CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Encircled by new threats and with all exits covered, the Horizon crew fell into a defensive stance. Back to back, they stood resolutely, assessing the situation. Far from being aggressors, the newly formed collective looked back in confusion. Their bodies creaked and yawned as they stretched. Scratching at their mossy carapace, pollen and spores flaked away in a fine powder.

  "I think we woke them up," Soran said, lowering his guard. Their saucer-sized, misty eyes looked back indifferently, or perhaps expectantly. The creature that had been their guide stepped forward from the crowd and touched its chest.

  "Gurusha," It said with a speed that blurred the word into gibberish.

  "Huh?" Replied Ranna.

  "Gurusha," It repeated slowly, tapping its chest twice. Its voice was a deep gurgle, rustling through the leaves that framed its crooked mouth.

  "I think it's his name," El said, acting as a pseudo-interpreter. The other small beings copied the movement, raising their stubby arms and yelling the word in unison.

  "Gurusha!"

  Despite the introduction, the crew was still none the wiser. The Gurusha were not a species they, or any Xeno-anthropologist, had ever encountered. Sentient plant life was an infrequent and precious occurrence, even in a galaxy as vast and thoroughly explored as theirs.

  The protected status of Sporetine, the world from which El hailed, best exemplified this fact. Her people had been on the brink of annihilation; years of pillaging had thrust the native population into a century-long famine. Sporatine's inhabitants, the Vrell, were renowned for their natural alchemy, transmuting the innumerable forms of plant life into elixirs of health and strength; their wares were highly sought after by all who could pay the hefty price. However, the demand could not be satisfied no matter how much they produced. After decades of abuse, the planet's ecosystem refused to capitulate any longer. The flora that the Vrell depended on for their alchemy refused to grow. Their world abandoned them. Unable to appease the ever-expanding quotas promised to the pirate hordes, the aggrieved merchants stripped the planet of its remaining bounty. Land was salted, structures burned, and Vrell slaughtered by the million. Those unfortunate enough to survive inherited a barren wasteland, forced to scavenge the blighted land, a curse for their greed. Due to auspiciously timed Naval intervention, the Vrell narrowly avoided extinction and were granted the opportunity to rebuild their once-flourishing civilization. Having survived the famine, El disdained pirates and longed to see them pay for their unforgivable actions. That deep-seated yearning for justice compelled her to leave her home.

  In a way, being around what could be called 'her people' was comforting. After all, she had witnessed them spawn from the earth just as the Vrell saplings did on Sporetine. Watching them waddle around, examining the hunters with intrigue and suspicion, was a sight she never imagined she would see again.

  The inspection of the hunters was over. With a collective murmur, the crowd parted, and the lantern-bearer turned to leave, disappearing into a thicket and leaving only a faint glow for the hunters to follow. The remaining Gurusha scurried back into the safety of the trees, their bodies folding into the bark to once again become part of the forest. Accrakos was nothing if not unpredictable. As they followed the lone Gurusha deeper into the forest, the Horizon crew secretly hoped their foray into the unknown was nearing its end.

  Golden blades of light danced in the distance, cutting through the verdurous gloom. All manner of creatures darted from the light's touch, clawing and coiling through the branches above, the peril of the unseen revealing its teeth. The forest was ending, and the walls of their environment once again came into view. Being amongst the trees had almost made them forget they were inside — inside of what remained to be seen.

  As the trees petered out, another tunnel came into view. However, this passage was quite different from the one they had entered. The basalt walls, punctured with narrow offshoots, branched in myriad directions. Each opening was accented with a mysterious symbol carved deep into the rocky surface — perhaps the language of the Gurusha or a remnant from the dawn of Accran civilization. Ranna turned to El, who usually had some insight into these matters, but as with the Gurusha, she was utterly clueless.

