"Manticore"
Mar. 19th, 2025 12:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Manticore"
3/15-3/16/2025
I.
In the co-pilot seat, Jocelyn Garimara peered down through the windscreen. "I am absolutely amazed at all the woods out here," she said. "It's gorgeous."
"Over half of Michigan is covered with forest," Frank Mills said. "There are roughly twenty million acres, much of which is protected State lands."
Gliding smoothly at ten thousand feet in the afternoon sunlight, the stealthcopter CORBY made no more noise than a stiff breeze would. The black sharklike shape showed no external lights and no identifying logos or numbers, quite in defiance of FAA regulations. At the combined collective/cyclic stick, Frank flew with deep concentration. His dark eyes moved constantly over the row of monitor screens and dozens of pastel green and blue status lights. Any of those lights flashing red would have been immediately noticed.
Just under forty, Jocelyn looked considerably younger because of her peak health and athletic condition. The dark brown skin was smooth and unlined, the whites of her eyes were clear and the straight black hair showed not a single grey strand. She was wearing a long white topcoat over dark shirt and pants, and she toyed with a copper-colored rod of metal three feet long. One end of that rod was capped with a pale blue faceted gem. Jocelyn tapped it frequently into the palm of her free hand.
"That's something I like about this country," she went on. "So much variety. Mountains, swamps, deserts, you name it. America is like a lot of different countries next to each other. All these years with the KDF and I still find new views that impress me."
Frank Mills had learned to put subdued inflection in his voice so that conversation with him did not feel stilted or unnatural. The Trom were as close to operating on logic without emotion as flesh and blood could manage but he did not want to sound robotic. "Approaching the Winfield property, ETA three minutes and forty seconds."
"Bloody hell, they sure do like their privacy. The last town we passed must have been twenty, twenty-five miles back. I saw a single hunting cabin since then." She telescoped the metal rod to a one foot length and fastened it to a clip inside her coat. "First mission as the new Sceptre."
"You have been practicing with diligence," Frank told her. "As far as anyone can judge, you have full control of its effects."
"There's the Winfield place. Dennis Winfield knew Jeremy twenty years ago, when he had to deal with Those Who Remember. He called us yesterday but he wouldn't explain what the danger was."
They slowed to hover over a cleared area of forty acres, joined by an asphalt driveway to the two-lane country road. Much of the field was given over to corn, not showing this early in the year. There was a two-story farm house with a huge barn close by, a pig sty adjoining. In front of the farm house was parked a white Ford Bronco and a lightweight buggy like a golf cart.
Twenty yards behind the barn stood a corral of fence posts supporting electrified wire. Eleven black and white cows were contained, and as she saw them, Jocelyn took in a sharp breath. "Frank! Look at the cows!"
"What do you notice?" he asked.
"They're all crowded in one corner. They're almost climbing on top of each other. Frank, they're terrified!"
II.
The CORBY settled gently down at a safe distance behind the barn. The four rotors slowed to a halt as three people emerged from the rear door of the farm house and watched. Two men were both tall, stocky figures in rough work clothes, while the woman was thin to the point of seeming frail in her light cotton dress with a cardigan draped over her shoulders. One of the men held a Mossberg Maverick 12 gauge pump shotgun with the barrels pointed down in front of him. The other wore a big pistol, a Desert Eagle .44 Magnum in a holster clipped to his belt.
The three of them stayed huddled close together, staring past even the dramatic black helicopter at the edge of the woods beyond the cleared field. Behind them in the open doorway, a German Shepherd whined but would not emerge. "Hello there!" one of the men called.
Jocelyn and Frank strolled over toward the farm house at a casual pace, figuring that the three hosts were visibly tense enough and needed a slow approach. Frank Mills was reassuring enough in his dark brown business suit, with a white dress shirt but no tie, the top button open. An inch over six feet tall, athletic looking, the Trom had a deep quiet confidence that people reacted well to.
A full foot shorter and slender in build, Jocelyn was much friendlier looking with large dark eyes and full lips. Most Americans had not seen an Aboriginal person before and were struck by the flashing smile in the dark face. "Hi!" she called back. "I talked with you on the phone last night. We're from the Kenneth Dred Foundation. I'm Jocelyn Garimara and this is Frank Mills. We're here to help."
Handshakes all around accompanied the introductions. The older man, wearing a trucker hat over brown hair shot with white strands, was Dennis Winfield. His wife was Doreen, patient-looking with lines of care in her face. The third man, resting one hand on his holstered pistol, was Dennis's son Gerry. He was heavier in build, with a rounder face, and seemed much jumpier.
"That helicopter is a big surprise," Gerry began. "Goddam, it's a mean-looking machine. I wasn't expecting any such sight today."
"Unfortunately, I have another assignment I must handle today," said Frank. "Southern Wisconsin. I will return as soon as possible to assist Jocelyn."
"Stay safe," the new Sceptre told her teammate, who had turned and was heading back to the stealthcopter.
"That will not be possible," the Trom replied evenly, swinging up into the pilot seat and sealing the hatch. The CORBY rose straight up, oddly before it seemed the rotors could have sped up enough to provide sufficient lift. Within seconds, it was a mere dot that sped off into the distance.
No one spoke for a moment. Jocelyn stared at the huddle of cows shivering on top of each other in one corner of their enclosure. She heard the whimper of the big strong dog in the doorway. She saw the raised shoulders and taut jaws of the three people, how Gerry Winfield's hands gripped tightly on his shotgun. She swung around and pointed at the edge of the forest and said, "I can feel it, too."
"Oh thank God," breathed Doreen. "I was sure you were going to laugh at us."
"Absolutely nothing funny about this problem." Jocelyn moved closer to the enclosure, careful not to brush up against the electrified wire. "These cows are scared out of their minds, they're ready to climb up over each other to escape."
"Then there's Liebchen," said Gerry Winfield. "Three year old pure German Shepherd. Brave as hell. I seen her chase coyotes away. Last two days, we have to drag her out to pee. She won't leave the house on her own."
"If you ask me, she's smart," the father added. "Dogs know when something's deadly wrong."
Jocelyn unclipped the Sceptre from inside her coat and snapped it open to its full length. The copper-colored metal of the shaft shimmered as if heated. When she raised the talisman, the blue gem on the end flashed once.
"And just what might that thing be, if I might ask?"
"It's called the Sceptre," Jocelyn said, frowning at the gem's flare died down. "Very ancient, very powerful. I'll come right out and tell you it's supernatural. You don't have to believe me."
"Oh, we know about the Midnight War," Dennis quickly said. "That's how we knew about your KDF and why we should call you. It must have been twelve, thirteen years ago when our family got mixed up with Those Who Remember. They were real, no-fooling witchmen practicing Black Magic."
