#webfic

“You were supposed to be here two weeks ago Captain. And I don’t remember telling you to crash your ship into the loading dock, landing it would have been just fine.” She said wryly, contempt and impatience bleeding through her professional demeanour in a rare show of emotion.  

 The shadows in the back of the cell shifted as a figure unfurled themselves from them, pushing herself lithely away from the wall. As she stepped into the light, she flinched away from it’s brightness, her bloodshot eyes squinting as they adjusted. Adjusting the dark worn leather Captains coat draped around her body she shuffled over to the glass, leaning against it casually and peering up at Hart as she cleared her throat, not managing to shake off the croak in her voice.

 “Landing and crashing are the same thing, ones just a little more hap-hazardous.”

 Hart narrowed her eyes at the impertinent tone in Captain Ice’s voice and straightened her spine, elevating her already imposing height. One sentence from Ice was more than sufficient to invoke her ire. The loathing she had for the woman before her was very specific kind of hatred, the kind of hatred that in another life could have been friendship if the two of them weren’t constant opposing forces. If Ice were the kind of person she could have been instead of the woman she had allowed herself to become. The war torn soul of Captain Ice was a waste of potential, a waste of prowess, a waste of power.

 “You’re a Captain of the Empire’s army, you can’t drunkenly crash your ship into the citadel!” The general snapped, though why she bothered, she did not know. Reprimanding Ice had never proved successful before.

 “I think recent events prove that I can in fact drunkenly crash my ship into the citadel.” Ice rebutted, her lips twitching in amusement.  

Hart took a deep calming breath, clenching her fists as she fought the almost overwhelming desire to wring Ice’s neck.

  “Open the cell, she’s sobered up.” She hissed at the security cameras, trusting the AI’s to take her orders as seriously as their flesh and bone comrades did.

 The glass slid open and Ice nonchalantly stepped into the hall, walking past Hart and rolling her shoulders to ease the crick of discomfort. Her bones clicked and creaked, sounding like the old tavern the Captain smelled of.

 “Those mattresses never get any easier to sleep on.” She muttered, falling into step beside Hart.

  “The simple answer would of course be to stop getting yourself put in the holding cells.” Hart suggested, rolling her eyes in irritation.

  “You’ve known me for years and you’re still holding out hope I’ll do things the simple way?” Ice said bemusedly.

  “Yes actually, it’s why I asked you to meet with me. Two weeks ago.” Hart said dryly, sighed impatiently as Ice reached the vacant warden’s desk and vaulted over it, rummaging around the drawers and boxes until she found her confiscated things.

 “You’re lucky I came at all Hart.” Ice pointed out as she pulled out a box full of guns and knives and began re holstering them all.

 Six guns, and fourteen knives later, Hart raised her eyebrows as Ice continued to stow weapons on her person. Finally Ice took the final item out of the box, an intricately designed silver hip flask, and took a long, satisfying a swig from it, ignoring Hart’s disgusted glare.

  “I see you’ve got your priorities in order.”  

  “You summoned me and I’m here, granted I didn’t arrive in the time or fashion you’d hoped but let’s be honest, it could have been worse.” Ice pointed out, gurgling whatever foul concoction resided in the flask.

  “You are always drunk Ice and it’s never once affected your skills; I know you crashed that ship on purpose.” Hart accused.

  “So, reprimand me.” Ice challenged.

  “I can’t and you know it. The engines on your ship failed, the crash wasn’t your fault and you’ve spent the last day under medical watch. That’s the official story.” Hart snapped, venomous resentment dripping from her tone.

 She was the General of the most powerful army in the entire Galaxy and still she was little more than a babysitter, cleaning up all of Ice’s messes. She ground her teeth together so hard that Ice heard it, eyes flickering over the General smugly as she neatly leapt back over the desk and stumbled towards the door, forcing Hart the stride after her. her soldiers falling into step behind her as she passed them.

 “Captain Erskine retired, which means Sector Twelve needs a Captain. I’ve recommended you for the position.” Hart called at Ice’s retreating back.

