Guardians Inc.:Thundersword (Guardians Incorporated #2) (42 page)

“Go ahead. We need all the help we can get,” Thomas instructed Bolswaithe.

The wristpadd displayed satellite images from above Mount Nyiragongo. Each frame zoomed closer inside the caldera, and the lava lake looked like a black eye cracked with red-hot veins inside the volcano. A small circle was drawn in the image. “That’s the location of Mar-Safi,” Bolswaithe said. “She has four hijackers around her.” Thomas couldn’t distinguish anything more than different-colored dots on the screen.

“We should get going,” Ratatosk said, looking up toward the mountain. “It looks like a long climb.”

“About five hours,” Bolswaithe told him, “and two hours to climb down inside the caldera.”

“We have time,” Thomas said. “We still have like nine hours, don’t we? We have time.”

Ratatosk twitched his whiskers.

“Yes, it’s closer to teeeeeeeeeeee….” Bolswaithe’s voice became a beeping sound. The world actually moved around Thomas for a second. The leaves on the trees, the insects that had been flying about slowly cruised by, and then it stopped again. The image on the wristpadd zoomed in more, and Thomas could see Mar-Safi and her attackers, one of them was pushing her toward a rock.

“Bolswaithe?”

“You dramatically decreased your speed,” Bolswaithe said in a robotic voice. “Around seven-and-a-half hours left.”

“That’s barely enough time!” Thomas yelled.

“I’m calculating a new rouuuuuuuuuuu….” Bolswaithe said, but the world moved again around Thomas. He centered his attention on the wristpadd—Mar-Safi was thrown to the ground, and the people guarding her looked toward the lava lake.

“Three hours,” Bolswaithe said. “You can’t hope to climb and get down in time now.”

“There has to be a way!”

“I’m thinking, but I can’t figure out one. At your speed you can’t use any equipment yet.”

Thomas looked again on the wristpadd and tried to zoom out the image to see what the hijackers were looking at, but it was frozen. “This isn’t happening,” he said. “This shouldn’t be happening,” he told Ratatosk. “Why are the Norns doing this?”

“I told you already,” Ratatosk said. “They are powerful, fickle creatures.”

“You’re continuing to decelerate,” Bolswaithe said. “I can access live streaming now.”

Thomas zoomed out the images on the wristpadd—they looked choppy as they slowly loaded up on his screen. As he zoomed out he saw something on the edge of the lava lake—a bulge forming underneath, as if something was pushing its way up.

“What is that thing, Bolswaithe?” He zoomed in on the bulge, and the image accelerated almost to real time.

What looked like a claw came out from the lava lake and pushed on the wall of dried lava. A splash of molten rock dropped over the edge as a flat head covered in molten rock emerged from the lake.

“The head and claws are definitely reptilian. From the head I can estimate its size to be about six feet in height and its length close to seventeen feet, more or less the tail.”

The creature continued to erode the wall, pushing the hardened rock until a large part fell and a stream of molten lava poured through.

Thomas could see the creature's tail splashing around. “It looks like a lizard,” he said. The creature had four legs and a long tail trailing behind it.

“The ridges on its back and claws are like those of a Tuatara,” Bolswaithe said, “just in gigantic size.”

“That looks like a dragon to me.” Ratatosk had climbed on Thomas’s shoulder and peeked down as the images displayed on the wristpadd. “Just wingless...amazing…” Ratatosk tapped on the screen with his claw. “It is almost God-like the way this machines work, but it is so impersonal, so distant, like a shield made of glass, isn’t it? Just watching from afar as events happen.”

“I was supposed to be there!” Thomas said. “I was supposed to save her.”

The images sped up as Thomas decelerated even more. The creature really looked like a wingless dragon—half of its body was already outside the lava lake.

“Thomas,” Bolswaithe said, “others can sense you.”

Thomas peered down at the tech guy he had laid on the floor. The man’s eyes moved very slowly. Then time accelerated, suddenly, as it had when Bolswaithe was falling from the helicopter. Mar-Safi was thrown to the ground, and one of the hijackers holstered his gun and pulled out a long knife, almost like a machete. The dragon was still far from Mar-Safi, but the guards were obviously working with the beast.

It seemed that they were going to sacrifice Mar-Safi to the dragon.

