12 Miles Below

Rashant felt the wind under his wings as he took off to get the human's bidding done as quickly as possible. Which meant getting to the command center.

The ancients were historically known as a tunnel-ground race, obsessed with having four walls and sealed gateways everywhere to feel safe. And while that kind of nonsense architecture was severely limiting, there were times it was a good idea to have a reinforced box to live in or defend oneself from.

The command center was one such old human structure still kept together for that purpose, and that was where the Deadland’s Hersir-commander would brood from.

Normally with Rashant’s rank, speaking to the commander of the deadlands was way outside his role’s expectations. Today, he felt an exception could be made. He’d talk to Yill directly, get all this settled before the human decided to start using fire again.

His plan was on track up until he reached the command center and found the tower section sealed off by two armed guards. “I need to talk to Yill right away.” He tried, but the guards remained stoic.

The other soldiers moving around him ignored the event, focused on their tasks, and soon someone in charge showed up to handle Rashant’s attempts to get inside the command center.

Roark, Hersir-commander Yill’s second hand.

He knew Roark well, since he’d flown here in the same convoy with the rest of the gungnir four years ago, when the replacement for the prior hersir-captain was ordered. And the captain’s hawk-like eyesight noticed him arriving immediately.

“Rashant. Why are you not with the human?” He asked, landing near the same perch he’d settled on, the pebble of silver metal shining brightly on both wingtips. A dangerous weapon in the hands of a retired Gungnir like Roark.

Rashant started immediately “He has requested to trade his spent power cells with one of the outpost’s backups to supply his armor for the moment while we wait for the Víkingr to arrive. I thought to escalate the situation with the hersir-commander directly.”

Roark’s eyes narrowed for a moment, beak turning down to look past the buildings and hustle. “Tell him we are preparing the cells right now and will have them ready shortly.”

He hadn’t even so much as sent a message to Yill. Rashant found it odd. “I’m assuming this was already planned out?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Roark said. “Return to the human and make sure he is fed. His armor can scan anything he eats, take notes of what is edible for him and what isn’t. I’ll have some soldiers sent to the supply center, just to be certain he isn’t poisoned intentionally.”

“Poisoned? Who’d do that?” Rashant asked.

Roark pointed his beak directly at him, as if questioning his intelligence. “Any number of Odin might decide the human’s bad to keep around and take matters with their own feather and claw. We don’t need that kind of scrutiny on us from some random rogue’s crusade.”

“And Yill, where is he?” Rashant asked.

“In conference with the high council. Not to be disturbed until he comes out with the next set of orders.”

“The council? Why are they calling?”

“Civil matters.” Roark said, then held up a talon to halt anything else from Rashant. “Enough questions. You will find out once the information has been cleared for the public. Likely within the hour. For now, focus on the human. If he asks for the cells again, come to us. We’ll send him what we have.”

“Erm, yes hersir-captain. I understand.” Rashant said, with a small salute, his talons opening and closing slowly.

The captain gave him one last look, as if debating something to say or do, but departed instead. Rashant ruffled his feathers once Roark wasn’t within eyesight, then stalked away through the open layouts. The captain was uptight about everything. Hersir-commander Yill was equally uptight, but his demands would make a better Odin out of his target. Roark just wanted obedience.

All around him, the soldiers were gathering up and organizing, but he hardly noticed, deep in thought.

Something that involved the council of representatives had happened at the Icon, and the hersir-commander was speaking to them directly? Not the Víkingr that the hersir served, the council. ṟâℕ∅𐌱ЁṦ

It was a completely different branch of government. Technically the Víkingr served the council, but the council never gave the Víkingr any direct orders. Bad idea to let the representatives of craftsmen or banking have an opinion on military affairs.

So, this had to be about the human appearance.

The people in the Icon likely learned the news by now and it’s caused some kind of turmoil. Rashant shook his beak, clearing his thoughts.

Politics was going to be convoluted for a while, with a mythological ancient appearing alive and just as powerful as they had been rumored to be. Far out of his pay grade.

The human had blessedly remained where Rashant had left him, and more importantly nothing was set on fire. Around him, Rashant could see a flock of deadland soldiers had already gathered, all of them looking down at the human without a shred of hesitation anymore.