"And then Jeremy Bane turned up out of nowhere," interrupted Doreen. "We didn't even know who he was. We all thought we were good as dead, tied up hand and foot, about to be carved by those wavy-bladed knives! Jeremy tore through them like a wolf let loose in a room full of rats! And he wouldn't take a reward, he didn't care for thanks, he just gave us a number to call if we ever saw anything weird or unexplainable."
That made Jocelyn smile for the first time that day. "That's my captain, all right! He's been doing that all his life. Dennis, Doreen, Gerry, I'm glad you called us. This is what my team was founded to investigate. Tonight, monster hunting season opens."
III.
By nine that night, they had all gotten to be comfortable with each other. Dinner was roast chicken, mashed sweet potatoes, peas and carrots... all of which the Winfields had raised themselves.
"You really can tell fresh food," Jocelyn gushed as she enjoyed a second serving. "Yank food is so full of chemicals and corn syrup and whatnot that it hardly has any flavor any more."
"We're as self-sufficient as we can manage," Dennis said, cracking open a bottle of beer.
"I work for a statewide insurance company," added Doreen. "Mostly from home. That brings in enough cash. But between the cows, pigs and chickens, we don't need to buy much meat. Every fall, we slaughter a big porker and freeze it all to last the winter. And our vegetable garden has been going great."
"There's some trout in a stream about four miles from here," Dennis said. "Haven't done much deer hunting for some reason, but that's available."
Doreen gathered up the plates and returned from the kitchen with a tray bearing four bowls of chocolate ice cream. "I wish I could say this was handmade, too. but we don't have a maker yet. Soon."
As she worked her way through the generous serving, Jocelyn said, "We have to start talking about going out tonight. I haven't demonstrated my talisman. It converts, well, call it spiritual force into any form of energy I choose. Light, heat, concussive force, even gravity. It's incredibly potent."
Seeing the dubious expressions on their faces, Jocelyn pointed the Sceptre away from everyone and concentrated. She channeled the transcendental gralic force through the Eldanar jewel and converted it into visible light. Blinding white radiance filled the room, dazzling everyone and leaving afterimages. As they all blinked and wiped away tears, she changed the emission to heat. The Sceptre radiated warmth which quickly intensified until the dining room was stifling.
"I believe it, I believe it!" said Gerry. "Jeez, turn it down, I'm sweating."
Telescoping the talisman up and clipping it inside her coat, Jocelyn went on. "There's also concussive force. It's kinetic energy. When I focus, I can flip a car over or knock a tree down. Mostly I use it to swat people senseless, saves a lot of punching ya know?"
"Where I can get one of those?" asked Dennis.
"Sorry, there's only one. Can't be duplicated," Jocelyn said. "Anyway, I'm going to need to borrow your truck. It's time to track down whatever is out there."
"Like hell! We're going with you."
"Yeah, where do you get the idea that we'd hide here while you go out after whatever it is?" added Gerry with real outrage in his voice. "This is our home. Our ranch. All three of us worked hard to build this place and no weird wild animal is going to chase us off it!"
Jocelyn did not respond for a long moment. She wanted to say that she had Tel Shai training and years of experience in the Midnight War, that she was wearing the silk-thin Trom armor under her clothes, that she was the one wielding the incredibly potent Sceptre... and they had none of these advantages. But she was on their side. People should defend what is theirs. "You're brave men," she said finally.
"Damn straight," Dennis snapped. "Our great-grandfathers and grandmothers took this mountain from bears and wolves and panthers. We'll do the same. Whatever is out there should be afraid of US!"
That made Jocelyn smile. "Fair enough. Tell you what, though, let's make sure your phones are charged and you each have a flashlight with fresh batteries. You're both well armed but a hunting knife or a hatchet wouldn't be a bad idea to bring along, too."
Gerry Winfield picked up the holster holding his Desert Eagle and nodded. "And you?"
"If you don't mind, I'm going to give your Bronco a rundown. Check the tires, oil, wipe the windows. Has it got a full tank of gas? Good. We'll be as ready as we can be."
IV.
Cruising slowly up a dirt trail miles from their ranch, Gerry was driving. His pistol was holstered by his right side with the butt up for a cross-draw. In the front passenger seat, his father Dennis held the twelve-gauge with both barrels up against the window to his right. Doreen had not really tried to go along, there was no weapon for her and she had said she would just be in the way. But Doreen was a church-going person and she would be literally praying that they all came home safe after a boring uneventful night.
In the back seat of the white Bronco, Jocelyn Garimara had fastened the Sceptre to her wrist by the leather strap at its lower end. Just below the blue gem at the top was a thin vertical strip of ivory with four buttons. No one had asked what they were for. As they were riding, Dennis did wonder just how a plain metal rod could generate so much energy without being hooked up to any power source.
"Beats me," she had answered. "I don't really understand it myself. Supposedly, there's a sort of spiritual energy in the air, all around us, something we can't see or feel at all. Different societies have different names for it. The Chinese call it Chi."
"Oh, I heard about something similar," Gerry said. "I took Shotokan Karate for three years. Never got really good at it, though. Our Sensei talked about a power called Ki that let you do things your body shouldn't be able to do by itself. I saw him perform some wild stunts, not breaking boards but holding a grown man off the ground with one arm."
"Yeah," Jocelyn added. "As I understand it, we can tap this gralic force with our minds and use it to manifest normal energy like light, heat, magnetism, gravity, you know. That's what the Sceptre does. I've only been using this thing for a month now, there's still a lot I'm learning to do."
Gerry shook his head. "It's a strange world. I always figured there's mysteries going on that we don't understand... and some we may never understand."
Unexpectedly, the Bronco braked to a sudden stop. The three of them were thrown forward and then back. Dennis yelped, "What? WHAT?!"
Galloping headlong along the trail, a half dozen deer stampeded right at them. One of the animals slammed into a front bumper, stumbled and took off again. It was a sight stunning in its unexpectedness. One of the deer lost its footing in a hole in the trail, and in the instant that the animals faltered, a huge dark shape pounced down upon it and both beasts crashed to the dirt.
No one in the truck realized they had frozen in place to the point of holding their breaths. They were in the grip of a primal terror older than civilization, an instinct dating back before true Humans faced giant beasts with nothing more than sharpened sticks and thrown stones.
Jocelyn recovered in a few seconds, while Gerry and Dennis were still trying to process what they were seeing. More than a decade in the Midnight War had hardened her to facing terrible threats. She had tackled Kulan and werewolves and Trolls. Gripping the Sceptre in her right hand, she reached for the handle of the car door to her left.
Ripping open the dying deer was an immense beast seemingly as large as the Bronco itself. The monster's back half was that of an African lion eight feet long, its tawny fur gleaming in the headlights, but the front half was that of a black-furred mountain gorilla. The manticore had entirely pulled off one of the deer's forelegs and thrown it aside.
