The Irispire Portal Read online

  We travel a few miles more, and the scenery in front of us becomes wavy and unstable. The further I drive, two versions of reality appear in front of us — one where there is an uninterrupted wilderness, mountains to the north, and the crystal clear lake; and another reality where there are emerald spires, towers, and shining crystals floating like lightning bugs. Both visions flit from one to the other as if there's a digital glitch in the scenery.

  "Power down your vehicle, Nyyx," Lara says. "I will take over from here."

  "Oh shit, that's right," I say.

  "What? What's going on?" asks Lev

  "Remember the barn?” I say to Lev. “When the wolves and Marchosias entered?"

  Lev gives a deep sigh. "The electronics," he says.

  Lara gathers Field energy into a gray crystal. It's bigger than usual, about a foot wide. Then she tosses it out of her window. The gray crystal hovers to the front of my car.

  "Ready," she says. "Now."

  I shut off the machine, and there is a brief moment where the car falls before Lara's crystal catches it. She is now driving the car by thought. It works like the flying crystal she stuck to my back when we were at Club Rapture.

  Killing the power to the car also turned off mine, Lev, and Kyle's respective applicators. The avatars our image modulators were displaying blink out, leaving us in our white thermal suits. After a couple more miles, veins of purple electricity snake all over the interior of the car. Superior is a few miles away, and the strong concentration of Field energy surrounding the elven city is reacting with the car's instrumentation. If the car had been on, the entire car would have become one big electrical fire.

  We pass through the elves' arcane version of The Dome. Only instead of nanobots, the elven dome is made up of hundreds of thousands of Field energy crystals, which form a barrier of interlocking hexagons. It's this barrier which causes the glitch between two realities from afar, but once we pass through it, we get to see Superior in all its splendor.

  Superior, or Silanthanos in the Elven tongue, is home to around seven hundred thousand elves, according to Kyle. That number was as of three hundred years ago. I doubt the number has changed much since then. Elves don't have the 'go forth and multiply' kind of mindset. Their long lifespan gives them a slower biological clock. They don't reach adulthood until a hundred years old and don't start looking for a mate and having kids until they're into their five hundreds. And it's rare for someone to sire more than one child.

  Nestled within the giant mountain ranges, in a picturesque panorama of waterfalls, is the city proper. Unlike human cities, where every bit of construction looks to defy nature and protect humans from it, Superior embraces the wild and works closely with it to create hanging gardens and woodland dwellings. The lake to the north has many streams and rivers feeding into it, and draining out. The elves have shaped tree roots and packed dirt to go over these streams and rivers, making beautiful natural bridges.

  From a thousand feet in the air, I can judge the city to be two hundred square miles. Maybe a little less. That's a lot of ground to cover on foot. How do they get around? They have flying cars too. Only, they look more like ornately carved wooden boats. Just as Lara is using a crystal to pilot my car, the elves use crystals to control their levitating vessels throughout the city.

  Brilliant, spinning crystals of different colors are everywhere. Magic serves the elves as science serves humans. Any form of scientific convenience we humans have, the elves have an arcane counterpart. They use magic to communicate at distances, to light their streets and homes, to help them get around, et al.

  Lara flies us down closer to the treetops. The emergent and canopy layers of Superior's trees are around two hundred feet from the forest floor. From here I can get a better view of the bridges the elves have constructed to take them from tree to tree, and am reminded of the propylglass enclosed bridges that connect all the district buildings of Minneapolis/St.Paul.

  There is no set grid pattern or any form of order when it comes to Superior's city streets. All roads wend and wind as if they were naturally formed trails. Some are wide, most are thin, making it look as if Superior was one large animal, and these streets were its cardiovascular system of veins and arteries.

  Every street is busy with the foot traffic of many elves traveling in the same direction we are traveling — north. Elves have skin tones ranging between the pure white of the golden-haired elf serving as our guide, to Lara's ebony black. Their hair color is as varied as the paint on an artist's palette. And if Superior's streets are like veins and arteries, then the elves are like multi-colored blood cells making their way to the heart of the city.

