Trust in Oneself, CH 36 (Patreon)

Paul adjusted the focus on the binoculars, and then was able to make out point of light. He zoomed out until he could see the two armadillos, facing each other, fifteen feet on each side. Their arms were up, palms facing the point of light. It grew, and even though it couldn’t be more than a foot in diameter, he could make out the fire at its surface, and the grass withered and smoked under it.

The armadillos moved in unison, turning toward the old mansion in the distance behind a low fieldstone wall. The ball drifted toward it, and Paul couldn’t tell if it was growing, or the light was intensifying.

Paul didn’t know what was happening. Gilbert and Laurence had explained what they were going to do, but thermonuclear physics was not a field he understood. What he had understood was that if this worked, it would blow a hole in the forcefield surrounding the Chamber’s property the size of Delaware.

That had not made the representatives of England’s Green Men happy.

They raised their hands as one, and the ball drifted up. That’s part he’d understood better because he knew the two armadillos’ powers. It was so they could keep the ball of plasma Gilbert created centered within Laurence’s magnetic field. Then only Gilbert shifted his hands, and the ball moved toward the unseen forcefield until moved at an angle, tongues of erupting plasma hinting at its presence by licking along it.

When it stopped, Paul couldn’t tell how high it was. Thirty feet? The armadillos had mentioned that as the maximum distance they could move it from them, but this was angled and… He looked down and adjusted the zoom.

He could see the strain on Laurence’s face matched on his cousin’s. 

Up again, and the ball wasn’t perfect anymore, flattened where something pressed against it, and flames traveling away from there.

The deformation increased, and Paul didn’t know if it was the forcefield buckling under the strain, or the plasma ball flattening against it. One power against another, and the strongest—

Paul lowered the binoculars, blinking the spots away before realizing that one of them was the ball of plasma in the distance, not intense enough he could see it unaided. He raised his hand to shield his eyes and looked away as this second sun was now too bright to even glance at, and then the explosion plastered Paul’s ears to his skull and the colors were washed out of the scenery just before he closed his eyes as even looking away it was too bright.

The shockwave hit like a brick wall and was accompanied by the sounds of groaning and breaking trees. Paul fought to be thrown off his feet, then to maintain his balance as it vanished as suddenly as it hit.

He blinked the spot out, then had the binoculars to his eyes, searching. He breathed easier when he located the armadillos being helped to their feet in the center of untouched grass.

No one had been happy with how close Gilbert and Laurence had to be due to the limited range of their respective power, so the strongest forcefield powers had been assigned to them as protection. The usefulness was called in question, since the armadillos’ goal was to destroy a forcefield, but even they agreed that something was better than nothing here.

Paul searched for a sign that the forcefield had been taken down and received the contrary before seeing someone press against the unseen force.

The fieldstone wall was half melted as far as he could see, the line where the heat of plasma explosion had ceased being effective because of the forcefield in the middle of it, clear and even. On the other side of what was left of the wall, Paul looked at trees with dark green foliage and delicate flowers in the grass. On this side, the ground was burned to the soil. The trees still standing at the explosion’s edge were black and thin, most of their wood vaporized in the seconds the blast lasted.

“Well,” someone said, “if somehow they didn’t know we were here. There’s no way they missed this.”

“Too bad it didn’t work,” someone else added.

The line was two dozen people, Paul among them. The family representatives, along with Denton, Grant, Wassa, and—

“This?” the brown bear with green streaking her fur demanded angrily. “This is what you had us sacrifice the countryside for? Nothing?” The green looked like roots woven through her short fur. With her was a lion, his golden fur tinted green, and an ocelot, their marking in green instead of the customary black. Paul had been told, when he’d asked about the odd coloring, that each was a mark of their status within the Hierarchy of the Green Men.

“It was worth the attempt,” Denton answered, seemingly unaffected by being on the receiving end of her anger. “If it had worked, it would—”

“It didn’t!” she waved at the destruction. “Look at what those two have done? Do you have any idea how old the trees here are? IN a few seconds, they killed centuries’ worth of life!”