Dennis Winfield yelled "Jesus Christ!" and slammed open his door, stepping out. He fired the shotgun, pumped it and fired it again. Before he could see he had not hit the manticore, the carcass of the deer sailed through the air to crash through the Bronco's windshield. The airbags deployed. Gerry was pinned under his airbag and unable to fire his handgun, while Gerry was knocked off the trail by the impact against the truck.
Roaring, the manticore charged and seized the open truck door in its hands, yanking it cleanly off its hinges. Dennis was sprawled dazedly, unable to find the shotgun, trying to scrabble out of reach. The gorilla head snarled as the monster lunged forward.
But a blast of pure white force exploded against the beast with a sharp detonation louder than thunder at point-blank range. The manticore seemed to vanish entirely, but an instant later it could be seen tumbling along the trail fifty yards away. Smoke rose from its apelike chest.
Everything had taken place within a few seconds. Gerry Winfield had gotten his hunting knife out and was trying to cut away the airbag to free himself. His father seemed too confused by the trauma to decide whether he wanted to find the twelve-gauge first or to attempt getting back into the Bronco through the opening where the door had been.
Jocelyn Garimara calmly stepped out onto the trail. The gem at the top of the Sceptre was shining so brightly it was painful to look out. She saw the manticore recover and launched a second gralic bolt but the beast vaulted away down the trail the way it came from. She did not pursue it. Still keeping watch for the monster's possible return, Sceptre held ready, she crossed over to help Dennis up. The older man was agitated but not hysterical.
"What WAS that thing?" he demanded. "What the Hell? It looked like a goddam gorilla but its body was no gorilla. I never heard of such a thing. Where's Gerry? Is he okay?"
Coming around the front of the Bronco, Gerry grabbed the older man by the arms. "Dad, you're not hurt? Thank God, I thought for sure that monster was going to eat you alive..."
Jocelyn had recovered the shotgun, found it undamaged and handed it to the senior Winfield. "Here. Gerry, I'd suggest keeping your gun in your hand. That manticore wasn't badly hurt and anyway, there might be more than one."
The two men gazed sadly at the damaged truck. "Smell that antifreeze? Let's get the deer off the hood and rip out of the airbags. But I don't think our Bronco is drivable."
While the Sceptre kept watch, swinging the beam from her talisman around like a searchlight, the Winfields cleared the truck as best they could but found it wouldn't even turn over. "Goddam, and I just made the last payment, too," Dennis grumbled.
"I guess we're in for a long hike home," the son said. "Not looking forward to it."
"Sure not going to call your mother to come pick us up," Dennis replied with some steadiness coming back to his voice. "It's not like we broke down at the supermarket."
Pointing the heavy Desert Eagle downin front of him with both hands, Gerry turned to Jocelyn. "Say, what was that word you used. A many-core?"
"Manticore. They're not a natural animal," she said. "They were created by Black Magic ages ago. Front half is a gorilla, rear half is a lion. Like centaurs and griffins, they couldn't possibly have evolved. The Darthim created them. I saw a few of them years ago but not close up like tonight."
Dennis had picked up a few items from inside the wrecked truck and stowed them in the deep pockets of his coat. "Guess we're as ready as we're gonna be, Jocelyn. Might as well start walking."
The three of them spaced themselves an arm's length apart as they began trudging down the dirt road. The Winfields had their guns ready and Jocelyn kept the Sceptre swinging around to cast its brilliant beam into the night as they began the longest and most nerve-wracking walk of their lives.
Miles of densely crowded spruce and fir hemmed them in on both sides, with brush filling spaces between the trees. Attempts at conversation died down into grim silence. Many times, they spontaneously halted to listen intently. Every time a breeze stirred leaves made them tense up. At one point, Dennis plucked his cell phone from a pants pocket and grunted, "Two bars."
Time crawled by with agonizing slowness. Finally, inevitably, the white beam from the Sceptre showed the country road ahead perpendicular to the dirt trail. Gerry could not repress a sigh of relief.
Then a cracking of branches and a crashing to their left made their hearts miss a beat. They swung around toward the racket as a huge dark shape reared up from the brush and plunged toward them.
This time, both barrels of the twelve-gauge exploded deafeningly loud and the manticore's black chest ripped open. The beast stumbled, falling to one side with blood and a lung spilling out. Gerry emptied the heavy .44 pointblank to split open that simian head. Between the thunder of the gunshots and the dazzle of the flashes, both men were dazed for the moment.
Jocelyn had happened to be on the other side of the Winfields, unable to send a gralic blast without hitting them. She had an instant to feel joy at seeing them react so swiftly to defend themselves and she lowered the Sceptre as something smashed the back of her head with murderous force.
V.
Coming back to consciousness took tremendous effort. It was much like trying to wake up after falling into exhausted sleep but with the extra resistance of throbbing pain. Like other Tel Shai knights, Jocelyn had the enhanced healing factor which meant the concussion would probably not leave her with brain damage, blurred vision or vertigo. But she felt nauseous and had to fight down an urge to vomit.
Her training made her stay still, not even opening her eyes a crack as she catalogued her sensations. She was still outside. She was lying on her back on cold grass, her hands tied in front of her at her waist. It felt like thin wire binding her thumbs together, but she could not feel anything holding her legs. The back of her head was pounding abominably, not an unfamiliar sensation in her career.
"The female still lives, Master," said a man with a New York City accent. Jocelyn managed not to react but the next voice gave her a cold jolt of alarm.
"Excellent," came a hollow sepulchral monotone. "She is a valuable hostage and prisoner. Thrall Five! Lean her up against that white tree."
As rough hands dragged her a few feet and propped her up against a birch, Jocelyn snapped her eyes open and instantly took in her situation like a single snapshot. The Winfield men were sitting up back to back, also with their hands wired together, and both had bruised and bloody faces. Behind them was a canvas tent twenty feet to a side with an electric lantern on a stand inside the opening.
Five men were scattered about, watching her suspiciously. They were wearing jeans and dark jackets, each of which had a large number in white on the front. In a bizarre touch, each had his face painted dead white, even the one man who was a dark-skinned Latino.
Nearby, a deep snuffling grunt sounded. A manticore.
But after that first split-second of analyzing the scene, all her attention was on the grotesque figure which leered at her from arm's length. Wrapped in a heavy, ankle-length robe, arms foldded, the man had a face exactly like a skull covered tightly with chalk-white skin. Under prominent brow ledges was a pair of pink-irised eyes. No hair, no external ears, the nose a mere snub above a wide toothy grin.
He was tapping the Sceptre lightly against an open palm.
"Malacoda!" she snorted. "We've been looking for you."