  Returning their gaze to the tunnel, they found it empty. Their guide had vanished. The trio scoured for a sign, but it had disappeared entirely, leaving only footprints in the dirt. With their only means of navigation absent, Ranna reclaimed the mantle of leadership and took the first step. There was no hesitation or need for discussion. The objective was clear and the linear path left little in the way of deliberation. As he attempted to follow, a debilitating weight overcame Soran, his knees buckling under the pressure. He struggled to right himself, battling against the veiled force. El turned, giving him a curious look. Before she could inquire further, he waved her off with a smile, standing as straight as he could. Although each step offered resistance, he pushed on without drawing further attention to himself. Honestly, he was unsure why he preferred his burden go undisclosed. Maybe they would think he was sick, a liability not worth keeping around. Perhaps an even more frightening revelation would be the truth, a lucid explanation of what ailed him. The uncertainty left him weak, but while he could handle the discomfort, he would continue to say nothing.

  The encroaching clatter of footsteps came in the wake of their guide's absence. Footsteps from a thousand skittering feet reverberated through the walls, showering the hunters with pebbles and dust. The stampede rushed overhead, taunting them from behind its veil of basalt. A sluggish chain of dissonant clicks added to the nightmarish soundtrack. The dangers of the forest had finally caught up.

  Peering into one of the rocky offshoots, they saw what stalked them. Cascading from its burrow like an oil slick, a creature of monstrous proportion filled the narrow confines within seconds. Venom-stained jowls dripped with anticipation, and a thousand ravenous eyes gazed lustfully at fresh prey. Uncountable segmented limbs clamored from the black, pouring from an elongated body with no visible conclusion.

  "Bugs. I hate bugs." Ranna groaned, lamenting the fact that they were all unarmed. Soran's arms darted to his boot, lifting his pant leg to reveal a knife he had stolen from Teege's ship. Ranna admired the ingenuity, but fifty feet of alien centipede might require a little more than a ten-inch blade.

  The creature advanced, initiating a hypnotic slither over the leaf-littered muck. It was savoring the hunt, reveling in the fear-stink that oozed from the helpless trio.

  The hunters erupted into evasive action, sprinting into the tunnel, hounded by the feverish pursuit of the monstrosity. The chattering chorus of death gained on the trio as their pace waned — the toll of recent ordeals manifesting as debilitating fatigue.

  Beckoning them in the distance was the promise of welcoming amber light. Escape seemed all but imminent when suddenly the hammer of misfortune struck out. Tripped by the scythe-like tip of the creature's outstretched talon, Ranna tumbled into El, and the pair plowed into a wall. With its ghoulish head reared back, the beast revealed an abyssal void of shard-like teeth. Each fang bled with lethal toxins, rancid fumes of decay pouring from the gaping maw. Ranna took a deep breath and felt the airborne poison shudder through his body. His arms dropped, and his legs fell limp, halting his meager attempts to escape. El was nearly unconscious. Caught directly in the creature's path, she had inhaled a considerable dose and become ensnared by instant paralysis.

  Soran turned on his heels, his shimmering brow soaked in desperation, struggling against the instinct to flee—to save himself. Despite his burning desire to put himself between his friends and the terror, his body pulled back, the obscure pressure increasing. It called to him, its cry familiar and unshakeable. He could feel himself drifting away from his friends, away from danger.

  Then it began.

  Starting as a low drone infiltrating the air, reality dwindled to a crawl. Saturation siphoned from the vibrant landscape, and all descended into an achromatic haze. As the drone intensified, individual notes gradually waltzed into Soran's periphery. A melody plucked from the ether and played just for him. The familiar warmth filled his veins. He watched Ranna struggle, frantically repelling the creature with flaccid kicks. Though he strained against the distant voice, desperate to aid his friends, the etheric composition lulled him into dormancy. It repeated his name over and over. The voice was one he recognized, but from where he was unsure. The otherworldly tune built to an apex, and his gaze turned to the tunnel's exit. Into the beckoning light, he strode, turning his back on duty, his desire to help. Upon taking his first step of desertion, he was hauled from his daze by a terrible scream.