“So, you’d rather they live and your god dies?” Grant snapped.

“Gods cannot be killed,” she scoffed.

“You’d be surprised.” Denton raised a hand to stop her reply. “And what do you think’s going to happen if the Chamber pulls off their ceremony? That it’s going to take place in a whisper no one will notice? The previous attempt is responsible for the literal dark ages. I think the Green Man is willing to sacrifice some trees here to ensure that doesn’t happen again.”

“You do not speak for him,” she replied haughtily.

The cheetah shrugged. “No one does.” He didn’t react to her offended expression. “Do you want to stand here and argue? Or work on what we came here to do.” He raised a hand to silence her again and looked to his left. “Walter, seeing as the assault’s been forestalled, how well are we set up to lay siege until we come up with a way in?”

An older hog in black and gray body armor stepped into view. “As best as we can, Dent. The hacker and squirrel are…” he looked perturbed, “making sure no one inside can call outside or vice versa.” His discomfort was a reminder to Paul that not everyone who worked for Denton was part of the magical community, or even entirely comfortable with it, even if they had to know so many of their coworkers were magical. “The hacker’s also keeping an eye on the other colliders around the world as anything else that can generate to kind of power needed to make the kind of gates they used to ambush you. At worse we should get some warning they’re about to show up.”

“It’s not about power,” Grant said. “It’s about what the colliders represent.

“With all due respect, sir.” The Hog leveled a displeased look on the kangaroo. “I’m just relaying what I’ve been told. That hacker is supposed to be one of you, so he’d know how this works.”

“He’s too damned new at this to know anything,” Grant grumbled, running a hand over his face.

“Can the Chamber complete their ritual without lowering the forcefield?” Denton asked, stepping between the two men.

The kangaroo had to look away from the glaring hog to answer. “I don’t know.”

“If they have the needed ideas,” Wassa said, “alongside the required staves, they will be able to.”

“And just how many is that?” the hog asked derisively. He wasn’t the only one not taking her entirely seriously. Paul saw many eye rolls among the onlookers.

“Many,” she answered in a firm tone. “But they have been working toward this for as long as the trees here have been standing, if not longer. If they are not ready at this moment, it is only because they over distributed their collected staves among their agents throughout the world.”

“We’re not going to gain anything by arguing,” Denton told the hog as he opened his muzzle. “We have a few things we can try to work out where the Chamber stands in their preparations, but even with that, things aren’t going to go quickly. Walter, set up ongoing watches with rotations that insures everyone stays fully charged.”

The hog nodded and motioned for Paul as he walked away. “I need you to keep your people under control,” he said as the golden tiger fell into step with him.

Paul sighed. “What happened now?”

“Nothing yet.” They continued for a few steps before the hog stopped and faced him. “Look,” he said, his tone that of understanding condescension, “if it was up to me, I’d send you and your amateurs back where you came from, but Dent—”

“Don’t you fucking go there,” Paul snarled, stepping into the man’s personal space and making him back a step in surprise. “Joseph and his men are as qualified as yours. We were at Lake Ilopango fighting them. We’ve earned the right to be respected, so how about you take that fucking rivalry and shove—” he stopped and took a breath. “Throw it as far as you can? I’m going to make sure my people behave like the professionals they are. How about you do us the same courtesy?”

He turned and walked away.

* * * * *

Paul returned from another walk among the men. Mood was still high over all, a mix of it being early in the siege and the sex tents set up along the perimeter of the mansion so anyone not on active duty had a place where they could enjoy themselves.

The mood, when he stepped inside the command tent, was tense.

Denton sat on a tarp with sigils written in dark in on it, around him. In blood, since it was Society magic. The cheetah was astral projecting again, looking for weak points through the forcefield. Paul had watched as he’d tried to nullify the magic that kept it active before they’d tried Gilbert’s ‘nuclear’ option, but, however the Chamber was generating it, it was beyond his ability to affect from this side.

