Chương 175: Chapter 173 – Once the Storm Clears

"Besson's back," said Howie. Cole looked over at the entrance as Besson and Wayland ducked under the bay door into the earthen hangar, ponchos dripping with water. Sheets of ice-cold rain pelted the airfield outside the opening. Nutmeg and Clove shook off and then immediately headed to the cooking fire to lay down beside the coals to warm up. The Starlit cooks eyed them, wary, but continued their work.

Cole waved the pair over to join them where they sat around a dolly of platters with the air crews and maintainers. The soaked Kickers pulled off ponchos and headed over, easing down onto the stone floor where a pair of Starlit made room. One of the maintainers spun the dolly, putting several plates of roasted meat, stew, and vegetables within reach. One of them filled up a pair of clay bowls with some of everything and then handed the bowls over with a piece of flatbread. Besson looked at Cole.

"It's fine," said Cole.

"Tastes like Levantine cooking." Besson picked up a skewer with what was clearly a cleaned rodent impaled on the stick.

"I'm not sure this is halal." Roxy burped.

"It's not bad. Don't be rude." Cole grinned over. Besson shrugged and dipped his bread in the stew before taking a bite.

"Better than OIR DFACs." Cole chuckled and scooped more of a rice dish onto his bowl.

"The pilots said this rain will probably last a couple days. As soon as it's clear, they'll take us to the temple with as many squads of warriors as they can fit on the planes. They're throwing all their weight behind our push. You see any of the aircraft on your way in?" Besson nodded.

"Tight squeeze. Wouldn't want to fly in one in a storm like this."

"I'm not looking forward to flying one in clear weather, to be honest," said Howie. Several of the pilots let out a cawing laugh and made a stooping gesture with their hands. Howie scowled.

"They've got a nickname for Howie that isn't getting translated," said Alexa.

"But we think it's a derogatory term for someone who's either bad at flying or afraid of flying."

"It's not flying that's bad," said Besson around a mouth full of Starlit chow.

"It's what happens when you suddenly stop." Howie paled slightly, which started the pilots cawing again. Cole laughed.

"Don't worry, Howie. We've got those drop harnesses the dragon paratroopers used. They're just as good as a parachute. But the chief pilot knows a secret way into the temple. We're not dropping in through the upper reaches. Too many dragons. We've got a couple days to practice with them.

"If I wanted to jump out of perfectly good planes I'd have joined the Airborne, not the Marines," said Howie. Wayland sat back.

"You know, I went through training and Curahee with a pair of smoke jumpers. So it could be worse. You could be jumping out of a perfectly good airplane into a forest fire." Howie just groaned. The meal went on, and so did the bullshitting. Eventually the two cooks ran out of things to refill the stone dolly and the pilots took their leave. Some headed to the barracks interior while others packed clay pipes and began smoking a sweet-smelling herb as they spoke amongst themselves.

The maintainers pulled on ponchos and scrambled through the wind and rain to the other hangars, still on the clock despite the weather. Cole and the others were left to their own devices.

"Two beds to a room," said Cole.

"We've got the second level to ourselves. Get some rest. Two hour watches. I'll take first."

"You think something's going to happen during this weather?" asked Wayland.

"No. But plan for me to be wrong. We're off-world. We don't get lax with protective measures, no matter how friendly the locals seem." The others pushed away from the communal dinner table. Alexa, Howie, Wayland, Nona, and Roxy headed to the second level to stake out rooms. Besson gathered the pups and moved off to a quiet corner of the hangar. With the food gone he had little reason to remain around so many people. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Roxy tapped Cole on the shoulder as she passed.

"Alexa will bunk with Nona. I'll bunk with you," she said. Cole nodded.

"Come on Wayland," said Howie.

"Room with me so neither of us has to smell wet dog all night. You like anime?"

"I friggen love anime," said Wayland, keeping pace.

"I was worried everyone on the team would be as vanilla as Airborne."

"I heard that," Cole said after them.

"Good," said Howie.

"Cause you're a fuckin' normie, and I'll say it again, dammit." Even Nona cracked a smile at the ribbing. Once they were gone, Cole tightened his cloak and moved closer to the entrance. He'd noticed drainage channels and stone basins all over the city. Rain would funnel down from the mountains on the floating island, irrigating the stepped farms and filling cisterns before eventually sloughing off the edge of the island. It was crucial to the Starlit's way of life on these floating islands.