  "SORAN!" Ranna yelled. His fists grappled with the creature's teeth, inches from his sweat-covered face. Shaking away his daze, Soran rushed to his Captain's aid, tearing his mind from the keystone's influence. Acting on instinct, he dove through the air. A pang of regret struck as the distance closed between himself and the writhing nightmare of limbs and teeth. Fear took hold.

  Before he could lament the decision, his dagger plunged deep into the creature's throat. A wave of corrosive acid sprayed into the air. It glanced the boy's face, narrowly missing his right eye. As it rolled down his cheek, the amber droplet tore open his flesh, a seeping path of decay left in its wake. With a guttural shriek, the creature retreated into the forest, its terrible form swallowed by the overgrowth.

  Soran fell to his knees, pawing at his wound as pain seared through his body. Ranna reached out to offer comfort, but he could only watch helplessly as the boy lay shaking on the ground, a tumult of misery echoing into the distant black.

  An uncomfortably long stretch passed before the screams faded into whimpers. El was back on her feet and hovering over Soran. Though she provided what little relief she could, the wound was too severe and needed real medical attention.

  Ranna looked down and, for the first time since they had met, saw a boy. Not a hunter, not the man who brought down Ravias Malig — just a boy who needed help. Guilt washed over him as he imagined what Soran's life might have been. Left on the Hyacinth to live out his life, unaware of the cruel outside and safe from the constant dangers it harbored. He grieved for the life he had stolen.

  After what seemed like hours, Soran shivered to life. His wound had cauterized, the searing pain soothed by El's gentle radiance.

  "Am I going to live?" asked the boy, trailing his fingers carefully across the fresh scar. It ran from the corner of his eye to just under his ear, still glowing a pale red.

  "Live, yes. Not as pretty but still better looking than this." Ranna smirked, running his fingers over his numerous facial scars. Soran appreciated the humor but couldn't muster a smile. He had let them down again. He had fallen victim to the keystone, a slave to its call.

  Ranna pulled him to his feet. Soran noticed the regret burned deep into his expression as their eyes met.

  "I knew him, your friend. I recognized him the moment I saw his face." Ranna said, having difficulty vocalizing his admission.

  Soran's eyes widened as a thousand possibilities rushed through his mind.

  "The Calamity was big news. I can't believe it's been twenty-five years already. Something that big always feels like yesterday. We were all affected. Didn't matter if you fought or not; we all lost someone."

  He paused — a few seconds of silence for the memory of the departed.

  "Even though millions were involved, the blame was squared on one man: Chief Engineer Lanic. His face was everywhere. He was the man who handed over the Eureka, swindled by a Pirate Lord. The responsibility placed on his shoulders was immense. A lesser man would have taken the easy way out, and no one would blame them."

  Hearing the tale from another perspective was both intriguing and harrowing for Soran. For obvious reasons, Lanic was always cagey about the Calamity.

  "I know how it is to lose people. People you thought would always be there. But you need to know he wasn't to blame. The lives of his entire crew were at stake. Where all others cowered and pleaded, he stood defiant before six Pirate Lords and bargained for the lives of his men. You hear people fantasize about what they would have done, how they would have never handed over the ship. But we all know the truth: they would have crumbled instantly. Lanic's actions saved the Eurekas crew. That's all you need to know."

  There are few forces more powerful than the pride of a son. Hearing Ranna's words solidified what he had always known. No matter what they said, none of it was true. Soran pushed his hand out and grabbed his Captain by the forearm.

  "Thank you." The sincerity of his gratitude burned in his eyes. This is what he needed: an affirmation of the truth.

  Not often were Ranna's actions worthy of praise, but today, he had given a part of himself — a memory of a past he jealously guarded, long relegated to the dim-lit back alleys of his mind. Tears arced over El's face— not sorrow or joy but something in between, something honest.

  Soran winced as the burning sensation returned to his face.

  "Best get you out of here and get that looked at," Ranna said, eager to avoid another unpleasant encounter.