“It’s really an ancient. Fury and pestilence, they’re so big.” He heard one whisper. “He’s more than seven feet tall!”

“That’s the armor he’s wearing, scrubjay. The ancient inside is a little shorter.” Another said, but the tone certainly sounded questioning.

Others were equally speaking in hushed whispers to one another, body language muted to keep it covert. “Nadria was in the command center when he fought off the drone squad, she said he dodged every attack, and even slapped one out of the air with his hand. Full collision and it didn’t even stop his march forward.”

“Is that true?” Another asked as Rashant hopped in between the gathering. They had their backs to him, so he could only take a guess that was what they were saying given the rest of the context clues.

“I know the drone squad, they all said the same thing. Wasn’t his hand though, he used the human blades, the big ones greyroamers use. Slapped the drone out of the air with the flat side, it was such a precise hit the payload didn’t detonate but everything else in the drone failed and it crashed behind.”

“You all heard that they say he can speak to the infestation itself?”

That part made Rashant stop in his tracks, turning to the speaker. How- where had these soldiers even heard that already?

They instantly noticed his gaze and went quiet. Beady eyes started staring at him in silence. “You need something?” One of them asked.

He could tell the others wanted to ask him directly for answers on the infestation, but all of them held back, staying in line.

Right. He wasn’t truly one of them yet. Four years in this outpost and he still couldn’t quite be part of the deadland legion. The inside jokes and all the comradery were reserved only for the Odin who risked their lives for each other.

“Nope, just doing my job.” He said, and hopped away, squeezing past the final group before finding the power line and making his way down to the human. Here at least, the deadlanders were giving the human a wide space, not a single Odin on the powerline this far out.

“Any news?” The human asked, helmet looking up and directly at Rashant as he made his way over. The rest of the Odin nearby all hushed, straining to hear the language he knew they wouldn’t understand.

“Yes, they agreed to it. They’re currently getting the cells prepared and out of storage from what the second in command told me. Lot of movement around the camp. I didn’t wait to ask more information, but power cells are heavy things that need vehicles and tools to move around. It will take them a little bit.”

Power cells were larger than Rashant, and made of metal. Those things were heavy enough to seriously injure anyone if it tipped over out of balance.

The human gave a strange gesture with his head, a sort of slow up and down bobbing motion. “Good, I would have been troubled if the answer had been no.”

Rashant believed the real meaning behind that was ‘I would have had to do some terrible things with fire to your outpost, if the answer had been no.’

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

He had seen the human outright bath himself with black smoke at the edge of the ashlands, walking away from the infestation. And shortly after, burn his canteen with flames from his hands until the entire thing was red hot. Everything he’d learned about the ancients was proving to have been under what their historical strength had been reported as.

Which was insane to think about. And probably the reason the deadland soldiers all around them were in such quiet contemplation.

Their entire mission was to fight and contain the manifestation of insanity, and they’d often see their own brothers and sisters fall prey. This far from civilization, strength and bonds were everything. And here comes an ancient straight from myth that not only strides through the infestation without a mark, but wields fire as if born with it in hand.

Blessedly, the supply officers arrived, with a heavy load carts bringing more food than Rashant had ever seen. It was as if they were resupplying a listening post’s worth of food for the week.

“Is this edible for you?” Rashant asked, as the supply officers scurried away, abandoning the carts to rejoin the safety of the surrounding Odin flock.

The human picked up a bug skewer with two fingers. “Armor says it’s edible. And I’ve eaten worse.” The helmet turned to the abandoned carts, and he loomed over the contents. “Nuts are all fine too, I’m more surprised you have meat. And eggs even. Isn’t that like eating your young?”

“By the Icon, no Odin would ever think to eat an Odin egg!” Rashant felt slightly nauseous at that idea. “Those are gawdrenling eggs, they’re domesticated. The idea of eating one of our own is repugnant.”

The human looked from the egg, and back to Rashant. “Okay. Sure. Completely different things, I understand.” The hand went to another egg sack, and wiggled the rectangle jelly-like egg. “And this? Armor denotes it as an egg? How is this an egg?”

“That’s a snake egg."