If he could find a way through, he’d be able to find the power source and nullify that.

Paul was understanding how so many were awed by him. There was a rule within the Society that each person had one power. It could be versatile enough to do many things, but it was still only one power.

Denton talked about canceling magic just before projecting astrally, and had demonstrated telekinesis when one of the representative had gotten uppity about his orders not being obeyed, with the casualness of someone used to having whatever power he needed on hand.

Paul had believed Denton was their god’s champion, but listening and watching him now, he understood the cheetah was in a class beyond any of them.

Thomas appeared and was caught by the closest man. 

Paul took charge of the exhausted rat. “No luck?”

Thomas shook his head. “It’s like hitting a wall as sixty miles an hour. I appear on this side with a headache to match Gilbert’s light show yesterday.”

Paul helped his best friend to the closest sex tent, then helped him recharge.

* * * * *

Paul watched as Grant pressed the point of Excalibur against the forcefield, while Denton sat on the same tarp as earlier in the day. The metal created sparks where it touched the forcefield. He’d justified his presence when one of the other representative had questioned it, by pointing out he represented the Orrs. 

He’d needed to get away from the bulk of the camp for a while after having to step between yet another insult match between one of his men and one from Steel Link. Both had pointed to the other as the one responsible and since Paul didn’t have telepathy as a power, he’d done the only thing within his power.

He’d sent both to their respective rooms.

“We ’re wasting our time.” Denton rubbed his temple. “It’s not having any effect.”

“You’re sure this is the weakest point?” the kangaroo asked.

“In what I’ve been able to search. I’m going to need a lot more time to check the entirety of the forcefield. This is a large property.”

“Then we’ll try the next one you find,” Grant said angrily. “There’s got to be a way to get in.”

Denton looked at the kangaroo before nodding and standing. “Then I’m going to have to recharge. Paul, how about you come with me?”

“Me?” Paul looked around at the disbelieving expression of the other representatives. He’d hadn’t expected to be asked to help with any of this.

Certainly not this way.

Denton grabbed his arm and pulled him along. “Don’t get all awestruck on me now. It’s way too nice having someone around who doesn’t feel inadequate, or thinks that with all this power, I still need protection.” He lowered his voice. “And I hear you can make me a great dancer.”

Paul rolled his eyes. That had to be the worst pick-up line he’d ever heard. And after the time Paul had spent in the cheetah’s company through these last days, it was utterly unnecessary.

* * * * *

“No,” Jarod Irvine told Niel from one side of the table with maps spread on it. “I don’t care how good your little fan club is. You are not going with them. The cavern system you found could be unstable.”

“You don’t get to tell me, or them, what we can or can’t do,” Niel replied. “To borrow an old phrase, you ain’t the boss of me.”

The raccoons glared at one another.

Between them, sitting on a stool, head in his hands, Roland looked like he’d been listening to this argument for far too long.

Paul had stepped into the tent, recognizing his friend’s raised voice, and had been ready to help him with whoever was angering him. Seeing the not quite rational anger on the barely younger looking of the two raccoons, the tiger instead grabbed Niel and pulled him away from the table. Relieved, the rat followed as Paul stepped out of the tent.

A look over his shoulder as he closed the flap showed him a relieved Jarod, who mouthed a ‘thank you’. Paul wasn’t sure what to make of that as he escorted the protesting raccoon to a sex tent. Anything Niel mentioned his biological father, his utter selfishness was high on the list of flaws.

* * * * *

Paul stretched as he exited the tent. Niel and Roland were still going at it, but this hadn’t been Paul’s first, second of even fifth time today. And after enough sex to recharge him after granting Neil and Roland his gift, the other men in the tent were strangers. Paul had used the need to check in on his men to excuse himself.

The sun was low enough shadows stretched, but not so low as to need the spotlights. 

Some of the men mixed in with his were amused at his presence and him asking about their moods. They were from the families who had representatives, and clearly some had heard about him because they looked at those openly laughing at Paul’s presence warily.

