“This is a mess, captain,” Vachir grumbled. Another arc of awakened lightning crawled along the outer hull of the Liberator, leaping between the shrapnel and cannon balls that had lodged themselves into the side. They both ducked instinctively.

Alia waited for the energy to dissipate before leaning sideways against the railing and returning fire. She was careful not to put pressure on her growing belly as she gathered the fire from a nearby smouldering hole in the ship. The heated ball formed a few centimeters above her palm before being violently flung back at the smaller ship that had been trading fire with them.

The ship’s awakened of air ducked behind the battle scarred railing in time. Two nearby soldiers that had been exchanging fire with Alia’s crew were not so lucky. The blast force was enough to throw them across the deck. It wasn’t enough to render them unconscious though. Their screams of dying agony could be heard above the gunfire and cannons as they burnt to death.

More cannonfire rocked the ship beneath their feet. Alia stumbled and was caught in Vachir’s powerful arms. “Please Alia,” he shouted, “the topdeck is no place for a woman with child. Even if she is a prime awakened. Get to the upper deck at least and let me deal with this priest.”

Over the past weeks, Vachir had assumed Jim’s duties of nagging her about her health at every opportunity. They’d even found themselves in a few heated arguments. She had promised to Jim not to leave the safety of the ship until after the children were born. Nothing was mentioned about pirating the Prophetess’ vessels.

“Your sounding way too much like my husband, Vachir. One might think you two are in league together,” Alia replied sarcastically.

Another cannonball tore through the air above them and ricocheted off the tip of the bowsprit, taking a few splinters with it. “Now, captain!” Vachir shouted back.

Alia grunted in protest before marching stubbornly toward the stairs to the topdeck. It was more of a waddle. Her belly had grown astoundingly fast in the few weeks since they had departed Freeport. She was only a few months pregnant, but she looked as if she were ready to give birth any day.

They were on their way to see Emat, the enigmatic leader of the Ll’tal people. Hopefully he would have the answers. Unfortunately for Vachir’s sanity, the captain had spotted a lone Alliance destroyer on the horizon patrolling the southern tip of the Eastern Eternal Mountains. She just couldn’t resist.

“Cannons, focus fire on their gunports!” Vachir shouted, “I’ll deal with the topdeck.”

“Aye sir!” came the reply from those who could hear him. The word was passed down the line and soon gunners and crew were repositioning their cannons downward. The fire from the enemy destroyer had been mercifully erratic. A few crewmen had fallen to injury, but the liberator’s armored sides were holding up.

Vachir leaned backwards below the safety of the ship’s railing and closed his eyes. His breathing slowed and his focus narrowed as he gathered the power within himself. The topdeck crew began to fire down onto the smaller ship. The air between the two vessels was quickly filling with the stench of gunsmoke. The noise around him mellowed though as Vachir prepared himself.

In a quick fluid motion, he stood and stretched his arms toward the destroyer. A web of electricity instantly engulfed the topdeck. It sizzled and cracked as it sought out any metal or flesh in the area. Vachir knew, spreading that much awakened power over such a large area would diminish its effect. But he only needed to disable their crew and priest. The Liberator’s sailors would do the rest.

The enemy priest wailed over the sounds of battle as energy surged through his body. The last of the Alliance soldiers joined him in agonizing shouts of helplessness. As the remnant of his energy was expelled, Vachir stumbled backwards and was caught by Harol, the ship’s lead deckhand.

“That’ll be enough sir,” the short stocky man growled. “Ma’ boys’ll take it from here.”

Two dozen crewmen, armed with scimitars and salvaged breech rifles secured across their backs stepped up from the protected portside of the topdeck. In their hands were compressed steam powered grapple guns.

The unwieldy weapons were heavy, inaccurate, and ugly. This close to the enemy though, they only needed to shoot in the right general direction. “Steady boys,” Harol shouted over the continuing cannon fire, “Steady.” The Liberator released a belch of steam. The acrid smelling cloud erupted through top deck ventilation grates and exhaust pipes on balloon above.

Their altitude decreased slowly until both vessels were nearly level. They had to wait for nearly perfect level to, “… LOOSE.” Harol’s command was obeyed and twentyfour iron grapples sailed across the small space with a hiss. Trailed of steam followed the uncoiling ropes for a short distance.

Loud clang sounds told them, most of the grapples had hit the enemy’s wood deck. Quickly, the boarders began the process of anchoring and securing the enemy vessel. Each of them worked a release lever on their steam grapples that deployed 4 sharp spikes from the front and rear of the guns.

Next, they planted their weapons in pre drilled holes along the starboard deck. Finally, the process of pulling the enemy ship in began with the boarders turning a built in double hand crank on the weapons.

Ropes and men alike groaned in protest against the efforts of the grapple cranks, but the gap was definitely closing. Below, Vachir could hear shouts of “grapeshot! Point blank, continuous fire!” Soon, their cannons would be belching thousands of tiny lead balls in an effort to further thin out the enemy’s dwindling numbers.

From the Liberator’s upper deck, more crew emerged, preparing to board the enemy vessel. Leading them was Sandra Mason. Her head sported the classic Federation kepi. Even though the Federation had been conquered and officially ceased to exist earlier that year, she had never wavered in her love of her homeland.