  Soran's pain subsided, leaving only a dull ache. Though free from its aggression, the keystone's call lingered. Even while blind to his surroundings, the melody would have guided him. Strangely, the more he submitted to the effect, the lighter his body grew. The weight that had once shackled him as an anchor had vanished. All that remained was the calming voice, luring him out like a siren song.

  The hunters emerged from the tunnel into a flower-filled burrow. Luscious, earthy tones intermixed with fiery reds spread out before them like a luxurious carpet. There, it sat as if discarded on a whim. The keystone basked in the crystal light, cradled amongst the flora. It radiated palpable energy that warped the surrounding plant life. Exchanging bemused expressions, the hunters pondered an identical phrase.

  Was it going to be this easy?

  A vigilant scan of the room returned no apparent signs of danger. Ranna took a few steps closer to the object, doubt hindering his advance. Nothing was ever this simple; there was always a catch.

  Kneeling around the keystone, they swapped encouraging glances, hesitant to take action themselves. After a few moments of stalling, Ranna swiped at the object, grasping it in his right hand. All eyes were transfixed. They waited for the fallout, anxiety seeping from their clenched fists. Nothing happened.

  "We did it," El declared with a smile.

  "Time we got out of he…" Ranna was interrupted as the ground shifted beneath their feet. What began as a gentle tremor ramped up into waves of distorted earth. With only two exits, their eyes darted back and forth. Their well-worn path through the forest would have been the obvious choice had they not almost been devoured by its inhabitants. Staring at their only other option, they noticed a familiar figure standing in the distance. A shadow-cloaked Gurusha was waving to them.

  Wasting no time, the hunters dashed toward their savior. Despite the planet's literal rattling, their guide seemed to be in no rush, waddling on at his regular pace. Although perplexed by the creature's lack of haste, they had no choice but to follow patiently, dodging sedimentary debris as it rained down around them.

  Wide-eyed panic spread through the hunters. They had reached a dead end. Their guide had led them to the wall that seemed to be the bottom of a well, with steady streams of water blanketing its walls and pooling on the sandy ground. The creature turned to Soran, something sitting in its palm. It held a small, seed-like object with a root sprouting from one end.

  "For me?" Asked Soran, confused yet slightly flattered by the gesture. He plucked the seed from its hand, and without hesitation, the Gurusha whistled. Its mouth was only the size of a match head, but the noise contended with that of the trembling earth. Soran watched as the ground fell away from under his feet. Looking over at Ranna and El, he was shocked to find both floating in midair. The Gurusha waved to the rising trio, shrinking until it faded from sight. They ascended at an ever-increasing pace through the torrent of flowing water. The sensation was indescribable, their sweat-slicked suits doused in curtains of glittering mists. Soran could feel his body coursing with energy, a foreign and uplifting intoxicant bestowed by the Gurusha. It felt like magic.

  Coming to the end of their ariel escapade, the hunters burst out into a subterranean cavern. Gravity immediately took hold, flinging them into a volcanic spring.

  The cavern, crowded with bubbling streams, chimed with the churning mantle below. Soaked and brimming with awe, they looked at each other with childlike amazement. Whatever the Gurusha were, Soran was positive their secrets were best kept hidden.

  Interrupting the celebrations, the pleasant winds subsided to the clang of encroaching footsteps. Color faded from the hunter's jubilant expressions as realization set in. Multitudes of metallic bodies shimmered into view with Volka and Khan dead center. Head down, mourning the loss of his humanity, Teege shuffled along at their side. Volka tapped the radar device on his chest to still its incessant ping. The hunters were surrounded.

  Ranna held up the keystone. All bowed in its presence, a divine reverence sweeping through the artificial soldiers. One by one, they fell to their knees in worship. Volka carefully plucked the object away and attached it to one of the two empty chains. He and his brother admired the keystone like adoring parents at the birth of a child. Volka took a deep breath. Gripped by contentment, he addressed his congregation.

  "The final chapter of our great work begins now. Prepare to meet your King."