A ghoulish chuckle answered her. The albino Nekrosan said, "How relieved I was when Midnight War gossip told me that you had lost your Red Spectre! That bolt of living lightning was a genuine threat. And the fact you now rely on this trinket only confirms your powerlessness. Laura Salerno's Sceptre! By Draldros Himself, what an unexpected find. I believe it has been missing for more than sixty years. Do not fear, Human woman, I will find good use for it."
"You're wasting your time, it won't work for you."
The Nekrosan sorcerer deftly twirled the Sceptre in a bony hand. "Yes, talismans like this bond and will only function for one person... as long as that person is alive, heh heh."
Unexpectedly, Dennis Winfield burst out, "What in God's name happened to your face, man? Were you in a fire?"
Malacoda scoffed. "Ignorant Humans...! No, you fool. I am a Nekrosan! My entire Race looks as I do, except that I have been graced with the white skin that marks me as a Prophet of Death. But your kind will come to know me well. I have been sent to spread utter fear over this world. Before this time next year, Humans will shiver at my name and dread what my next attack will be."
Inwardly, Jocelyn was reassured to see her companions had not had their spirits broken by the traumatic events of the night. She was certain that, if they were freed, both Dennis and Gerry Winfield would fight their captors.
"And these poor lost souls cling to you now?" she asked Malacoda. "You're starting your own sad little cult?"
One of the men with white-painted faces yelled, "Shut up! You don't know anything. The world needs the Living Skull, he is a harbinger of the cataclysms which will cleanse this filthy planet."
"You're getting played, mate! He's just using you," she laughed.
Malacoda placed a restraining hand on his enraged follower, making a tsk-tsk sound. "Calm yourself, my son. Do not waste your time arguing with this foolish woman. See to the manticore."
"Oh, so your beastie wasn't hurt as bad as I hoped, eh?" said Jocelyn. "I sure meant to blow his ugly head off."
The skull-faced man always seemed to be grinning. The structure of his face allowed him no other expression. But there was no glee in his voice as he pointed with the Sceptre. "You weary me, Human. I thought you could be bait in a trap for your fellow Tel Shai knights. But never mind that. I can deal with them no matter what, and I think I do not need to suffer your presence any longer."
Jocelyn had drawn one knee up so that her right foot was planted flat on the forest floor while her other leg was still tucked beneath her. She saw that her wrists were bound not with wire but by common fishing line. None of the white-painted cultists seemed to be armed and she couldn't see any sign of the Winfields' firearms. Now was as good a time as any to act.
"So, Malacoda," she said, putting a hint of fear in her voice. "You like the Sceptre? How would you feel about getting hold of Malberon's silver hammer? Or the shards of Hellspawn? Or even Zhune artifacts like the Dwindle Horn? My team has built up quite a collection."
"In exchange for your life?" the Nekrosan wondered. "Hmmm. It's a tempting thought, but of course this is an obvious trick...." As he spoke, he tapped the Sceptre against his chest thoughtfully.
"You're bloody well right." Ten feet away, Jocelyn focused all her will on the ancient talisman. An explosion blazed up, the clearing turning so white nothing could be seen and the detonation deafened everyone present. Already moving although she couldn't see for the moment, she heaved up and leaped right at the stunned Malcoda, sending them both to the ground. With her wrists bound, she still managed to wrestle the Sceptre away in a clumsy grip. She rolled over, sat up and began blasting out blinding shafts of energy that ripped apart anything they struck. Even under the circumstances, she kept clear in her mind where the Winfield father and son were, and she avoided lashing out in that direction.
It was like a thunderstorm brought to earth. Trees flew apart into splinters and caught fire. Two of the uncomprehending cultists were smashed into gory fragments, and the tent flew up into the air tro come down blazing. After a few seconds, Jocelyn narrowed the gralic force to a needle-thin beam and managed to sever the line holding her wrists together. She stood up, chest heaving not from exertion but from adrenalin, and let things settle down as she caught her breath.
The clearing was an unholy shambles, with debris scattered everywhere and small fires burning. Gruesome fragments of shattered bodies were lying all around. Jocelyn saw immediately that there was no trace of Malacoda. Not far away, the sound of a car was speeding off into the distance. She could still catch him. The Sceptre could overcome gravity enough to propel her through the air, although her control was still uncertain.
Before she could lift off, a crashing sounded on the other side of the clearing. The manticore had in its frenzy broken through its enclosure. The beast raced headlong, not at Jocelyn, but at where Dennis and Gerry Winfield had gotten to their feet. In another instant, it would crush them beneath its pounce. The shaft of the Sceptre was already scalding hot in her hands but Jocelyn concentrated one finsl time. Thick as the stream from a firefighter hose, a rush of gralic force impacted against the hybrid in mid-leap, throwing it end over end for a hundred yard. Its crushed and flattened form did not stir.
Jocelyn collapsed to hands and knees, her head swimming from the mental effort. The Sceptre was burning her fingers but she could not open her hands to release it. Dimly, she felt herself being stretched out gently on the ground. From a great distance, voices were asking if she was all right.
After a few minutes, her awareness sharpened again. She saw the worried faces of Dennis and Gerry Winfield staring down at her. She mumbled incoherent thanks, tried to sit up but then lay panting for a little while until she felt back to normal.
"I heard a car start up in that direction," Gerry said. "Sounded like a big SUV, I guess the trail is that way. We have no idea where we are. Those freaks with the painted faces beat the crap out of us."
"I know I lost a tooth," Dennis added. "That was some fireworks display, Jocelyn. It was like being on a battlefield."
Feeling stronger, Jocelyn got to her feet with the men helping to steady her. Normally, she was touchy about being fussed over but she found it oddly touching how solicitous they were for her. "Whew. That took a lot out of me. Listen. We still have things to do. You guys find your guns and any other belongings that might identify you. In a few minutes, I'm going to have to incinerate that manticore so not enough remains if anyone finds it to raise suspicions. Midnight War is secret for a reason."
Gerry gestured around him. "A couple bushes are smoldering. I'll smother them with dirt. Last thing we need is a no-fooling forest fire."
"Good thinking," she said, wiping sweat from her face with the back of a hand. "You know, you guys amaze me. Most people would be twitching and babbling wrecks after going through what you did. But you both seem fine."
Gerry grinned and started looking around for their weapons. "Maybe it just hasn't sunk in yet. Maybe tomorrow we'll be afraid to come out from under the covers."
"I've already decided to act like all this never happened," said his father. "Except maybe in ten years or so, I might phone in to one of those late night true mystery shows on the radio...."
3/19/2025
3/15-3/16/2025
I.
In the co-pilot seat, Jocelyn Garimara peered down through the windscreen. "I am absolutely amazed at all the woods out here," she said. "It's gorgeous."