Paul didn’t mind that they didn’t take him seriously, so long as they didn’t insult him or his men.

He noticed Wassa as he headed for another group of men. She was stepping into the darkening forest, away from the ‘living tents’. He almost let her go, figuring that she might be looking for privacy to perform some Practitioner ritual.

Except they didn’t have those. Practitioners made things, not ‘performed’ them.

He headed in her direction. The only other reason he could come up with was that she had business to take care of, only she didn’t need to go to the forest for that. There was a woman lavatory set up.

Considering how few women were here, and that Wassa spent most of her time working with Grant, Paul wasn’t surprised no one had thought to tell her about it. And being a few centuries out of time, they probably weren’t thing she knew to ask about.

“Wassa,” he called, but she kept going. He hurried. She shouldn’t have to rough it just because he, along with the others, hadn’t thought to make sure she knew where the facilities were.

Navigating among the trees was difficult in the now near total darkness, but he caught glimpses of her gossamer blue gown as she flowed between the trees. He called after her, but still she didn’t hear, and he didn’t have her ease of movement, even if he could still make out the uneven terrain.

She was still for a dozen paces before she finally acknowledge Paul’s calls and turned. Her gown was still on and closed, for which he was thankful, but the movement revealed there was someone else there and he almost turned around, ears already burning at what he might have interrupted, when who the other person was registered.

It was hard not to recognize the mountain of masculinity calling himself God Wolf, even if Paul had only seen him once.

“It seems you are not as adept as you believe yourself to be.” The wolf was smaller than in real life and glowing slightly and seemed amused.

Wassa replied with something old sounding Paul didn’t understand. A wave of the hand sent a spear of water in his direction, and he stepped around, gun in hand, firing three times at the seal before the attack and his response registered. Water rose to intercept the bullets while the spear impaled through a tree.

Wasn’t she supposed to be an ally?

Paul ran at her, holstering the gun. Shooting her had been an overreaction for sure, but he had to stop her before she revealed their plans to the enemy. The water dropped, and she startled on seeing him.

He punched; this would be over quickly.

His fist slid off her arm as she deflected the blow. He struck again, and once more to the same result, as if she had the ability to move an instant before his fist connected. Or, he realized, her arm was coated with water and that was what he connected with and slip over.

Wait, shouldn’t she need a talisman to manipulate water like this? Grant and Donal did.

He barely dodged her strikes, coming surprisingly close each time, and Paul stated to… sense there was order and intent in how she moved. This was a style of fighting, not simply someone hoping for a lucky shot, and he was starting to understand—

Her hand closed over his and before he could pull it away, both were encased in water. The nasty satisfied smile on her face scared him more than how the water spread up his forearm. Then she punched him in the face. He raised his free arm to block the next punch, only for her to yank, and then he was focusing on staying on his feet, and his face received another blow.

She hit harder than a svelte woman like her had any right to. Despite the gifts of toughness he’d received, by the twelfth punch, his vision was blurry and he wasn’t sure he’d remain standing if she let got of him.

His back pressed against the trunk of a tree hard, and his head hit it a second later. Paul fought the darkness at the edge of his vision enough to see the spear growing in her fist. When he looked her in the eyes, all he saw there was determination to finish this.

“Drop it, lady,” someone called. The order was accompanied by the racking of a machine gun, followed by another one, and then more.

Paul made out the shapes of half a dozen people approaching, machine guns raised.

Wassa looked at them, unperturbed.

“Don’t,” Paul gasped. “You can’t take them on. They’re going to kill you.”

“That’s not going to be necessary,” a man said, raising his hand. “Light’s out, lady.” He snapped his fingers, and Wassa dropped.

Paul breathed easier, happy the tree held him up. “And I’m still conscious,” he said to himself. He noticed the looks in the flashlights that were turned on. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

The man raised his hand again. “If being conscious is a problem, I can fix that for you.”

“I’m going to pass, if it’s the same with you,” Paul replied.

The man thought about it, then lowered his hand.