  Ice stopped dead in her tracks, forcing Hart and her soldiers to a sudden halt as well.

  “I don’t do responsibility, especially not of that shit hole.” Ice told her vehemently.

  “You are a disgrace to The Empire, covering up your antics is a full-time job and in the last few years you haven’t done any real work. This is the first time you’ve been inside the citadel for years. Enough is enough Ice, the war is over. You need to move on.” The General snapped, finally at the end of her tether.

  “If I am such a burden, relieve me of command.” Ice’s voice dropped several octaves and it felt like the temperature dropped with it.

 She slowly turned and faced The General, face blank and eyes devoid of any traces of emotion.  The soldiers rested their hands on their guns, aware of the dangerous change in Ice’s mood.

 “Except you can’t do that, can you? After all I did for the Empire, everything I sacrificed for it… You can’t get rid of me. You want me out of the way but there’s nothing you can do. If you weren’t so afraid of me, I’d have probably met with an unfortunate accident by now.” Ice taunted, her eyes flicking from the General to the obnoxiously brave soldier who was slowly unholstering his gun.

 “If you pull that gun any further out of your holster, soldier, I’ll make you eat it.” Ice drawled, glaring at him.  

 “I am not afraid of you. Step away from the General. Now.” He said autocratically, raising his chin to stare ice down.  

He stepped forward, towards Ice and General Hart hissed a warning through clenched teeth  “Wilson, stand down!”

 But it was too late. Before anyone could even think about reacting, Ice had Wilson on the ground whimpering in pain and his gun in her hand. The other three soldiers leapt into action and attempted to disarm her. She tossed the gun in the air and grabbed a soldiers shoulder with each hand, using the two men to lift herself into the air and kick the third one in the face.  Pulling the other two to the ground and slamming their heads into the floor, she caught the gun just as Wilson got to his knees. Spinning spun the gun in her hand she used the butt of it to whack Wilson in the jaw. Blood and teeth flew from his mouth as he hit the ground again, this time unconscious and Ice brought her arm up, the barrel of the gun aimed at Hart.

  “I am literally holding the General of the entire army at gunpoint and you still won’t relieve me of command will you?” Ice asked derisively.

 Hart stared down the barrel of the gun, listening to the almost inaudible whirring of the laser beam inside it heating up.

  “No. I won’t.”

 Ice scoffed and lowered her arm, tossing the pilfered Gun onto Wilson’s battered form and turning away from the chaotic scene like it meant nothing.

“Nobody cares about Sector Twelve, you can do whatever you like. It’ll be your own personal playground.” Hart tried as the loathsome woman swaggered away from her.

 “Not interested.” Ice called back over her shoulder.

  “You can pick your own crew, from anyone in the Citadel.” Hart enticed.

  Ice just ignored her and continued walking away.

  “You’ll get a new ship, your choice of ship.” Hart sighed, playing her final card.

  Ice faltered and slowly turned to look at Hart.

  “I want a Phoenix SS92.”

  “They’re out of production, I don’t think we even have one.” Hart said exasperatedly.

  “There’s one on sub level four, she’s called The Bellator. Her engine is shot to hell, but I know I guy who can fix her up in no time.” Ice said.

  “Fine. She’s yours. Enjoy Sector Eleven Captain, now go and pick your crew. You leave as soon as possible and good riddance.” Hart snapped, relieved and exhausted in equal measure.

  Ice smirked and walked away, leaving Hart stood looking pissed off with her four unconscious soldiers on the ground.

A/N - If you read this, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I mean it. Thank you. 

I’ve posted quite a bit of fanfiction on here but never anything like this. Original, mine, and completely untethered to anything. It’s terrifying. If you liked it, please let me know. If you didn’t, that’s ok, and I’d like to know why so I can try to grow as a writer and improve. 

If this is received well then I will post the chapters quite regularly, but they will be much longer than this slight tester. And it may be hasty of me to say, but I will start a taglist if anyone wants to be on it. 

