The solar train barrels on. Bruised, beaten. Yet whole.
A crack yawns in a forward car’s roof. Scorch marks from the Nightmare’s attempt to possess the vehicle cover its length. Melted plastic, seared-off paint, shattered windows — all bear mute testimony to a devil’s assault. The train’s glowing caboose bucks and jolts as the devil — trapped inside by Sadie’s angelic magic — rages against its bindings. Clouds rising to the north shade a falling sun. Winds whip through dry and overheated lands. Leaves fallen, too soon, from unnatural heat swirl around the train as it rushes north toward the growing storm. The whole scene — cast in red-grey.
Throughout the train, passengers are peeking out from hiding places. Taking stock. Trying to make sense of the madness they just witnessed. Some cower back in fear as the caboose bucks or as ghostly, Nightmare faces half-form on the interior train wall — only to be wiped away by Sadie’s protective magic. Other passengers creep out, embrace loved ones, or dial on their cells with trembling hands. The remaining security force scampers about in confusion, trying to make sense of the destruction left by Gibbons Crane and his Nightmare. Disturbing news crackles on the police radio. Reports of roving armed bands. Clusters of Berserkers approach the train tracks ahead. There’s little the officers can do but ask for more help.
In the Sleipnir’s locomative, the engineer monitors frantic radio traffic. He doesn’t know what the hell’s going on. Reports coming in don’t make any damn sense. What he does know is his train’s been hit by something. Warning lights flash all over his board. If this were just a malfunction, he’d stop the train here and wait for repairs. Too risky to go on. But with the terrorist threat — that’s what they were calling it anyway — protocol is to keep moving. Police are setting up a cordon around Esbjerg and pushing south. Meanwhile, all kinds off assets are en-route to protect the track even as more of those damn Berserker extremists gather. What a goddamn mess! He sure as hell didn’t sign up for this shit when he took the job.
Some cars back from the locomotive, Mori stands, takes stock. He’s about halfway down on his ammo. His energetic vessel’s a quarter full. His eyes flick to Beatrice. Except for a few patterned curses left in her clothes and rapier, his girl’s tapped out. Sadie’s a different story. He doesn’t know squat about her present state. But he bets she’s also starting to run low — after all the serious magic she just pulled off. He rolls his hand into a fist bump, extends it to Sadie. “Beatrice did face down that Curse Rider. But you were the brains behind this whole stunt. Major props.”
Sadie returns his fist bump. “Not out of the woods, yet, my good Mori,” she replies.
“Huh. You can say that again.”
Beatrice flicks the cigarette stink and ash of devil’s magic off her rapier, then sheathes it. Taking a breath, she turns to the passengers. An elderly lady struggles on the ground. Beatrice stoops to lift her. Helps her back to her seat. Checks her for broken bones — all while speaking in soothing tones. Ivan’s gathered himself into a ball in a nearby empty seat. His eyes flare with barely checked rage. Sadie produces a water bottle, hands it to him. Ivan reaches out mechanically. Grasps the bottle. Lifts it to his lips, shoots Mori a baleful glance. Mori’s not going to engage with the guy. Jackass got what he deserved. Still can’t believe we’re doing everything to get this guy into Heaven.
Mori joins Beatrice in helping the passengers. Hot wind whirls in through the open hole overhead. Sweat sticks to the back of his neck. He wonders how Myra’s coping in Hell’s Infernia. Heat here is damned unpleasant, even a little dangerous. It’s a fast-killing inferno she’s facing off against down there. Far behind, bangs and thumps from the Curse Rider’s tireless attempts to escape continue. Over the train car walls, Mori can see Nightmare ghosts all a-flicker. Both are testing Sadie’s traps. No success for either yet. He glances over at Sadie. Beads of sweat glisten on her face as she strains to shore up her curses. His eyes swirl with magical detection as he picks up the energy bleeding off her. Rejuvenating her bindings over both devil and Nightmare. That kind of exertion can’t last forever, Mori worries.
He reaches over to Sadie. “Hey. Don’t suffer is silence. If you need help…”
“I’ve got this,” Sadie interupts. “You refresh what magic you can. We’re going to need it for the crossing.”
Mori casts his eyes to the window — glancing out at the gathering storm. “Yeah. You’re in charge of this part and all. But did we really have to pick the North Sea?”
Sadie laughs. Somehow she finds his question funny.
Mori grins back. At least they still have humor. Police style humor. Laughing at horrific stuff because that’s all you got left.