"Over half of Michigan is covered with forest," Frank Mills said. "There are roughly twenty million acres, much of which is protected State lands."
Gliding smoothly at ten thousand feet in the afternoon sunlight, the stealthcopter CORBY made no more noise than a stiff breeze would. The black sharklike shape showed no external lights and no identifying logos or numbers, quite in defiance of FAA regulations. At the combined collective/cyclic stick, Frank flew with deep concentration. His dark eyes moved constantly over the row of monitor screens and dozens of pastel green and blue status lights. Any of those lights flashing red would have been immediately noticed.
Just under forty, Jocelyn looked considerably younger because of her peak health and athletic condition. The dark brown skin was smooth and unlined, the whites of her eyes were clear and the straight black hair showed not a single grey strand. She was wearing a long white topcoat over dark shirt and pants, and she toyed with a copper-colored rod of metal three feet long. One end of that rod was capped with a pale blue faceted gem. Jocelyn tapped it frequently into the palm of her free hand.
"That's something I like about this country," she went on. "So much variety. Mountains, swamps, deserts, you name it. America is like a lot of different countries next to each other. All these years with the KDF and I still find new views that impress me."
Frank Mills had learned to put subdued inflection in his voice so that conversation with him did not feel stilted or unnatural. The Trom were as close to operating on logic without emotion as flesh and blood could manage but he did not want to sound robotic. "Approaching the Winfield property, ETA three minutes and forty seconds."
"Bloody hell, they sure do like their privacy. The last town we passed must have been twenty, twenty-five miles back. I saw a single hunting cabin since then." She telescoped the metal rod to a one foot length and fastened it to a clip inside her coat. "First mission as the new Sceptre."
"You have been practicing with diligence," Frank told her. "As far as anyone can judge, you have full control of its effects."
"There's the Winfield place. Dennis Winfield knew Jeremy twenty years ago, when he had to deal with Those Who Remember. He called us yesterday but he wouldn't explain what the danger was."
They slowed to hover over a cleared area of forty acres, joined by an asphalt driveway to the two-lane country road. Much of the field was given over to corn, not showing this early in the year. There was a two-story farm house with a huge barn close by, a pig sty adjoining. In front of the farm house was parked a white Ford Bronco and a lightweight buggy like a golf cart.
Twenty yards behind the barn stood a corral of fence posts supporting electrified wire. Eleven black and white cows were contained, and as she saw them, Jocelyn took in a sharp breath. "Frank! Look at the cows!"
"What do you notice?" he asked.
"They're all crowded in one corner. They're almost climbing on top of each other. Frank, they're terrified!"
II.
The CORBY settled gently down at a safe distance behind the barn. The four rotors slowed to a halt as three people emerged from the rear door of the farm house and watched. Two men were both tall, stocky figures in rough work clothes, while the woman was thin to the point of seeming frail in her light cotton dress with a cardigan draped over her shoulders. One of the men held a Mossberg Maverick 12 gauge pump shotgun with the barrels pointed down in front of him. The other wore a big pistol, a Desert Eagle .44 Magnum in a holster clipped to his belt.
The three of them stayed huddled close together, staring past even the dramatic black helicopter at the edge of the woods beyond the cleared field. Behind them in the open doorway, a German Shepherd whined but would not emerge. "Hello there!" one of the men called.
Jocelyn and Frank strolled over toward the farm house at a casual pace, figuring that the three hosts were visibly tense enough and needed a slow approach. Frank Mills was reassuring enough in his dark brown business suit, with a white dress shirt but no tie, the top button open. An inch over six feet tall, athletic looking, the Trom had a deep quiet confidence that people reacted well to.
A full foot shorter and slender in build, Jocelyn was much friendlier looking with large dark eyes and full lips. Most Americans had not seen an Aboriginal person before and were struck by the flashing smile in the dark face. "Hi!" she called back. "I talked with you on the phone last night. We're from the Kenneth Dred Foundation. I'm Jocelyn Garimara and this is Frank Mills. We're here to help."
Handshakes all around accompanied the introductions. The older man, wearing a trucker hat over brown hair shot with white strands, was Dennis Winfield. His wife was Doreen, patient-looking with lines of care in her face. The third man, resting one hand on his holstered pistol, was Dennis's son Gerry. He was heavier in build, with a rounder face, and seemed much jumpier.
"That helicopter is a big surprise," Gerry began. "Goddam, it's a mean-looking machine. I wasn't expecting any such sight today."
"Unfortunately, I have another assignment I must handle today," said Frank. "Southern Wisconsin. I will return as soon as possible to assist Jocelyn."
"Stay safe," the new Sceptre told her teammate, who had turned and was heading back to the stealthcopter.
"That will not be possible," the Trom replied evenly, swinging up into the pilot seat and sealing the hatch. The CORBY rose straight up, oddly before it seemed the rotors could have sped up enough to provide sufficient lift. Within seconds, it was a mere dot that sped off into the distance.
No one spoke for a moment. Jocelyn stared at the huddle of cows shivering on top of each other in one corner of their enclosure. She heard the whimper of the big strong dog in the doorway. She saw the raised shoulders and taut jaws of the three people, how Gerry Winfield's hands gripped tightly on his shotgun. She swung around and pointed at the edge of the forest and said, "I can feel it, too."
"Oh thank God," breathed Doreen. "I was sure you were going to laugh at us."
"Absolutely nothing funny about this problem." Jocelyn moved closer to the enclosure, careful not to brush up against the electrified wire. "These cows are scared out of their minds, they're ready to climb up over each other to escape."
"Then there's Liebchen," said Gerry Winfield. "Three year old pure German Shepherd. Brave as hell. I seen her chase coyotes away. Last two days, we have to drag her out to pee. She won't leave the house on her own."
"If you ask me, she's smart," the father added. "Dogs know when something's deadly wrong."
Jocelyn unclipped the Sceptre from inside her coat and snapped it open to its full length. The copper-colored metal of the shaft shimmered as if heated. When she raised the talisman, the blue gem on the end flashed once.
"And just what might that thing be, if I might ask?"
"It's called the Sceptre," Jocelyn said, frowning at the gem's flare died down. "Very ancient, very powerful. I'll come right out and tell you it's supernatural. You don't have to believe me."
"Oh, we know about the Midnight War," Dennis quickly said. "That's how we knew about your KDF and why we should call you. It must have been twelve, thirteen years ago when our family got mixed up with Those Who Remember. They were real, no-fooling witchmen practicing Black Magic."
"And then Jeremy Bane turned up out of nowhere," interrupted Doreen. "We didn't even know who he was. We all thought we were good as dead, tied up hand and foot, about to be carved by those wavy-bladed knives! Jeremy tore through them like a wolf let loose in a room full of rats! And he wouldn't take a reward, he didn't care for thanks, he just gave us a number to call if we ever saw anything weird or unexplainable."