If you liked it at all, please consider reblogging. This story is so dear to me and I really want to tell it, which is why I decided to make it a webfic rather than try to publish it. 

               “That’s the problem.  I can’t put my finger on it.”  He exhaled quietly.  “It doesn’t feel normal.”

               “Who could it be?”  There was a gentle probe in her voice and he knew that she hadn’t meant for the question to sting, but it did all the same.

               He shook his head slowly.  “I don’t know.  I really don’t.”  His lips thinned, his fingers tightening around the edge of the wall.  “I don’t remember everything, Sif.  A lot, yeah, but not...not everything.”

               For a few moments, there was only silence before she edged closer to him, wrapped one arm around his waist and squeezed gently. Thordin stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

               “From what I’ve seen, it’s enough.”  She pressed her lips to the corner of his jaw, then his ear.

               “Try harder,” she whispered.  “It’ll come to you.”

               After another squeeze, she released him, returning to sharpening the blade across her knees.  He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

               Head in the game, Thordin.  Head in the fucking game.  Concentrate.

               Thunder rolled, closer now.  The clouds piled on top of each other, then curled back, the squall line well-defined and but moving slowly, still at least a dozen miles out, still over the water.

               Concentrate.

               There was moisture on the wind; he could taste it mingling with the faint scent of salt—unusual, to be certain, this far inland.

               “Wait,” he whispered, standing slowly, balancing. “Wait.”

               “What is it?”

               “No.  No, it can’t be.”

               “Thordin.”

               He groped for her arm, his hand shaking. Sif stiffened, wrapping her hand over his.  Her tone gentled.

               “Who is it?” she asked in a whisper.

               “The dead have come again,” he breathed, pointing at the shadow walking in the distance, the leading edge of the massive storm trailing behind him like a cloak flapping in the wind.  “Anhur walks again.”

               “But you killed him,” Sif breathed, her fingers tightening.  “You killed him centuries ago.”

               “Apparently not enough to stick.”  Thordin swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.  He felt cold.  “Get the others.  Warn them.”

               “You go.”

               “No.  No, this fight is mine—will be mine.”

               She jerked him down into a crouch, meeting his gaze fiercely.  “That doesn’t fly when it’s Phelan saying it and it’s sure as hell not going to fly when you’re saying it, not after the stunt you pulled with the lindwyrm.  This is our fight, Thordin—all of us together.  I’ve lost you once and then nearly once again. I don’t intend to lose you for good. I refuse to let that happen.”

               He swallowed bile, momentarily losing himself in her blue-eyed gaze, reading the fear and the pain that lurked beneath the steel.

               “Right,” he whispered.  “All right.”

               “Go warn them.  Tell them what they need to do.  I’ll be here, waiting.  Go.”

               Thordin sucked in a deep breath and pressed his mouth over hers, stealing a kiss that he hoped would give him more strength than he suspected he had—would give him the strength he would need for the coming battle.  Sif wrapped one arm around his neck and held him there for a few extra heartbeats, then released him.

               “We will have our eternity this time,” she whispered.

               Mutely, he nodded.  She released him and gave him a gentle shove.

               “Now hurry.  If he’s here, Menhit can’t be far behind, now can she?”

               A shiver shot down his spine.  “No.  No, she won’t be.”

               He dropped off the wall and took off at a dead run toward the center of the settlement to raise the alarm even as Sif set aside the blade and readied her bow.

               His heart hammered against his breastbone, as heavy as a ball of lead trapped in the cage of his ribs.  I killed that bastard long ago.  She’s right. He should be dead.

               I should also know better than to underestimate anyone from Aegyptus, too, but apparently I’m an idiot who thinks people from that particular Otherworld are going to stay dead just because I want them to.  Nothing stays dead anymore—and they’ve got less reason than most.

               Thordin swore under his breath.

               He spotted Davon halfway between the wall and the well.

               “Thordin, what—”

               “Something’s coming,” Thordin blurted, barely pausing. “Get the others up on the wall and do it fast.”