But it was still a delay. Every day wasted here was one more day Monica was harried by dragons and dragon soldiers. Nothing for it but to wait. Not for the first time, he thought about Ryan, potentially trapped in the March. This mission was the next crucial step toward getting him home. That world was under siege as well—not from dragons, but from abyssal Cthulhu monsters dredging themselves up from the oceans depths. Getting Monica Phillips would secure Moriarty's help in gaining the necessary intel.

Helping Hard Tone with the Beast Cult mission would mean another favor the senior Kicker owed to Cole. All the elements were falling into place. But the waiting was always the worst part of any initiative. An hour into the first watch, the maintainers returned through the storm. The lead among them came up to Cole.

"My lords, the craft are ready to carry you," he said.

"All is prepared."

"Good," said Cole. The mechanic paused a moment. Cole looked down at the red-brown feathered Starlit.

"What is it?"

"It is just… I have seen images, of how we once looked. Seeing them come to life has given me hope. I am certain you will be successful at awakening the bound god of the Vanished People."

"Do you know what the temple is like?" asked Cole. The maintainer put his hands together.

"I do not, my lord. I have never been. I know only that which others have told me upon their return. It is a sprawling ruin. Worse than the dragonguard stalk its halls. Monica and her retinue are so deep that few from the previous two expeditions reached her before being forced to turn back."

"Can you find me someone who's been there?" asked Cole.

"I want to hear first-hand." The Starlit bowed.

"I shall rouse one of the templar, my lord. I will bring them here." He pulled his rain cloak tighter and forced himself back out into the torrential rain and powerful gusts. Cole waited until the small Starlit returned with one of the black-feathered warriors like those that Guarded the Salt from Earth god's altar. This one was missing a patch of feathers on the left side of his head, and a scar ran from above his ear to the corner of his jaw. His left eye was also milky white.

The maintainer bowed to Cole again and then hurried past.

"I am Nakaniel," said the warrior.

"I am second in command for the upcoming expedition. You are in need of me now?"

"I just have some questions," said Cole.

"Questions about the temple. How haven't the Dragonguard beaten us to the punch if they control the airspace?"

"The Dragonguard are unlike the Starlit. They have broken the trust between the Starlit and the gods. They cannot easily enter sacred ground without first deconsecrating it." Cole tilted his head.

"They broke the trust. Does that mean they were once part of the Starlit?" Nakaniel looked uncomfortable.

"They broke away long ago. The dragons seduced them with promises of strength and power. But the power of a dragon drives mortal men mad with bloodlust. They become hateful, predatory." Cole considered. That explained why the dragonguard they killed didn't ablate. Even if superficially they bore no resemblance, the reptilian humanoids and the avian humanoids of the Saltpeak tribe were cut from the same cloth on the inside. But they both put too much trust in their respective masters. He paused his line of thinking.

"Is that what happened to the original inhabitants of the island we're going to? Did they also break the trust?" Nakaniel remained silent, wary.

"We do not speak of it. The Vanished People… I will say nothing of them." Nakaniel made a gesture over his heart. Then leaned closer and lowered his voice." At least not where the priests have eyes and ears. You will learn quickly, once we reach the temple."

"They imprisoned their god at the very least, right? Where did they vanish to?"

"If there is nothing else, my lord…" Cole sighed.

"Fine. What's the interior of the temple like?"

"Tunnels twist through the mountain. They are old, filled with old bones and those who gnaw them. The temple proper is prowled by agents of the dragons and the aura of their attempts to break the chains protecting He Who Calls the North Wind. I know the tunnels well. Monica Phillips is in the upper reaches, where I have not yet tread. But we will reach her or die in the attempt. I will not retreat again until we've roused the North Wind." Zealots. Religious fanatics, even.

The fact their gods actually existed in a form they could see and interact with didn't make true believers any less dangerous. But the knowledge the dragons' minions had once been Starlit… something about this world and how its gods directly influenced its inhabitants sat wrong.

"How do you know she's still alive?"

"She leaves us messages, tokens. Those who came after have found her words and instructions preserved." Assuming she was actually the one leaving them. But Cole had little reason to doubt she was where He Who Draws Salt from the Earth said she was. They wanted her to succeed, after all. One step at a time.