  We're flying towards the lake on the base of the mountains that form Superior's northern border. As Lara flies us closer to the water, I am surprised at its enormity. The water is deep, and so clear the rocks of the bottom are visible from up here. I want to jump in.

  On the lake are boats, the same kind of boats that elves use to float around the city. There are a hundred or so on the lake, all of them propelled by crystals, taking loads of elves across to the water's northern edge.

  To the north, at the base of Superior's mountain range border, stands tall spires and towers of a giant emerald structure. The tallest towers I would judge to be about a quarter of a mile high, as tall as the old Empire State Building, with other smaller towers surrounding it. Each tower and spire is a different shade of green.

  The structure is made up of an intricate formation of crystals, and as the sun begins its descent beyond the mountains to the west, the green towers emit a soft glow. It's as if the entire northern bank of the lake is bathing in the Northern Lights.

  "What is that place?" Lev asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

  "Asrantiyantalon," answers Lara.

  "Castle of Ghosts?" I say.

  "Palace of Souls," Lara corrects.

  As we fly closer to the Palace, its enormity gets clearer. We get close to the towers, and I balk at their size. The towers and spires aren't solid pieces of crystal as I once thought from afar. They have windows and battlements, balconies, parapets, and landing pads.

  The two elves leading us, take us to the top of one cylindrical tower. There are ten erolith with silvered lances latched on their backs, and shortswords sheathed at their hips, waiting there for us. Lara lands my car to a gentle stop. As soon as we land, the two erolith leading us land in front of Lara's door. Four more erolith move in front of Kyle's door.

  Lara dismisses her flying crystal, flashes a yellow crystal in her palm, and touches Kyle. Kyle's eyes pop open, and he thrashes around as if he was still fighting. Then he stops, breathing heavily.

  "Take him," Lara says in Elven.

  One of the four erolith in front of Kyle's side of the car opens the back door and throws Kyle down to his knees. The other three point their lances down at Kyle.

  Lara steps out, and the two erolith on her side of the car, flank her protectively.

  "We are to escort you to our offices for your briefing, Captain," says the golden-haired erolith in Elven.

  Lev and I both get out, and the remaining erolith on the landing pad, unlatch their lances from their backs, point them at us, and get into a defensive crouch position.

  "At ease," commands Lara.

  The erolith point their lances to the sky, but keep them ready at their sides.

  The four erolith on the passenger side of the car pick Kyle up off the ground, and take him away to a door leading into the palace.

  "Where are they taking him?" I ask.

  "To a temporary holding facility," Lara says. "I have to make my reports."

  Lara motions for two erolith to approach.

  "They will take you to your chambers," Lara tells us.

  Lara and her escorts walk away.

  "What are we supposed to do?" I ask her.

  "Wait," she says.

  "For what?"

  "The trial," she says. "Your testimony will be required."


  Thirty-One

  Our room is a hundred square feet of natural comfort. The walls have the texture and color of smooth tree bark. Thin vines run up along the walls and ceilings. There are two double beds complete with sheets, blankets, and pillows. There is a round table for us to sit at and share a meal, a bathroom, and a closet to store our things. Three huge windows are covering the southern wall from floor to ceiling, and it looks out onto the large crystal clear lake. Each of the window panes has a glass door which opens out to the balcony.

  Lev and I are at the table finishing up a meal of venison steaks, spiced potatoes, and mixed vegetables. Lev scarfed his food down and asked for seconds. He received his second helping a moment ago and is now stuffing it in his face.

  "You need to take it easy, Lev."

  "Man, I feel like I haven't eaten in weeks," he says, as he chews on more steak.

  "I mean it, go easy. That's real meat."

  "What do you mean? You mean..."

  "Yes, it was once alive," I tell him.

  Lev swallows whatever is in his mouth and gives me a blank look. Beads of sweat bubble on the top of his forehead. He wipes them away and then fans himself with the white collar of his thermal suit.

  "What's going to happen to me?" he says. "Why am I sweating so much?"

  "Lev, don't panic. It's not going to be too bad. Your stomach's not used to digesting real meat. You might get a little sick."