Fresh Alliance soldiers spilled out onto the deck of the enemy vessel like ants. They were brought under immediate fire from the breach guns of the Liberator’s crew. The ships were drawing closer with each second. Bedlam of close range rifle fire and grapeshot cannon fire filled the air.

Ten meters

A grapefire round erupted from one of the swivel guns and cut down two of the nearest Alliance soldiers. They cried their last through gurgling blood.

Five meters

The swivel gunner suddenly slumped over her cannon before falling backwards into a heap. An Alliance round had gone clean through her eyesocket and out the back.

One meter

Both sides had disappeared behind a wall of gunsmoke.

Contact

The ships collided. The sound of reinforced wood siding grinding against each other complimented the sudden percussive roll across the deck. Some of the less experienced boarders stumbled and fell. Sandra grabbed a nearby rail and rode out the retching of the two behemoths.

Before they had completely stopped. She’d already vaulted herself over the rail, scimitar in hand, through the blinding smoke. From Vachir’s angle, it looked as if she’d charged blindly into the smoky gates of hell.

Everyone on the topdeck followed. They leapt onto the enemy deck with a loud cry. The sound of screams, steel, and shot filled the air. Vachir was already weak from his use of Awakened power, but he wouldn’t sit out a fight.

They would win this battle. He already knew it. This is what the crew of the Liberator did best. There would be casualties though. There always were. If he could help reduce those losses by throwing himself into the fight, he would.

Leveraging himself up against the railing, he took a breath and centered himself. Then, he charged into the fray.

***

Jim’s ears were ringing. It was a problem that seemed to have developed after meeting Alia and beginning his crazy life of adventure. Or as he saw it, the daily struggle to keep her from killing herself in some insane way. The day had been spent inventorying their supplies and assessing the damage to the submersible.

For some reason, everyone had assumed he was in charge. It was a responsibility he neither wanted nor felt he was qualified for. Alia made leadership decisions. Not him. After hours of giving directions and keeping Fredrickson from being decapitated by anyone and everyone he pissed off, Jim was mentally and physically drained.

Now, it was well into the evening. A cool breeze, or rather a breeze that wasn’t stifling hot, rolled across the desert landscape. He’d found a rock outcropping a few hundred meters from where the submersible had emerged and quickly snuck off to lay down and look up at the stars.

There had always been something soothing about staring at the heavens. When he had been a free trader, he’d spent many nights on the deck of his small landship staring up for hours, sometimes wondering at what was out there, but usually just soaking in the calm of the open sky.

Later, after joining the Alia and her band of “Freedom Fighters,” he would sneak up the J-ropes and lay out on the top of the balloon to watch the same sky go by. While he much preferred to spend his evenings in her bed, the occasional heated argument would send him up there to his equivalent of “sleeping on the couch.”

His thoughts drifted to Alia at that moment. Her beautiful green eyes. Her odd crooked smile. The way she still tried to hide the scar across her face with a strand of hair, even though he had insisted that he didn’t care about it.

But there were also the things that drove him crazy. Her stubborn attitude. Their endless un-won arguments. Her refusal to accept help. For reasons he was sure he’d never understand, he loved her. Even when the attraction felt one sided.

The broken moon was well on its way across the horizon. Long milky shadows dotted the landscape where starving plants struggled to grow. Jim listened as the gentle night breeze worked its way through the sparse vegetation and pushed the desert sand along on its eternal journey. The ringing in his head had finally ceased and his eyes were growing heavy.

“You know, I’ve come to you in some interesting places but, middle of the deep desert without a landship... you’ve got balls kid.”

Jim leapt to his feet, but one foot missed the rock he’d been laying on. OOF his back hit the sand below as the wind was forcefully pushed from his lungs.

“What the…” gasp “hell is the ma..” gasp “matter with you?” He coughed a few times.

“Sorry my boy,” came the stranger’s reply through crooked teeth. “These moments of peace are the only ones where we can talk freely.” It had been months since Jim had seen the strange old man of his dreams. He looked as old as ever, perhaps older still. Just as before, his eyes were bright and youthful, contrasting his face as if they didn’t belong.

Jim sat on the rough sand for a few moments and caught his breath. After a few more lungfuls of the hot desert air, he asked, “What are you doing here, old man? Here to tell me more riddles?”

The man chuckled, “This time, I come bearing riddles with a sprinkling of knowledge.” Jim was stoic, so the man continued, “You seem to have found yourself in quite a predicament on this little mission of yours.”

“And what do you know of my little mission?” Jim asked.

The man smiled and replied, “I see the question in your eyes my boy. You are asking yourself, is he real or am I crazy? If he knows of my mission, he must be part of my imagination, or perhaps a spy” Jim shifted uncomfortably. The old man stepped toward Jim and held out a wrinkled hand. “Here,” he commanded, “touch it.”

Jim was reluctant. He’d almost grown used to the idea that the stranger was simply his imagination playing tricks on him. But, the things he’s said… and predicted, Jim thought. He took a deep breath and extended his hand, grasping the old man’s in his own.