The Sleipnir train, wounded, holding Curse Rider and Nightmare bound within its angel-magicked form, barrels onward. Fields and woods rush by. They pass into a lowland interspersed by rivers — their banks buttressed by dikes. To their left is a marshland — drowning in the relentless flood of a North Sea swollen by melting glaciers hundreds to thousands of miles distant. Wind turbines spin mighty blades in the gusts. Drinking deep of the rising storm’s energy and feeding it back into a continent-spanning web of electrical connections. Part of Europe’s effort to face down a raging climate. Only half answered in the States and China. An olive branch scorched in Hellish fossil fuel fires by reactionaries and those seeking safety under brutal strong-men. White caps roll across the marsh. Churning down reeds and drowning unprotected woods. Some of the lower dikes have spray over-topping them. Floods are a common occurrence here in the lowlands now. Pumps continuously push the sea back. Without something akin to a miracle, it’s just a matter of time before the whole place drowns. Mori doesn’t want to think about what the North Sea looks like.
Minutes pass. Passengers drift into a kind of fear-fugue as ghosts flicker across the train — its caboose shrieking in agony at the Curse Rider’s relentless pounding. Miles tic down. At last, Sadie stands. “Time to get ready,” she says. “Up on the roof.”
Beatrice gets up, helps a grumbling Ivan rise. “Worst train ride of life. Better be worth it,” he mutters.
“Hush you old curmudgeon,” Beatrice says. Trying to lighten the mood and failing.
Standing on the backs of seats, they clamber up to the train’s roof. “We’re approaching the Brons River,” Sadie says. “We should see it in a handful of miles. After we pass through this wood. We’ll jump when we get there.” Scrambling atop the moving train, Mori ignores the loud blows coming from the caboose and turns to face the wind. Peering ahead, he sees a large, dense wood. Rising up from it is a cloud of black smoke. Lit underneath by wicked flames, the smoke boils — grabbing at the afternoon sky like a twisted hand. Fire roars in the fanning wind. It hungrily engulfs dry fuel — trees, shrubs, brush. All left desiccated after months of extreme heat.
Flicking his senses to omnis scientia, Mori looks out over the fire and through the forest. Flames extend along a three quarter mile swath crossing the train tracks and swiftly jumping from tree-to-tree. Beneath omnis scientia, a tree explodes into a pyre. His vision wavers. He pushes the sensor through a black bulge of smoke. Darkness envelopes it for about thirty seconds. Finally, it crosses into clear air. Behind the fires are Berserkers. Riding their bikes off-road and along trails, they hurl Molotov cocktails — spurring the flames still higher. About twenty in all range through the burning wood. Behind them the Brons sparkles green-blue. Even its sheltered strand is capped in white.
“Oh shit!” Mori says. He turns to Beatrice. “You seeing this?”
Her mouth forms a grim line as she nods. “They’re firebombing the woods! Curse Rider must have some way to send word to his thralls. Even trapped in Sadie’s cage.”
“We’ll need to go around,” Sadie says, staring straight into the inferno. “Looks like we’re jumping train a bit sooner than expected.”
Ivan groans.
Then, the mighty Sleipnir train begins to break. The flames are too dense. Too intense for the damaged train to safely pass through. Wheels squeal and spark. They come to a halt after about a mile of forward motion. Fields surround them. Ahead, the woods rage with fire. In the distance, police lights flash. Some approach the train. Others cut around the woods — angling toward the Berserkers.
Pluma! Una! Sadie incants, then grabs Ivan’s hand. They jump, landing lightly on the ground. Mori extends his hand to Beatrice, using some of his precious remaining curse energy on the magic that bears them safely to ground. Behind them, the ailing train lets out a groan. The caboose emits another shriek and then lurches as the Curse Rider strikes it. Damn devil is tossing around its sixty ton bulk like a toy. Smell of smoke fills the air. All around are piles of half-eaten hay. Beatrice cracks a grin as she rushes to a wooden fence then gracefully bounds over.
Mori cracks a wry grin. Sadie turns to him. “What’s she doing?”
“Oh you just wait. My girl, well, she has this thing…” He trails off relishing the surprise.
Beatrice streaks over a hill. She’s moving faster than any of them are able to. Could probably outrun an Olympic sprinter if it came to that. But Beatrice’s haste is bound up both in their present urgency and in her momentary joy. In the distance, Mori hears a loud, low raspberry-type sound. Then, a rhythmic pounding. Suddenly Beatrice emerges over the hilltop astride a tall white mare with two other horses — a chestnut mare and a black stallion — in tow. She’s got this crazy grin painting her face.
“Yeah,” Mori continues. “As I was saying, Beatrice has this thing for horses.”