  "How sick?" Lev asks. His stomach grumbles. He sits up in his chair and winces. "Um...what is happening?"

  "Relax and eat slower," I tell him.

  Humans haven't been eating real meat for a little over three hundred years. With ObeX innovations in food manufacturing, city food is either plant-based or lab created and genetically modified. The human race wouldn't have survived otherwise. Had we kept up with our old ways of food consumption, billions would have starved and died.

  The herding and slaughtering processes of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries were considered by some humans to be appalling. The elves, however, considered it to be downright deplorable. The fact that billions of animal lives were being born and bred so they can be killed and eaten was enough for them to go to the brink of breaking The Treaties themselves and declaring all-out war on us. But cooler heads prevailed. The influential elders of The Elven Nations had faith that our ways would soon become extinct because they knew it would not be able to sustain our growing population. They were right. It wasn't until the late twenty-first century that we humans reached a crisis point, and had to change our ways. We were backed into a corner, and that's when ObeX (once a sole proprietorship, and now a Halcyon subsidiary) revolutionized food production with their plant cell manipulation techniques and advanced modification of animal protein chains. Now, three hundred years later, those old ways have been forgotten, and only read about in historical pages.

  "I think I'm gonna puke," he says.

  "It's okay, take a breath."

  "How could they...you mean they killed this?" Lev asks.

  "Dude, don't even start with that. Their hunting practices are far more natural than the way we used to get our meat."

  Lev backs off from his plate and slides his chair away from the table. He takes deeper breaths and feels his face with his hands.

  "Something’s happening to me,” Lev says. “My fingers are numb."

  There is a knock on our door. I stand up and walk to answer it.

  "Don't worry, you'll be fine," I say to Lev, "It'll take a moment for your body to get used to it, but it will. You've still got the genes to break down the meat."

  I open the door and smile at the person on the other side. I haven't seen Tamon in over twenty years.

  Tamon Lungraden is a dwarf. He stands at a stocky four foot eight. His chest is like a solid block of stone. He has wide shoulders — deltoids that look like volleyballs, and arms that end in shotput-sized fists that nearly reach the ground. If Lev and I were to stand shoulder to shoulder, we would match Tamon's girth. Here is a body made for living, and working underground, carving rock and shaping metals; long, muscular arms, barrel chest, short, powerful legs. He has gray skin, the result of generations spent underground. His face is wide, square, tough, and clean-shaven. He has long black hair tied into intricate braids running down his back. Dwarves grow their hair till they die, and Tamon has about seven hundred years of hair growth.

  "Tamon!"

  "Boy, when I heard stories of the world ending, why was I not surprised you were involved," Tamon says.

  "God, it's good to see you," I say.

  "Good to see you too, boy," he says. "So what name do you go by these days?"

  "Nyyx Mara,"

  "Hmmph. I like your old one better," says Tamon.

  "The 'old' part was the problem. I needed something new. Come, I want you to meet my friend."

  I invite Tamon in, and ask him to sit with us at the table. I introduce Lev to Tamon, telling Lev that Tamon is the one who provided me with the guns he likes so much.

  "I'm glad you like 'em," Tamon says. "I have a feeling we'll be needing more soon. I think King Hurdalin and his Thadamar also brought enough grenades to collapse an entire mountain; should it come to that, of course."

  "So the Thadamar are here?" I ask.

  "Who are the Thadamar?" asks Lev.

  "They're the biggest dwarven clan in North America, lad, and therefore the most influential. I am a member of The Rinmar from the Appalachians."

  "Yeah, I was about to ask, why are you out this far West?" I ask Tamon..

  "I was visiting the Thadamar as part of a delegation of ten,” Tamon explains. “The Rinmar need help."

  "How?" I ask.

  "There are some difficulties between clan Kirgan and the rest of the Rinmar clans,” he says. “What started as a minor dispute about borders is now turning into a bigger conflict disrupting trade along the Appalachians and the Andurians to the south. We came to King Hurdalin to ask the Thadamar to be impartial mediators in the dispute.