It was coarse, cold, and rough. Worn by the sands, time, or both. More importantly, it was quite real. He eyed the man’s hand suspiciously and asked, “how do I know this isn’t just another dr-”

A loud smack and a stinging on his left cheek caught him by surprise. In one quick motion, far too nimble for his age, the man had struck him with his free hand, dispelling any doubts.

“Dammit,” Jim cried angrily, “there’re less painful ways to make a point.” He rubbed the spot where the man had struck him which was still tingling.

The man released his grip of Jim’s hand and snorted, replying, “If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that your entire life has been one painful lesson after another. This seemed the most fitting way to remove any doubts.”

He continued, “you once asked me my name. I suppose it’s best I give myself one now. You can call me Malachi. It means Messenger.”

Jim tilted his head and replied, “I don’t think I’ve heard the name before.”

Malachi shook his head, “no, I don’t suppose you would have. It’s from an old forgotten language of a long lost people who themselves were ancient even in the times of our ancestors. It seemed a fitting name for my purpose in these, my last days.”

Jim stopped rubbing the red spot on his face and asked, “Last days?”

Malachi smiled. Through crooked teeth, he replied, “Well, yes. Llook at me boy! I’m ten years late for my own funeral.”

Jim shook his head, “I don’t think I believe that. You look old, yes, but your voice… your eyes, something is wrong, it’s like you are a young person buried beneath an old man’s body.”

At that, the man’s face lit up with genuine surprise. “Very impressive,” he replied. “Very impressive indeed. You are right of course. I suppose you could call me a young soul. My choices led me to look like this. Choices I hope to spare you from.”

“Such as?” Jim asked.

“I’m afraid, that conversation would take longer than we have. There is a very real danger approaching and my time with you, as always it seems, is limited.”

Jim’s heart began to beat faster. One thing he’d learned in his prior conversations with the man who now called himself Malachi was that, he had a knack for being prophetic.

Seeing the concern on Jim’s face, Malachi added, “Don’t worry. There is still a little time. I’ve come to bring you a warning and some guidance.”

“Let’s start with the warning then,” Jim replied.

Malachi nodded, “Your awakened power is growing within you, my boy. With each use, you hone your ability to use it. However, unlike fire, water, and air awakened, ours is a blessing and a tremendous curse.”

“Ours?” Jim asked with surprise.

Malachi’s eyes opened as he realized what he’d divulged. For the first time since Jim had seen him, fear crept across his face. “That was foolish of me,” Malachi answered. Sighing, he continued, “Yes, I too am an awakened of earth, like yourself.”

“You mean, I’m not-”

“Please,” Malachi interrupted, “there is very little time. We will speak again of this later. I do ask that you never share knowledge of me or our meetings though.” Jim nodded, prompting Malachi to continue.

The old man placed a hand on Jim’s shoulder, “For now, I have come to warn you, use your abilities as sparingly as possible.” Jim had many questions but held his tongue as the man added, “Awakened of earth can heal others, and also themselves. This is our greatest strength, but also our death sentence.”

Malachi coughed. A deep wet wheezing escaped his lungs. Despite the sweltering heat of the desert, the old man shivered. Finally, he recovered and spoke, “Every time you heal another, you forfeit a fragment of your life.”

“But,” Jim interrupted, “I’ve only ever healed someone twice since my awakening. Both times were necessary.”

“Ahh, but you forget, young one. Your extraordinary powers of healing extend to your own injuries too. Every time you use your abilities on the soil, it takes a physical toll, does it not?” Malachi asked.

Jim sighed, “Yes actually... In a big way. Half the time, I end up unconscious or burned from my hands to my neck.”

Malachi nodded, “Yes. As is the case with all awakened, using our powers in battle brings harm to ourselves, usually by burning our arms and in extreme cases much of our bodies. While other awakened heal their injuries over time as any non awakened would heal say… a bruise, your powers accelerate that process. Each time you heal, days of your life are stolen away forever. You are a candle, Jim. Burning away at both ends.”

It took a moment for Malachi’s words to settle in. Thinking back, Jim whispered, “The battlefield at Green River, the skies above the dune sea, or in the mountains. I’ve already used my abilities dozens of times since my awakening. How many years have I lost?”

“One or two already,” came Malachi’s reply. “Though, your extended life as a prime awakened will at least make up for some of that time.”

Jim was dizzy. He steadied himself against the boulder he’d fallen off of earlier.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you sooner, but I was delayed,” Malachi added, staring blankly at a painful memory he had chosen not to share. “Now though, there is a more important matter to discuss. Your life, and keeping it beyond this night.”

“What are you talking about?” Jim asked, still thinking on the years he’d already burned away.

“There is an ancient machine of war buried very near to here. I am going to teach you how to find it. Hopefully, I’m not too late.”

Jim was growing tired of asking questions. “Enough with the damn riddles. Too late for what?” he replied impatiently.

“Listen,” Malachi instructed grabbing Jim and turning his gaze northeast, “A sound rises on the dawn wind. The cry of a thousand hungry voices and the droning of a thousand ramshackle skimmers as they come to the feast.”

Jim’s blood went cold. Cannibals.