That made Jocelyn smile for the first time that day. "That's my captain, all right! He's been doing that all his life. Dennis, Doreen, Gerry, I'm glad you called us. This is what my team was founded to investigate. Tonight, monster hunting season opens."
III.
By nine that night, they had all gotten to be comfortable with each other. Dinner was roast chicken, mashed sweet potatoes, peas and carrots... all of which the Winfields had raised themselves.
"You really can tell fresh food," Jocelyn gushed as she enjoyed a second serving. "Yank food is so full of chemicals and corn syrup and whatnot that it hardly has any flavor any more."
"We're as self-sufficient as we can manage," Dennis said, cracking open a bottle of beer.
"I work for a statewide insurance company," added Doreen. "Mostly from home. That brings in enough cash. But between the cows, pigs and chickens, we don't need to buy much meat. Every fall, we slaughter a big porker and freeze it all to last the winter. And our vegetable garden has been going great."
"There's some trout in a stream about four miles from here," Dennis said. "Haven't done much deer hunting for some reason, but that's available."
Doreen gathered up the plates and returned from the kitchen with a tray bearing four bowls of chocolate ice cream. "I wish I could say this was handmade, too. but we don't have a maker yet. Soon."
As she worked her way through the generous serving, Jocelyn said, "We have to start talking about going out tonight. I haven't demonstrated my talisman. It converts, well, call it spiritual force into any form of energy I choose. Light, heat, concussive force, even gravity. It's incredibly potent."
Seeing the dubious expressions on their faces, Jocelyn pointed the Sceptre away from everyone and concentrated. She channeled the transcendental gralic force through the Eldanar jewel and converted it into visible light. Blinding white radiance filled the room, dazzling everyone and leaving afterimages. As they all blinked and wiped away tears, she changed the emission to heat. The Sceptre radiated warmth which quickly intensified until the dining room was stifling.
"I believe it, I believe it!" said Gerry. "Jeez, turn it down, I'm sweating."
Telescoping the talisman up and clipping it inside her coat, Jocelyn went on. "There's also concussive force. It's kinetic energy. When I focus, I can flip a car over or knock a tree down. Mostly I use it to swat people senseless, saves a lot of punching ya know?"
"Where I can get one of those?" asked Dennis.
"Sorry, there's only one. Can't be duplicated," Jocelyn said. "Anyway, I'm going to need to borrow your truck. It's time to track down whatever is out there."
"Like hell! We're going with you."
"Yeah, where do you get the idea that we'd hide here while you go out after whatever it is?" added Gerry with real outrage in his voice. "This is our home. Our ranch. All three of us worked hard to build this place and no weird wild animal is going to chase us off it!"
Jocelyn did not respond for a long moment. She wanted to say that she had Tel Shai training and years of experience in the Midnight War, that she was wearing the silk-thin Trom armor under her clothes, that she was the one wielding the incredibly potent Sceptre... and they had none of these advantages. But she was on their side. People should defend what is theirs. "You're brave men," she said finally.
"Damn straight," Dennis snapped. "Our great-grandfathers and grandmothers took this mountain from bears and wolves and panthers. We'll do the same. Whatever is out there should be afraid of US!"
That made Jocelyn smile. "Fair enough. Tell you what, though, let's make sure your phones are charged and you each have a flashlight with fresh batteries. You're both well armed but a hunting knife or a hatchet wouldn't be a bad idea to bring along, too."
Gerry Winfield picked up the holster holding his Desert Eagle and nodded. "And you?"
"If you don't mind, I'm going to give your Bronco a rundown. Check the tires, oil, wipe the windows. Has it got a full tank of gas? Good. We'll be as ready as we can be."
IV.
Cruising slowly up a dirt trail miles from their ranch, Gerry was driving. His pistol was holstered by his right side with the butt up for a cross-draw. In the front passenger seat, his father Dennis held the twelve-gauge with both barrels up against the window to his right. Doreen had not really tried to go along, there was no weapon for her and she had said she would just be in the way. But Doreen was a church-going person and she would be literally praying that they all came home safe after a boring uneventful night.
In the back seat of the white Bronco, Jocelyn Garimara had fastened the Sceptre to her wrist by the leather strap at its lower end. Just below the blue gem at the top was a thin vertical strip of ivory with four buttons. No one had asked what they were for. As they were riding, Dennis did wonder just how a plain metal rod could generate so much energy without being hooked up to any power source.
"Beats me," she had answered. "I don't really understand it myself. Supposedly, there's a sort of spiritual energy in the air, all around us, something we can't see or feel at all. Different societies have different names for it. The Chinese call it Chi."
"Oh, I heard about something similar," Gerry said. "I took Shotokan Karate for three years. Never got really good at it, though. Our Sensei talked about a power called Ki that let you do things your body shouldn't be able to do by itself. I saw him perform some wild stunts, not breaking boards but holding a grown man off the ground with one arm."
"Yeah," Jocelyn added. "As I understand it, we can tap this gralic force with our minds and use it to manifest normal energy like light, heat, magnetism, gravity, you know. That's what the Sceptre does. I've only been using this thing for a month now, there's still a lot I'm learning to do."
Gerry shook his head. "It's a strange world. I always figured there's mysteries going on that we don't understand... and some we may never understand."
Unexpectedly, the Bronco braked to a sudden stop. The three of them were thrown forward and then back. Dennis yelped, "What? WHAT?!"
Galloping headlong along the trail, a half dozen deer stampeded right at them. One of the animals slammed into a front bumper, stumbled and took off again. It was a sight stunning in its unexpectedness. One of the deer lost its footing in a hole in the trail, and in the instant that the animals faltered, a huge dark shape pounced down upon it and both beasts crashed to the dirt.
No one in the truck realized they had frozen in place to the point of holding their breaths. They were in the grip of a primal terror older than civilization, an instinct dating back before true Humans faced giant beasts with nothing more than sharpened sticks and thrown stones.
Jocelyn recovered in a few seconds, while Gerry and Dennis were still trying to process what they were seeing. More than a decade in the Midnight War had hardened her to facing terrible threats. She had tackled Kulan and werewolves and Trolls. Gripping the Sceptre in her right hand, she reached for the handle of the car door to her left.
Ripping open the dying deer was an immense beast seemingly as large as the Bronco itself. The monster's back half was that of an African lion eight feet long, its tawny fur gleaming in the headlights, but the front half was that of a black-furred mountain gorilla. The manticore had entirely pulled off one of the deer's forelegs and thrown it aside.