“My…” Ratatosk said slowly. “I haven’t seen anything like this for a thousand years.”

“Why are the Norns setting me up to fail?” Thomas yelled. 

Ratatosk looked at him deviously. The squirrel seemed to know more than he was letting on. “The haven’t set you up to fail…” Ratatosk said. “So far, I mean. You saved your grandfather, and you might have saved your whole army here and the Guardians at large.”

“But I can’t save Mar-Safi,” Thomas said, showing Ratatosk the image of Mar-Safi on the wristpadd.  “I can’t reach her in time.”

“But,” Ratatosk said, “if you could get there in time. Would you?”

Time stopped.

Thomas looked at the wristpadd as Mar-Safi was defiantly standing up. The guards had all exchanged their weapons for the machetes and were approaching her; the dragon had come out from the lava lake, collapsing a side of the wall behind him. Molten lava poured freely from the lake.

Thomas had planned based on that he would have the time to get down there, disarm the hijackers, tie them up, and then escape with Mar-Safi to safety. It had been a neat, tidy, and safe plan.

He had never thought about fighting them, much less a dragon.

What was he supposed to do? What
could
he do?

“Even if you could get there now, you shouldn’t go, Thomas,” Bolswaithe said. “The odds against you would be incredible.”

Suddenly, something in Thomas’s mind clicked.

Incredible odds.

“It would be a desperate battle…” he murmured and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the Aesir’s granite rod. Lord Odin had laid it out for him in the Aesir’s Hall.

“The lady in distress, the dragon,” Thomas said, looking at Ratatosk.

“I’ve seen you make life and death decisions,” the squirrel said, “and I can vouch for your honor.”

“What are you talking about?” Bolswaithe said. “It would be suicide to go down there!”

Bolswaithe was right; by going down there alone Thomas would be sacrificing himself for others.

The ultimate test.

“So,” Ratatosk asked again. “Would you go there if you had the chance?”

“Yes,” Thomas said. “Yes, I would.”

The rod began to vibrate in his hand. Blue lines appeared on its surface—it extended, it glowed, it
flowed.
It became elongated and flattened. A hilt extended around Thomas’s hand, the blue lines resolved over the edges, etching themselves on one side of the blade: Odin, Thor Balder, Frigg, Forsetti, and Loki.

Fourteen glyphs. Fourteen Aesir and Vanir who had contributed to forge the sword.

The granite became steel, and Thomas saw a red glow on the other side of the blade. As he turned it over, more glyphs were etching themselves on the surface of the steel.

Words arranged in side by side, in two columns, each one given by an Aesir:  Strength, Order, Life, Death, Thunder, Light, Darkness, Redemption.  

And in the center of the sword, around an intricate Celtic knot design, appeared elemental words of power.

Fire.

Water.

Ice.

Earth.

Lightning.

Air.

The sword was weightless, like an extension of his arm. He felt stronger as he wielded it, the power of the Aesir coursing through him. A name came into his mind, the name of the sword, a name full of meaning.

The name of
his
sword.

“Alstara,” he murmured.

Ratatosk cleared his throat as he jumped over a boulder. “Behold... Alstara!” he proclaimed with his arms wide open, as if he was speaking to a crowd. “Defender of the People! Sister of Mjolnir, Caliburn and Gram! Forged by Wayland the smith by order of High Lord Odin. The will of the Aesir in Midgard…. Alstara the righteous! Alstara the Thundersword! May it long be wielded by Thomas Byrne... Champion of the Oracle!” The squirrel bowed at Thomas.

Thomas returned the bow.

“So, you might be a hero after all,” Ratatosk then said. The horn came out from his forehead and he touched the side of the closest tree. A shimmering door opened, like the one he had opened for him to see the Norns, and on the other side Thomas could see Mar-Safi bracing herself for the first of the hijackers blades. “Isn’t it the most beautiful thing?” Ratatosk asked. “To know what you’re supposed to do with your life.”

“Thomas,” Bolswaithe began, but Thomas unlatched the wristpadd and placed it on the ground. He had Alstara with him, the power of all the Aesir into one blade that they believed would shape the destiny of the world. He had proven himself worthy of becoming the hero the Aesir had been waiting for and the Oracle’s champion. There was no turning back now; he had to prove it now to himself and to all others. He had decided to sacrifice Tony and the Guardians for the greater good, and he couldn’t ask less of himself.

