protectress and Mr. Elgar some time together.”

“Oh,” he expressed, disappointment dominating his face. He had a notion that since they were seeing each other in a romantic relationship, they should always eat together or always meet when the work day was over. Miri decided this was a manifestation of his personal insecurities. Mikel didn't like spending much time alone. He craved companionship constantly, be it Miri or members of his guard unit. Miri had no such need. Time alone was vital to her well-being. “I just thought…”

“I can have dinner with you tonight, if you'd like,” she offered to appease him, attempting to nurture the romantic bud. “There are no formal plans this evening. The couple is staying in and wish to be alone.”

Mikel emanated something akin to jealousy whenever the Protectress was mentioned, as though he rued the fact that the Esteemed Matriarch, the leader of their people, garnered more affection from his companion than he did. Miri suspected that, if they were to continue their relationship into something more intimate, or even permanent, he would insist that Miri resign as the aide. But until that time, Miri didn't want to worry about it. “Good. I'd like that. We should be spending more time together. There is still so much about you I want to know.”

“We have plenty of time,” she insisted condescendingly. She fondled the tip of her thick, straight ponytail of golden blonde hair. “There's no rush.”

“I'm too eager,” Mikel said apologetically, inviting himself to sit down next to her. “I always want to learn everything I can as quickly as I can. It helps in my line of work.”

“True,” she agreed. A Palace guard needed to have his information quickly in order to provide protection and service. “This will be good practice for you to learn to slow down once in a while. Sometimes, you just have to sit and let the world go.”

“Not when the world could come crashing down around you at any moment,” he denied, shaking his head so that his groomed chestnut hair broke loose from the click of hair treatment. “Those creatures are out there stalking us. One day, we'll all be running for our lives. I don't plan on being caught with my pants down.”

“You can't let that eat you up,” Miri endeavored to instill upon him. “Yes, we need to be prepared, and we are getting there. The Council has a dozen plans active for different contingencies. At the end of the day, you have to let yourself live in the moment and not worry about it, if only for an hour or two. Otherwise you spend your entire life afraid.”

Mikel rolled his whiskey-colored eyes under caterpillar brows. “You sound as free-wheeling as any Believer I've ever met. Their kind don't seem to live in the same reality as the rest of us.”

Miri scowled, her jaw flexing as she tried to decide what he accused her of. Her frustration required a release valve. With pinched lips, she stated, “I know what reality is, Mikel. Reality is the gaping wound I help dress every day. Reality is the lingering threat that someday soon, people are going to start acting out of their minds because they are controlled by something evil. I understand what's coming. But I won't wallow in it every day until then. If this is all the life I have left, I'm going to enjoy some of it. We only have what time is given to us.”

“Fine,” he said brusquely and looked out into the distance. He didn't want to talk about it anymore.

She was attracted to Mikel, and this fact alone caused her to set aside some of his quirky attitudes in order to get closer to him. Sometimes, however, she just wanted to throw her hands up and walk away.

“Well, I'm going to get lunch. You should come inside,” Mikel said, pushing himself back to his feet after a few minutes of brooding. After brushing loose bits of grass debris from his uniform pants, he thrust out a hand to help her to her feet.

“No, thank you. I still have some time. I'm going to sit in the sun.” She hoped her tone expressed her inability to be swayed. She stared resolutely into the distance.

“Fine,” was his last disappointed word before he crunched his way through the grass uphill.

+++

23
^rd
Unimont

“Commander,” Ben captured his superior's attention with the strain in his voice. Ty Narone recognized an extreme level of emotion atypical of his lieutenant's demeanor.

“Yes, Ben,” Ty acknowledged as he hung a step back from his newest training class of recruits. He was preparing to offer two of them a way off and still save face. They simply did not meet his rigid standards.

“A—a report on the abductions.” Catching his breath, Ben nearly choked on the following words. “The body of an infant was found approximately twenty meters west of the paved road, buried in a shallow grave. The missing persons list shows an infant with her mother, Amanda Joiner. Neither has been accounted for and both were slated to be on that bus.”

With a tight jaw, Ty allowed himself a silent moment to curse the heavens and the Stormflies for their brutality. Through clenched teeth, he said, “Acknowledged. Have the next-of-kin been informed?”

“No, sir. The Healers will be taking care of that.”

The psychic experts were better suited to the task. Ty granted them that difficult task.