Dennis Winfield yelled "Jesus Christ!" and slammed open his door, stepping out. He fired the shotgun, pumped it and fired it again. Before he could see he had not hit the manticore, the carcass of the deer sailed through the air to crash through the Bronco's windshield. The airbags deployed. Gerry was pinned under his airbag and unable to fire his handgun, while Gerry was knocked off the trail by the impact against the truck.
Roaring, the manticore charged and seized the open truck door in its hands, yanking it cleanly off its hinges. Dennis was sprawled dazedly, unable to find the shotgun, trying to scrabble out of reach. The gorilla head snarled as the monster lunged forward.
But a blast of pure white force exploded against the beast with a sharp detonation louder than thunder at point-blank range. The manticore seemed to vanish entirely, but an instant later it could be seen tumbling along the trail fifty yards away. Smoke rose from its apelike chest.
Everything had taken place within a few seconds. Gerry Winfield had gotten his hunting knife out and was trying to cut away the airbag to free himself. His father seemed too confused by the trauma to decide whether he wanted to find the twelve-gauge first or to attempt getting back into the Bronco through the opening where the door had been.
Jocelyn Garimara calmly stepped out onto the trail. The gem at the top of the Sceptre was shining so brightly it was painful to look out. She saw the manticore recover and launched a second gralic bolt but the beast vaulted away down the trail the way it came from. She did not pursue it. Still keeping watch for the monster's possible return, Sceptre held ready, she crossed over to help Dennis up. The older man was agitated but not hysterical.
"What WAS that thing?" he demanded. "What the Hell? It looked like a goddam gorilla but its body was no gorilla. I never heard of such a thing. Where's Gerry? Is he okay?"
Coming around the front of the Bronco, Gerry grabbed the older man by the arms. "Dad, you're not hurt? Thank God, I thought for sure that monster was going to eat you alive..."
Jocelyn had recovered the shotgun, found it undamaged and handed it to the senior Winfield. "Here. Gerry, I'd suggest keeping your gun in your hand. That manticore wasn't badly hurt and anyway, there might be more than one."
The two men gazed sadly at the damaged truck. "Smell that antifreeze? Let's get the deer off the hood and rip out of the airbags. But I don't think our Bronco is drivable."
While the Sceptre kept watch, swinging the beam from her talisman around like a searchlight, the Winfields cleared the truck as best they could but found it wouldn't even turn over. "Goddam, and I just made the last payment, too," Dennis grumbled.
"I guess we're in for a long hike home," the son said. "Not looking forward to it."
"Sure not going to call your mother to come pick us up," Dennis replied with some steadiness coming back to his voice. "It's not like we broke down at the supermarket."
Pointing the heavy Desert Eagle downin front of him with both hands, Gerry turned to Jocelyn. "Say, what was that word you used. A many-core?"
"Manticore. They're not a natural animal," she said. "They were created by Black Magic ages ago. Front half is a gorilla, rear half is a lion. Like centaurs and griffins, they couldn't possibly have evolved. The Darthim created them. I saw a few of them years ago but not close up like tonight."
Dennis had picked up a few items from inside the wrecked truck and stowed them in the deep pockets of his coat. "Guess we're as ready as we're gonna be, Jocelyn. Might as well start walking."
The three of them spaced themselves an arm's length apart as they began trudging down the dirt road. The Winfields had their guns ready and Jocelyn kept the Sceptre swinging around to cast its brilliant beam into the night as they began the longest and most nerve-wracking walk of their lives.
Miles of densely crowded spruce and fir hemmed them in on both sides, with brush filling spaces between the trees. Attempts at conversation died down into grim silence. Many times, they spontaneously halted to listen intently. Every time a breeze stirred leaves made them tense up. At one point, Dennis plucked his cell phone from a pants pocket and grunted, "Two bars."
Time crawled by with agonizing slowness. Finally, inevitably, the white beam from the Sceptre showed the country road ahead perpendicular to the dirt trail. Gerry could not repress a sigh of relief.
Then a cracking of branches and a crashing to their left made their hearts miss a beat. They swung around toward the racket as a huge dark shape reared up from the brush and plunged toward them.
This time, both barrels of the twelve-gauge exploded deafeningly loud and the manticore's black chest ripped open. The beast stumbled, falling to one side with blood and a lung spilling out. Gerry emptied the heavy .44 pointblank to split open that simian head. Between the thunder of the gunshots and the dazzle of the flashes, both men were dazed for the moment.
Jocelyn had happened to be on the other side of the Winfields, unable to send a gralic blast without hitting them. She had an instant to feel joy at seeing them react so swiftly to defend themselves and she lowered the Sceptre as something smashed the back of her head with murderous force.
V.
Coming back to consciousness took tremendous effort. It was much like trying to wake up after falling into exhausted sleep but with the extra resistance of throbbing pain. Like other Tel Shai knights, Jocelyn had the enhanced healing factor which meant the concussion would probably not leave her with brain damage, blurred vision or vertigo. But she felt nauseous and had to fight down an urge to vomit.
Her training made her stay still, not even opening her eyes a crack as she catalogued her sensations. She was still outside. She was lying on her back on cold grass, her hands tied in front of her at her waist. It felt like thin wire binding her thumbs together, but she could not feel anything holding her legs. The back of her head was pounding abominably, not an unfamiliar sensation in her career.
"The female still lives, Master," said a man with a New York City accent. Jocelyn managed not to react but the next voice gave her a cold jolt of alarm.
"Excellent," came a hollow sepulchral monotone. "She is a valuable hostage and prisoner. Thrall Five! Lean her up against that white tree."
As rough hands dragged her a few feet and propped her up against a birch, Jocelyn snapped her eyes open and instantly took in her situation like a single snapshot. The Winfield men were sitting up back to back, also with their hands wired together, and both had bruised and bloody faces. Behind them was a canvas tent twenty feet to a side with an electric lantern on a stand inside the opening.
Five men were scattered about, watching her suspiciously. They were wearing jeans and dark jackets, each of which had a large number in white on the front. In a bizarre touch, each had his face painted dead white, even the one man who was a dark-skinned Latino.
Nearby, a deep snuffling grunt sounded. A manticore.
But after that first split-second of analyzing the scene, all her attention was on the grotesque figure which leered at her from arm's length. Wrapped in a heavy, ankle-length robe, arms foldded, the man had a face exactly like a skull covered tightly with chalk-white skin. Under prominent brow ledges was a pair of pink-irised eyes. No hair, no external ears, the nose a mere snub above a wide toothy grin.
He was tapping the Sceptre lightly against an open palm.
"Malacoda!" she snorted. "We've been looking for you."
A ghoulish chuckle answered her. The albino Nekrosan said, "How relieved I was when Midnight War gossip told me that you had lost your Red Spectre! That bolt of living lightning was a genuine threat. And the fact you now rely on this trinket only confirms your powerlessness. Laura Salerno's Sceptre! By Draldros Himself, what an unexpected find. I believe it has been missing for more than sixty years. Do not fear, Human woman, I will find good use for it."