               “What’s coming?” Davon asked, spinning to track Thordin as he kept running.  “Thordin!”

               “Trouble,” Thordin shouted back, then he was at the edge of the tent and still moving fast.  He could hear Davon’s quiet curse behind him, but he also heard the other man start moving, too.

               His heart had climbed into his throat by the time he got close to the fire, but he could also hear the whistles of alarm being raised. Marin was already standing by the time he got there, her arms empty but the sling she carried her son in hanging loose around her chest.

               “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice steady.

               “Something’s coming.  It’s not a normal storm.”

               The figure sitting on the ground at Marin’s feet stiffened, sucking in a soft breath.  “I knew it,” Hecate breathed.  “I knew something didn’t feel right.”  She looked back over her shoulder toward Thordin, her eyes wide and afraid—more afraid than he could rightfully say he’d ever seen them, though he’d seen little of her in the days of old and remembered even less.  She held baby Lin in her arms, the newborn gently cradled against her chest.  “Who’s coming?”

               “Anhur,” Thordin said, his voice choked.  “And where he goes, Menhit can’t be far behind.”

               “Hell,” Rory said, shaking his head.  “We can’t go two damn weeks without someone new gunning for us, can we?  Turning into one of those damn monster of the week shows.”

               “This is a little less monster-of-the-week and a little more someone called in backup, if I’m reading this right,” Phelan said, his expression grim.  He stepped around Marin and Hecate to reach for Thordin’s shoulder.  “How much time do we have?”

               “He’s leading the storm front,” Thordin said. His stomach twisted in on itself and he tasted bile at the back of his throat.  “I couldn’t see what else he was bringing with it.”

               “If Menhit’s with him, the camazotzi,” Marin said grimly.  She glanced back toward Tala and Neve.  “You two better get under cover with the twins.”

               Tala nodded slightly, reaching down with one hand to help Neve to her feet, her son nestled in one arm as Neve cradled little Gwen. “Do you know where Angie is?”

               “Probably already on her way there,” Marin said. She crouched to take Lin from Hecate.

               “Are you coming with us?” Neve asked.

               “They’ll need me on the wall,” Marin said.

               J.T. cleared his throat.  “Mar—”

               “Don’t,” she said.  Thordin’s stomach dropped.  He’d heard that tone before and the look on Phelan’s face—and J.T.’s, for that matter—told them that all three of them knew she wasn’t going to budge on this. “I know where I’m needed.”

               “What about Lin?” Hecate asked as she slowly climbed to her feet, swaying slightly.  Thordin’s lips thinned.  The witch-goddess was pale.  Under ordinary circumstances, while he might not entirely trust her, her magic could have been useful up on the wall.

               Except she’s not going to be up to slinging magic anytime soon.  I didn’t realize how much that fight took from her until now.

               Marin took a step forward and hugged Hecate gently, mindful of the newborn cradled in one arm.  “You and I talked about you taking care of him when I can’t.  This is one of those moments.  Go with Tala and Neve.  I’ll bring Lin.  I know that I can trust the three of you to take good care of him until we’ve dealt with the threat that’s coming to knock on our gates.”

               “I—are you—”

               “I’m sure,” Marin said.

               Thordin’s throat tightened and he stood mute as Marin gently turned Hecate and started to lead her after Neve and Tala.  “That’s a thing I never thought I’d ever live to see,” he murmured to Phelan and J.T., shaking his head slightly.

               Phelan snorted.  “Well, that describes a lot of things these days.  Let’s get back to the wall.  I’m sure Thom, Matt, and the rest will be joining us shortly.”

               “I’ll go round them up,” J.T. said.  His gaze was also on Marin and Hecate’s retreating backs, his voice caught somewhere between thoughtful and concerned.  Phelan reached over to squeeze his shoulder.

               “They’ll be fine,” he said, his voice firm.

               Thordin glanced toward his friend, frowning.  He wasn’t sure where Phelan got his certainty, but sometimes he wished that he’d share.

               “Let’s go,” Rory said, already walking away from the fire.