“Thank you. I will inform the HOC and the Matriarch of the matter,” Ty stated, accepting in hand a written copy of the detailed report.

Physically relieved, Ben silently snapped a bow and departed.

Narone dreaded speaking the words aloud. Ever since he was a child, he believed that nothing was true unless it was spoken aloud; and, in times of crisis, he had purposefully kept himself from vocally acknowledging certain events in hopes that they simply would no longer be fact. Despite an academic understanding of why this practice was completely false, occasions arose when childhood fallacies attempted to shroud him from facts too dreadful to bear.

No one so young deserved to die for any reason, but at times natural events precluded life. Natural events were accepted. These Stormflies, however, deserved every lick of vengeance that Ty and the rest of humankind wished to inflict upon them, and he planned on making this opinion known at every opportunity. Members of the Council had stalled too long on choosing a suitable approach to the problem. The delays only ensured the Stormflies would have the upper hand when battle arrived.

The recruits would have to wait. Ty returned control of the class to the on-duty trainer and exited the training ground on a bee-line for the People's Hall.

Ty found the Head-of-Council and the Protectress already in conference with each other, arguing over a set of dog-eared papers. Each had written copious notes and had slipped through these pages multiple times.

“Let's leave such suppositions to the experts,” Lelle chastised, her tone condescending toward the younger woman.

“I can read, Annie. It doesn't take an expert to see that the characteristics of the victims are shifting. Compare the traits of the missing to the deceased and you'll see that the Stormflies are hand-picking those with higher level of psychic ability. Healer Adese doesn't spell it out, but she alludes to it throughout her report. The higher the psychic level, the more vulnerable the individual. We need to issue a warning.”

“Ma'am, Matriarch,” Ty interrupted.

“Yes, Commander,” the Protectress acknowledged, releasing a pensive sigh that smoothed her raised hackles briefly before she sensed his discomfort. The changes in mood crossed her face like dancing shadows almost too elusive to catch with the eye. Ty knew them well by now. “Close the door, please.”

Doing so, Ty aimed his feet for the center of the room, where he stopped and snapped to attention. “Your Honors, I have received additional information concerning the missing bus.”

“It isn't good, is it,” Lelle grimaced, pinching her eyes and lips shut in dismay.

“No. An infant was aboard the bus. Her body has been found near one possible site of the abduction.”

“No,” the Protectress breathed out, a clenched sob escaping her lips. She quickly covered the lower half of her face with her hand in an attempt to squelch the reaction.

“That's terrible,” Lelle expressed, her face pensive and sour. “Just terrible. But does this confirm the location? Can we focus our efforts in that area?” She hated to brush the death aside so quickly, but she had the living to think about. She retained hope that someone from that bus would be found alive.

“Yes, Ma'am. The search teams are re-doubling their efforts in the foothills about a kilom from the road. There is a network of caves that might be in use,” Ty reported, feeding her hope. He offered her the sheaf of papers he'd been given.

“Good. Let's hope something positive comes from the effort. That poor child. Are there family in Undun?”

“The father,” Ty replied.

Lelle acknowledged with a curt nod. “Find his address for me. I think someone needs to deliver this news personally. We owe him that much.”

Narone nodded his approval and returned the way he had come, leaving Lelle to comfort the Protectress in her grief.

+++

23
^rd
Unimont, 308

“I could really use a glass of wine,” Axandra requested. She drank at least one glass per day. The Healer suggested it, as the anti-inflammatory effects aided with the pain in her arm and the persistent headaches that plagued her most days. But that was only part of the reason. She did not want to think about the death of an innocent child, and she especially didn't want to think about those damned Stormflies and their activities.

Quinn rose to oblige. “I'll bet. There is a lovely golden fermentation on our table tonight, from Southland. An earthy aroma,” he described as he sniffed the uncorked green glass bottle, “with a hint of pepper? Interesting.” He sipped a sample from a stemless crystal glass. “You'll like it.”

“Then please, hand it over,” she ordered with a touch of annoyance. Her open hand extended forcefully in his direction, the fingers groping the empty air.

“Starting to ache?”

Nodding, she confirmed her own grumpiness. “It's that time of day. The pill wears off and something about the sunset gives it a twinge. I know that sounds ludicrous. Gage thinks it's in my head, but as soon as that first sun disappears, the pain gets worse.”