"I've never seen a snake in person before." Keith said, looking over the egg. "Normally snakes are more theoretical creatures from our archives, or another term for backstabbing assholes. And family."

"I am not quite sure how the word could mean both family and backstabbers, I admit. Is it dependent on context?"

Keith gave a slow head gesture, "More something unique to my personal situation. Anyone else who says a snake, they usually don't mean family. I take it they're very real down here? The animal variety."

"Snakes are killed on sight if they’re around. " Rashant said. "They're known to crawl into the outpost and attack Odin while sleeping. It takes a team to safely kill them. Anyone caught unaware or without gear is in terrible danger.”

“Uh huh. I’ve also had to deal with guests breaking into my room at night to watch me sleep.” Keith said, hand letting the egg sack drop back onto the cart. "Fortunately, not to eat me. Everything else is another question."

Given the size of the human, Rashant was fully convinced nothing in the ecosystem had ever threatened Keith. The human likely lived life without once having to worry about wild animals assaulting him in his sleep. This fear might be uniquely Odin in nature.

Keith grabbed one of the meat plates next. “And this sausage meat slurry is just everything you get your hands, or talons on, grinded up?”

“For the most part.” Rashant said. “There’s a few factories where we domesticate rabbits and gawdrenlings. But, this far out here, all meat is probably scavenged from dead animals or hunted down.”

The human looked down at the sausage. “Why a sausage?”

“Some civilians like the texture and taste of natural meat, but that’s more for luxury. Out here, it’s a harder life.” He wasn’t quite sure but logistics said processing meat was far more convenient like this so that was that.

One of the human’s hands reached out to unhook his helmet, and the raven got his first view of what a human looked like under their armor. He’d known before, the Icon had plenty of images and videos, but seeing it in person was different.

Two eyes centered close to one another like a typical predator’s would. A tuff of hair at the very top of the head, along with hair growing in various places of the face. Dots of ultraviolet all across his exposed skin, contrasting with the skin's mild coloring. Like some kind of venomous animal patterns. His skin looked like rougher, a more tan version compared to a newborn chick’s exposed skin. No feathers anywhere, and no way to read any kind of expression on the human’s features.

Then the jaws opened and Keith took one of the bug skewers, putting the entire thing in his mouth before dragging the stick out, all bugs gone. Rashant heard crunching as the human’s hidden teeth obliterated the entire meal.

The rest of the deadlanders were staring now in awe. “Not too bad.” He said, half munching. “Armor was warning me birds have less taste buds than humans so the food might be bland, but turns out you still have good seasonings. Sauce is interesting. Could use a lot more salt though.”

The human’s hand reached out to one of the water barrels, fingers wrapping around in slow motion, halfway to touching one another. Then he lifted it wholesale out of the cart with a single hand, and tipped it into his mouth.

A moment later, the entire water barrel was returned to the cart - empty. “Ah, that hit the spot. Out there I was getting thirsty, couldn't drink anything since it was contaminated.” The hand went down for the second water barrel, and equally drained the entire thing in one go.

That was enough water to last an entire squadron of Odin an entire week. And the human was going for a second one. It was returned back to the cart with equal amounts of ease. Only one barrel remained. None of the supply officers thought the human would drink this much. And it took three Odin working together with tools to lift and move barrels of water like this. The human was using a single hand, and made it look like lifting a feather.

The hand reached down for the meats next. The platter was lifted to the human’s nose where he took a smell. “For raw meat it doesn’t smell too bad either. Hope your chef’s aren't too annoyed if I burn some of their seasonings on this.”

Fire engulfed his hands, and quickly swallowed up the entire cut section of meat. The human was literally cooking the entire thing on the palm of his hand. Every Odin around took a step backwards.

Keith noticed the reaction.

“Tell them not to worry, I did promise I wouldn’t burn the outpost down.” He said, cutting the flames off and verifying the cooked meat. Satisfied, he tossed the still smoking medallion of meat onto a massive tongue that dragged the item away into darkness and a flash of those crushing white teeth. Rashant was so horrified and fascinated by the butchery he almost didn’t hear the human talk.

Those teeth were just as lethal as any wild animal out there, just like the greyroamers. He nervously rocked back and forth on the line, feeling that gut panic deep within at being so close to a potential predator.