               Thordin exhaled, squeezing his hands into fists, then turned to follow, Phelan falling in a step behind. 

               Sif’s eyes narrowed as she tracked Anhur’s approach, squinting at the shadows that seemed to gather around his feet, writhing and twisting.  She hadn’t determined whether or not it was an optical illusion when Seamus joined her on the wall, grim-faced.

               “That was fast,” she said.  “Thordin find you first?”

               “I could feel something coming,” Seamus said, his voice low and grim.

               “Mm,” she said, frowning slightly.  “One of the great hunters has harnessed the skies again. Anhur comes.”

               “He was supposed to be dead.  We heard about it in the north.”

               “Thordin killed him at Saqqara,” Sif said quietly, shifting her weight.  She had an arrow at hand, but her draw arm was relaxed as she watched the enemy’s advance. “He shouldn’t have been able to come back.”

               “Aegyptus always had its secrets,” Seamus murmured, shaking his head.  “And they certainly had a penchant for cropping up just when you thought they were down for the count.”

               “He was dead, Seamus.  Thordin took off his head.”

               “But did you burn the body?”

               Sif winced.

               “I’ll take that as a no,” Seamus said, then shook his head, leaning forward slightly.  He wore a sword strapped to his hip and had a bow at hand.  “That’s the only way to make sure they stay gone with that one, Sif.”

               “Forgive me if we didn’t have the luxury of immolating the corpse, Seamus.”

               “I’m just saying.”

               She felt the very strong temptation to punch him, one she suppressed ruthlessly.  Behind them, she could hear the sounds of Paul and some of the others manning the watchtower, preparing for a fight.  Her jaw tightened.

               “I don’t suppose we’re anticipating the ability to negotiate,” Seamus said, glancing back over his shoulder for a moment, then forward again to the advancing storm.

               “No,” Sif said.  “Not at all.  Thordin killed him, Seamus.  He’s not here to negotiate with us.  He’s here to take down anyone who gets in his way.”

               “Well.  Why should today be any different from any other day?”

               Grim-faced, Sif stood slowly.  “They won’t make it here in time,” she said.  “The others?  He’ll be on us before they’re arrayed on the wall.  He’s coming too fast.”

               Seamus straightened slowly, his fingers tightening around the haft of his bow.  “Then we need to delay him.”

               She looked at him with a faint smile.  “I’m glad we’re of the same mind in this.”

               Seamus nodded slowly.  “I imagine we are.  Do you want me to come along, or cover you from the wall?”

               For a few seconds, she stared at him, weighing options.  Finally, she shook her head.  “If Menhit shows up down there to back him up, you’ll be in danger from her little true love trick.  Cover me and whatever you do, don’t let Thordin follow me out into that field.”

               Seamus nodded, expression grim.  “I’ll do what I can.”

               “I mean it, Seamus.  Do whatever you have to do to keep him off of that field.”

               “I will,” he assured her, his voice quiet. “Now go, before someone shows up to talk you out of this.”

               “Thank you for not trying.”

               “I’m in favor of anything that keeps everyone here alive.  Be careful.”

               Sif gave him a firm nod and dropped off the wall. She landed in a crouch and straightened slowly, staring out over the field for a moment before she started to walk forward, toward Anhur and what she suspected would be a vain attempt to divert him from his goal—or his task, as she suspected was actually the case.

               Even if he truly wanted revenge, he wouldn’t come of his own accord.  I know that for certain.  His death had been too brutal.  The man wasn’t fearless.  Sif suspected even death didn’t fully erase old fears, and the fear of death was the oldest for all of them.

               Even a thousand years can’t erase some fears.

               Her fingers tightened around the haft of her bow. She wasn’t about to let anyone take Thordin from her.  Not again.

               Never again.

               Taking a deep breath, she began to run.

Awakenings is a fiction serial written by Erin M. Klitzke.  It updates three times a week at http://awakenings.embklitzke.com.  Full chapters will be released here on Tumblr once a week.

Copyright 2008-2017 Erin M. Klitzke.