Besides, if sacrificing Tony and the other Guardians would send a message, sacrificing himself would be a greater one.

He smiled.

Maybe Gramps would return to the Guardians after this.

“You must tell the others where we are, Bolswaithe,” Thomas said. “Tell them what's happening.” He stopped at the entrance of the gate. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked Ratatosk.

The squirrel smiled. “I’ve done my part,” he said. “I need to carry the message back to Lord Odin.”

“Thank you,” Thomas told him. “For everything.”

“Thank me?” Ratatosk cringed at the frozen dragon behind the hijackers. “Sure. You're welcome,” he said, hunching his shoulders. “We will meet again, either in this world or Valhalla, Thomas Byrne. Farewell. It’s been…fun.”

Thomas smiled at the squirrel, then stepped through the gate.

Thundersword

As Thomas stepped through the gate, time began to accelerate slowly. The machete of the attacker was already on a downward arc, as Mar- Safi stoically waited for it, her head held high.

Thomas ran toward them, bringing Alstara up to block the machete. He was still faster than everything around him, and Alstara not only blocked the attacker’s weapon, but it cleaved it in half as easily as if it wasn't there.

Thomas kicked the hijacker in the stomach, but he didn't feel the impact of a soft body under the clothes. The eyes of the attacker turned toward him—even under the hood he recognized the eyes of a robot of the same model that had tried to assassinate Gramps. The robot took a step back, but it didn't fall as a human would have.

Thomas followed his kick with a downward thrust of his sword. Alstara cleaved the robot almost in half through the chest, and oil and sparks flew from its torso as it fell.

Thomas was decelerating rapidly, but he still moved way faster than the robots. Two of the other robots lounged at him, machetes at the ready, while the third robot ran back toward the weapons they had left on the floor.

Behind them, the dragon quickened its pace toward them.

Alstara felt like an extension of his arm. Thomas moved to the right as the first robot struck at him, and he lifted Alstara cutting the robot cleanly in half from the side of its stomach to the base of its neck. As he moved onto the third attacker, the legs of the robot he had destroyed fell in front of Mar-Safi after taking a couple of steps.

The third robot attacked him sideways, and Thomas was almost at the same speed. He blocked the machete, its blade embedded itself on Alstara, and Thomas knelt and pulled the robot toward him. As the robot bent over him, Thomas stood up, throwing his assailant over his back, a move Killjoy had showed him during training.

He was still on a faster time frame, but not by much. Thomas turned around, and as the robot fell he managed to hit the robot twice in mid-air—the first a down-slash through its stomach that cut it in half, and the next to the upper torso. Alstara took the robot’s arms as well as its head.

Thomas faced the last of the robots and knew that he was too late. The robot was already aiming the rifle at him—he was still moving fast, but not fast enough to dodge a hail of bullets.

He froze…the robot already had him in his sights.

It was the ultimate test at last.

The sacrifice.

But if he died, Mar-Safi would still be killed.

If only he had brought his armored vest he would have had a chance.

Alstara
flowed.

The blade expanded, fanning out to the sides as the hilt covered Thomas's arm, forming into a wide, circular shield.

The first of the bullets hit, and Thomas felt the impact on Alstara. He ducked behind the shield to cover his legs. A rain of bullets struck the shield and Thomas saw ricochets hitting the ground beside him. The burst lasted two or three seconds as the robot spent all its ammo against the shield, then Thomas heard the telltale
click
of an empty weapon.

He stood up; the robot was reaching for another magazine.

Thomas ran toward the robot, wishing for the sword and Alstara responded to his command. With a precise thrust, Thomas impaled the robot through its head, and then for good measure he cut down through the torso.

As the robot fell in two halves, the dragon reached him with its mouth open.

Thomas interposed the sword between him and the beast, and the dragon bit on the flat side of Alstara and jerked its head to the side. Thomas was sure that if he had brought any other sword with him, the dragon would have pulled it free from his grasp, but Alstara was somehow fused to his arm and he couldn't release it. Instead, he was jerked to the side. 

His arm twisted in a circular motion, and Thomas screamed from the pain of his forearm breaking. The dragon threw him a good ten feet with a jerk from its head. Thomas held his broken arm—bones and blood showed through his skin.