The only thing that set him at ease even slightly was how slow the human moved. The lumbering hand, the steady head movements. It was deceptive. He’d seen the human in combat mode, and movements were far more normal then.

Rashant didn’t know if the human also suffered from the same lethargy that large animals dealt with, or if he was simply mimicking it until the moment he needed to speed up again. He assumed it was the latter.

This wasn’t the only meat that the human cooked. Most bugs that were skewered or served still fresh, he would burn. A few vegetables would also get the same treatment. The ancient wielded fire as if it were a plaything, manipulating it with far more finesse than even a Smiðja working in the forges.

The bread ended up appreciated the most, with the human tossing three or even five loaves at a time into his jaws. Other parts he simply didn’t touch. Including one platter of meat that he claimed wasn’t fresh enough and would make him nauseous to eat even if he burned it. Or some nuts that were too bitter for his tastes. Everything else steadily vanished away.

Rashant watched along with the rest of the deadlands soldiers as the human ate the equivalent of several dozen full course meals. And he wasn’t stopping either. Dish after dish. Where was it all going to in the first place? He thought two entire carts of food would be more than enough, and now he was thinking it hadn’t even been close.

Finally, the human stopped, one hand brushing the sauces off the sides of his mouth, black smoke trailing from the cracks of his armor, eating away the debris that now coated the top of his hand.

“Different from my usual diet.” Keith said, licking the tip of one armored finger. “But I haven’t eaten in maybe two days now counting, hunger is the best spice. Compliments to the kitchen.”

Rashant could see the deadland soldiers had now fully realized what kind of monster was sitting cross-legged in the middle of their outpost after seeing the primal display.

The same size as an entire mountain lion and far, far more dangerous. Rashant had a feeling that if such a lion were to cross paths, it would shy away from the human instead of the other way around.

He looked around the circle of deadland soldiers all flocking to see the ancient in person. The whispers of awe and even hope that their eternal war could potentially be won.

“The hersir gave me orders to attend to any other needs you might have, would you like me to bring more water or food?” He didn’t know if the supply officer could even afford to put more food his way. And that was just a single day’s worth of food for the human.

Well, not his funds in the end. That was logistic’s problem to deal with.

“Those power cells would be nice right about now.” Keith said, tapping his legplate. “It’s been a good twenty minutes, shouldn’t take that long to wheel in a single cell. You want to explain what’s going on up there?” The giant gradually lifted one hand, and a finger uncurled in the direction of the tower. “Because that doesn’t quite look like bureaucracy to me.”

Rashant looked over to the command center. Where Hersir-commander Yill, Roark and what felt like all the outpost’s Gungnir were scrambling around. When had they all gathered up? Or had he just not noticed on his way down?

Maybe the old hersir-commander was surrounding himself with them after what happened in the control room, where multiple deadland Skálds had outright resigned over attacking the human? Gungnir kept law and order after all. It was their duty.

He knew Roark obviously favored them anytime he needed things done. Old ties to his past probably. But he’d never seen all of the outpost’s gungnir mustered up together like this. It felt odd.

A few were watching from the tower as Keith had devoured the food, expressions unrecognizable from this distance.

“I’m not sure.” Rashant said. What he did know for certain is that it shouldn’t take this long to bring out the reserve power cells from storage and cart them over to the human. It should have been done in under ten minutes at most.

He had a feeling there was something bigger happening inside that control room.

“I may not look like it, but I come from a family of snakes myself. The backstabbing kind.” The human casually said, slowly standing back up on his feet, hands guiding his helmet back onto his head.

"Ah. That's what you meant about family." Rashant said, blood going cold under his feathers.

“Yep. And unlike the snakes you Odin pick off, I’m the type to set an outpost on fire. Food just isn’t enough of a bribe to ignore another murder attempt, unfortunately.”

“I am deeply aware of this.” Rashant said. “I don’t know what command is up to, but I sincerely hope they’re not doing something stupid.”

“You and me both then, Rashant.” Keith said, the helmet locking around his throat with a hiss. The armor cycling through paces with a very faint whirling inside. As if preparing for battle.

Rashant’s instincts were screaming at him that in the next five minutes, he needed to be anywhere else but here.

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