  "I was in Hungrasf meeting with our King when a distress call from the elves came, warning of an impending attack. Of course, our king came to the aid of our elven friends. I asked if I could accompany him as a representative of the Rinmar clans, and here I am."

  "How many did he bring with him?"

  "Five hundred soldiers,” Tamon says. “It was all he could mobilize in such a short time. What about you? I hear you've been busy."

  "Well if I had anything to say about it, I'd be on a beach right now, but here we are," I say.

  I proceed to tell Tamon everything. As I do, I remember the mission debriefs I used to give him when he was my mentor. When I was chosen to be the Bearer, it was Tamon who found me while my mind was crazed. We fought. He beat the crap out of me for months, and he got my head straight. Only after then was I able to communicate with Astraea. Together they gave me what I needed to know to do my job. Tamon handled the physical while Astraea the metaphysical.

  As I talk to him, I am comforted by his presence. Seeing the placid concentration on his granite-like face steadies me, and it's as if I am under his wing again. But I'm not. I'm a normal guy now. I'm alive, but I'm not supposed to be.

  "Boy, if I were you, I'd rather be on a beach as well," says Tamon.

  "I'd settle for the company of an old friend," I say, and put a hand on Tamon's shoulder.

  "I'm glad to see you too, boy. But dark days are ahead. It seems rather odd that this trouble with The Omega Treaties coincides with the trouble among all our races."

  "What do you mean?” I ask.

  "I've been hearing rumors that the Elven nations are going through some strife,” says Tamon. “The Nanthanoshi to the south are making a lot of noise of late. Even elves here in Silanthanos are a little unbalanced. It's all politics, I suppose, but something's not sitting right."

  "Who are the Nanthanoshi?" Lev asks.

  "They're the Elven Nation that calls The Amazon rainforest home," Tamon answers.

  "What'
s got them all riled up?" I ask.

  "Word is, it concerns the actions of your half-elven friend," Tamon answers.

  "Kyle? What the hell does his bringing me back from the dead have to do with the Nanthanoshi?"

  "I don't know,” Tamon says, “but it's big."

  "Huh,"

  "What are you thinking?" asks Tamon.

  "Well the timing is kinda perfect," I say. "I mean, Thaddeus summons Marchosias at a time when the dwarves and elves are so...distracted."

  "And with The Omega Treaties broken..."

  "No," I say. "Thaddeus had nothing to do with that."

  "If he didn't, someone did," Tamon says. "The unraveling of The Omega Treaties is no small feat. There must be something or someone bigger at work. But then again I could be jumping at shadows. It's probably a coincidence."

  "Yeah, maybe," I say. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's to trust Tamon's instincts.

  Thirty-Two

  My god. Kyle looks terrible. His skin is the palest I've ever seen it, and his sharp high cheekbones are tight against his skin. His lips are colorless and cracked. His shoulders slump as if weighed down by the black iron manacles around his wrists.

  He was in Thaddeus' custody when Lev and I found him. I can guarantee Thaddeus wasn't the most gracious of hosts. But surely, even as a prisoner, the elves of Superior must have treated him better. There is a good chance, however, that he's been refusing the food and water the elves offered him. I understand why. A marquess of hell captured the love of his life, and there is a good possibility that same marquess is torturing her at this exact moment. Heartbroken does not begin to describe this man.

  Kyle is standing on a floating square platform, in an oval pit, at the center of a large, domed, oval chamber. Running around the pit, in rising terraced levels are seats for attendees. The armchairs are made of heavy polished wood, intricately carved to look like forest vines running up the trunks and branches of trees. On the northern short curve of the oval pit sits the Superior High Council. There are seven seats. Raised above the rest, sits The High Councilor, Rolanthis Uthanasa — Lara's father, and Kyle's stepfather. He wears robes of red with golden swirling patterns running through the rich fabric. His skin tone is a shade lighter than Lara's, and he has the same violet eyes. He's eight hundred and some years old, by my guess, and looks like a human man in his sixties. He has a mane of bright pinkish-orange hair, the color of the sunset, and a light orange beard.