"You're wasting your time, it won't work for you."
The Nekrosan sorcerer deftly twirled the Sceptre in a bony hand. "Yes, talismans like this bond and will only function for one person... as long as that person is alive, heh heh."
Unexpectedly, Dennis Winfield burst out, "What in God's name happened to your face, man? Were you in a fire?"
Malacoda scoffed. "Ignorant Humans...! No, you fool. I am a Nekrosan! My entire Race looks as I do, except that I have been graced with the white skin that marks me as a Prophet of Death. But your kind will come to know me well. I have been sent to spread utter fear over this world. Before this time next year, Humans will shiver at my name and dread what my next attack will be."
Inwardly, Jocelyn was reassured to see her companions had not had their spirits broken by the traumatic events of the night. She was certain that, if they were freed, both Dennis and Gerry Winfield would fight their captors.
"And these poor lost souls cling to you now?" she asked Malacoda. "You're starting your own sad little cult?"
One of the men with white-painted faces yelled, "Shut up! You don't know anything. The world needs the Living Skull, he is a harbinger of the cataclysms which will cleanse this filthy planet."
"You're getting played, mate! He's just using you," she laughed.
Malacoda placed a restraining hand on his enraged follower, making a tsk-tsk sound. "Calm yourself, my son. Do not waste your time arguing with this foolish woman. See to the manticore."
"Oh, so your beastie wasn't hurt as bad as I hoped, eh?" said Jocelyn. "I sure meant to blow his ugly head off."
The skull-faced man always seemed to be grinning. The structure of his face allowed him no other expression. But there was no glee in his voice as he pointed with the Sceptre. "You weary me, Human. I thought you could be bait in a trap for your fellow Tel Shai knights. But never mind that. I can deal with them no matter what, and I think I do not need to suffer your presence any longer."
Jocelyn had drawn one knee up so that her right foot was planted flat on the forest floor while her other leg was still tucked beneath her. She saw that her wrists were bound not with wire but by common fishing line. None of the white-painted cultists seemed to be armed and she couldn't see any sign of the Winfields' firearms. Now was as good a time as any to act.
"So, Malacoda," she said, putting a hint of fear in her voice. "You like the Sceptre? How would you feel about getting hold of Malberon's silver hammer? Or the shards of Hellspawn? Or even Zhune artifacts like the Dwindle Horn? My team has built up quite a collection."
"In exchange for your life?" the Nekrosan wondered. "Hmmm. It's a tempting thought, but of course this is an obvious trick...." As he spoke, he tapped the Sceptre against his chest thoughtfully.
"You're bloody well right." Ten feet away, Jocelyn focused all her will on the ancient talisman. An explosion blazed up, the clearing turning so white nothing could be seen and the detonation deafened everyone present. Already moving although she couldn't see for the moment, she heaved up and leaped right at the stunned Malcoda, sending them both to the ground. With her wrists bound, she still managed to wrestle the Sceptre away in a clumsy grip. She rolled over, sat up and began blasting out blinding shafts of energy that ripped apart anything they struck. Even under the circumstances, she kept clear in her mind where the Winfield father and son were, and she avoided lashing out in that direction.
It was like a thunderstorm brought to earth. Trees flew apart into splinters and caught fire. Two of the uncomprehending cultists were smashed into gory fragments, and the tent flew up into the air tro come down blazing. After a few seconds, Jocelyn narrowed the gralic force to a needle-thin beam and managed to sever the line holding her wrists together. She stood up, chest heaving not from exertion but from adrenalin, and let things settle down as she caught her breath.
The clearing was an unholy shambles, with debris scattered everywhere and small fires burning. Gruesome fragments of shattered bodies were lying all around. Jocelyn saw immediately that there was no trace of Malacoda. Not far away, the sound of a car was speeding off into the distance. She could still catch him. The Sceptre could overcome gravity enough to propel her through the air, although her control was still uncertain.
Before she could lift off, a crashing sounded on the other side of the clearing. The manticore had in its frenzy broken through its enclosure. The beast raced headlong, not at Jocelyn, but at where Dennis and Gerry Winfield had gotten to their feet. In another instant, it would crush them beneath its pounce. The shaft of the Sceptre was already scalding hot in her hands but Jocelyn concentrated one finsl time. Thick as the stream from a firefighter hose, a rush of gralic force impacted against the hybrid in mid-leap, throwing it end over end for a hundred yard. Its crushed and flattened form did not stir.
Jocelyn collapsed to hands and knees, her head swimming from the mental effort. The Sceptre was burning her fingers but she could not open her hands to release it. Dimly, she felt herself being stretched out gently on the ground. From a great distance, voices were asking if she was all right.
After a few minutes, her awareness sharpened again. She saw the worried faces of Dennis and Gerry Winfield staring down at her. She mumbled incoherent thanks, tried to sit up but then lay panting for a little while until she felt back to normal.
"I heard a car start up in that direction," Gerry said. "Sounded like a big SUV, I guess the trail is that way. We have no idea where we are. Those freaks with the painted faces beat the crap out of us."
"I know I lost a tooth," Dennis added. "That was some fireworks display, Jocelyn. It was like being on a battlefield."
Feeling stronger, Jocelyn got to her feet with the men helping to steady her. Normally, she was touchy about being fussed over but she found it oddly touching how solicitous they were for her. "Whew. That took a lot out of me. Listen. We still have things to do. You guys find your guns and any other belongings that might identify you. In a few minutes, I'm going to have to incinerate that manticore so not enough remains if anyone finds it to raise suspicions. Midnight War is secret for a reason."
Gerry gestured around him. "A couple bushes are smoldering. I'll smother them with dirt. Last thing we need is a no-fooling forest fire."
"Good thinking," she said, wiping sweat from her face with the back of a hand. "You know, you guys amaze me. Most people would be twitching and babbling wrecks after going through what you did. But you both seem fine."
Gerry grinned and started looking around for their weapons. "Maybe it just hasn't sunk in yet. Maybe tomorrow we'll be afraid to come out from under the covers."
"I've already decided to act like all this never happened," said his father. "Except maybe in ten years or so, I might phone in to one of those late night true mystery shows on the radio...."
3/19/2025
no subject
Date: 2025-03-19 04:21 am (UTC)Malacoda is going to be one of the rare Midnight War bad guys who becomes known to the general public. He plans a world-wide reign of terror purely to demorablize and weaken the Humans, and he also is gathering a cult devoted to him... the Children of the Living Skull, who paint their faces white. I expect cities in flames, mass hysteria, dogs and cats living together errr general panic before it's all over.