Beatrice trots the horses over to them. “They were just on the other side of that rise,” Beatrice says. “Hunkered down, poor things. Terrified by fire and noise. But I’ve calmed them. They say they’ll help us get where we need to go.”
“You can speak to horse?” Ivan says, incredulous.
“They’re better conversationalists than many people I know.”
Ivan scoffs.
Sadie puts her hands together and grins. “Best thing to happen in all of this Hellish day!”
Behind them, the train groans again under the titanic weight of another Curse Rider blow. The horses shy. Beatrice swiftly soothes them. “Time to mount up!” Mori says, looking over his shoulder at the ailing train.
It takes some work, as both Sadie and Ivan have little experience with horses. But after about a minute all four are mounted — Beatrice on the white, Mori on the black, and Sadie and Ivan on the mare. They’re all bare-back. None have time to go to the far-off barn to look for bit, bridle, or saddle.
Beatrice hangs back close to the chestnut — keeping her calm despite Ivan’s jostling and Sadie’s tentative motions. “Poor beast,” Beatrice says. But she’s not looking at the mare. She’s staring directly at the solar train. “Farewell, good mount. You were valiant. We thank you,” she says to the Sleipnir. Then, turning, she guides them off over the ranch’s lands, angling toward the fire’s southern edge. Behind them, the ailing Sleipnir continues to protest under the Curse Rider’s abuse. Three police cars screech to a halt beside the train. Doors pop open. Officers flood out then swiftly board. A police captain stands outside, scratching his head as he watches devil light play up and down the train’s length.
“Pretty sure Sadie’s ingenious trap won’t last too much longer,” Mori says, glancing back. “Best make tracks.”
Beatrice picks up speed in response, bringing the horses to a swift walk. Sadie and Ivan cling to their horse in terror. Good thing the chestnut’s both calm and mild mannered. Mori doubts a different horse would tolerate Ivan’s pinching grip or Sadie’s startled lurches. Despite Beatrice holding the horses back, they make good time. Mori bleeds some curse energy into ignarus even as he shifts omnis scientia overhead. The Berserkers have lost the Curse Rider’s direct aid. But Mori doesn’t want to take chances. The day’s coughed up too many nasty surprises already.
Fire on their right provides a screen as they move south and west. At least three Berserkers are prowling near the river. No-one bothers them as they exit the ranch, then continue on past the fire by following nature trails. Sadie’s on her phone, calling someone named Finn. Apparently, he’s the boat driver.
“Yes, Finn?” Sadie says. “We’ve had some more trouble… Yes. A fire! Yes. Please meet us before the highway.” She lurches on her horse, almost toppling over.
They pass a highway, angle into a wooded area. About a half mile off, they can hear the loud rumble of motor cycles. Combustion engines designed to make a racket now give away Berserkers’ positions making them easy for Beatrice to avoid. Emerging from the woods, they trot by a hotel. Some residents are standing outside gawping at the fire — now about a half-mile distant. The energy Mori’s bled into ignarus is so strong they don’t cast a second glance at the motley gang of riders. At last, they come to the river Brons. Once a narrow river, the Brons during recent years swelled due to sea level rise and spilled over its banks. It’s now doubled to forty feet and is hemmed in by numerous dikes. They climb the dike to find a zodiac-style boat with an electric motor waiting for them. A smiling man topped by a mop of blonde hair greets them.
“Hallo!” he says, giving a warm smile. “I’m Finn! Your boat captain. I hear you had quite the train ride?”
“You could say we had a devil of a time,” Mori quips.
Finn grins at the play on words. “Well, better get a move-on. Place is crawling with that nasty biker gang. Come now. Climb aboard!”
Beatrice dismounts, then helps Sadie and Ivan off their mare. Mori slides off his black stallion. It was a quick ride. But he’d grown to like the fella. He pats him in farewell, wishing he had an apple or a sugar cube to leave as thanks. Beatrice gathers the horses together, whispers some words in their ears, then urges them off. They begin a circular route — tracking well away from the fire. Shuffling down the dike’s embankment, Mori, Beatrice, Sadie and Ivan clamber onto the zodiac. Once they’re all settled, Finn pushes a button on his electric out-board motor and the little craft speeds quietly down the Brons. Spray, driven by the strong wind, splashes over the boat’s nose. River’s far too small for much chop. But out ahead, the flooded marsh churns angrily. Mori grabs the gunnel and gets ready for a wild ride.
“Hope there’s a much bigger boat before the end of this ride,” he says.
(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)
(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)
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