12 Miles Below

Book 6 - Prologue

Eight Layers Below, Present.

Odin’Kres’Vindr soared victorious above the burning forest, the great infestation behind him quelled for another day.

The six others of his tribe flew behind his lead, exhausted despite the weight of their firebombs gone.

His plan had gone as he’d hoped. The infestation had run headfirst into a metal hive in its attempt to flush him out. One of the machine nest that fought with ancient human weapons, or the machine mirror of them. Naturally, the metal monsters grew annoyed and quickly shredded down the enemy overrunning their territory, leaving the fungal root systems exposed for his team to bombard. The burning trees and spores faded long behind him as his team somerly flew through the world caverns.

It took half a day of flying, gliding on updrafts or landing on the treeline to rest where they could.

They banked as a group, changing course and zipped by one of the cliff edges. The one with the waterfall.

Howling came from there. His team responded with affirmative crows. Yes, victory had been achieved, the Greyroamers wouldn’t have to risk their lives today and put themselves within biting range to defend their dens. More howling came back, relief and congratulations. An invitation to hunt with them, with carrion as the prize.

Carrion had an interesting texture, Kres wasn't against the diet but he much prefered small insects and berries personally. He couldn’t tell where the landbound were from this height, the Greyroamers were near impossible to spot covered by the forest anyhow. And their packs could move like water between the trees, so any sighting would be temporary.

He'd have gone on the hunt had it been any other situation, but the capital was expecting them back. They'd been gone too long on this mission. He gave a lower caw, politely rejecting the offer and the rest of his team flew behind him, a few giving him attitude about it but mostly in jest.

Further into the cavern, he crossed into his people’s territory. Familiar trees grew taller here, more dense. Occasionally he saw platforms and perches for scouts, near the many metal shipwrecks that sprouted out of the forest like landmarks. Massive vines wrapping around the ancient hulls, as if to slowly pull them back underground. Cries came out from the treeline and his team answered back in turn.

As usual, asking them to identify themselves and what tribe they hailed from. He scoffed at the conversation, hardly any point to formalities now. The only tribe left in this vale were the Odin. They had been for the past five years now.

And the reason why loomed before them. The largest of all the ancient human wrecks, resting up against its cliffside. Even this far out, he could already hear the general noise of the city, cries and cawing all merging together into a welcoming symphony that sounded like life and home. The team flew further, reaching one of the giant open hangars where the vibrant capital city of Odin welcomed them.

Soon they were at the starboard aft section, hanger three, and flew right in.

The floor was filled with golden wheat, long path-strings dangled from wall to wall, with platform homes of every size, color and shape built from far more humble material than the steel walls the ancient humans built the Icon of Stars from. Construction had long overrun past the interior of the hangar, spilling out onto the hull of the ancient ship, growing around like mushrooms on the bark of trees. More danger outside the hull, but the Gungnir were the ones who had trained to smash snake heads, rake rodents and pests, and kill hawks, eagles and owls with those beak-needles of theirs.

The vale had long seen most dangers hunted down to extinction, but occasional sightings appeared. They were solo predators after all, often searching for new territory from far away. Especially with the infestation forcing wildlife to flee.

His team quickly zipped through the dense city, entering the more dense sections and hopping from perch to perch after, finding the disembarking platform. All stocked up with the weapons and tools a bomb team like his needed. A small host were also waiting for their arrival to help them out of their gear.

It was all beautifully decorated, surrounded by a few garden platforms with foliage to offer the team some privacy. The team here must have enjoyed the work.

They started taking off their silk slings and pouches from the moment their feet found perches, letting them be refilled by other attendants. That way the next time a scout spotted the infestation attempting to cross the borders again, they’d be ready to go burn it out. Berries, seeds, water and paste were presented on flat boards which his team quickly got to work on without a second’s delay.

The other birds waiting at the station squawked and bickered with each other, handling the logistics of the returning fireteam while said team made a mess of the food.

Kres plucked off his silk strap’s release button, then lifted the whole thing to an attendant, who yanked it out of his beak with all the grace of a scorned artisan. The flicker of tail feathers as the bird marched away with the whole setup told Kres his accidental scratches over the week long mission had been noticed.

Couldn’t sneak anything by an artisan. He understood their pain though. A sow-smith was a difficult profession, but gear always wore down no matter how delicate his beak was around it. No other material could be used for missions that went all the way to the reaches, weight was too important.

Free of his harness, he hopped over to the feeding frenzy. He had to get in there before the rest of his team could pick out all the berries first, greedy bastards. A few wingslaps let him wiggle in and spear some much wanted berries of his own. After that minor war, all that was left was the seeds and paste.

A looming figure flew straight up past the platform, twisting around to flare out his feathers before landing down, prompting his group to turn an eye from their meal. Three others flew past the first, taking spots behind their leader.

A single glance at the new group told Kres all he needed to know. Well kept feathers, with decadent aluminum necklaces and silver paint marking the proud tribe of Odin. Each had a sleek ornate metal pebble affixed to their wingtip feather.

Those were dangerous. Tier 3 from the markings, absolutely heavy enough to shatter bones in a single hit, made to smash rodent skulls at that point. Not something they could fly far or with any dexterity with, though the foil necklaces already got in the way from the start.

They looked intimidating, as expected from warriors, back when there were other tribes to bother fighting. The Odin'Gungnir were feared elites for a reason. All four took a step forward, and his team took a nervous step backward, except for him.

“Kres.” The one at the front clicked, not bothering to greet him with his full title.

“Odin’Tanik’Gungnir, here to annoy me once more as usual. Could it not wait a day after the expedition?” He answered back.

Tanik puffed up, squawking with indignation. “Of course I wouldn’t wait. Not after I heard from the scouts that you drew in the machines. Again! How are you so blind as to not see the dangers that could bring on us all?”

This old argument. Kres felt his own temper flare up, feathers also puffing out on their own accord. He was a Vindr. A Gungnir like Tanik had no business telling him what he could do or not. He didn’t risk his life outside the ship, just flew around perch to perch here preening each other and expecting the ship to somehow survive if they kept the order.

“This was as far as the Reaches, the machines would never come to bother us here. I saw an opportunity to let our enemy make a mistake and break their own bones. The day you fly out there to fight the real enemy instead of scare weaker Odin, that will be the day you’ll learn why I use any advantage I can.”

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“They are like a sleeping beast, Kres. The more you prod them, the more danger you put us all in.” Tanik said solemnly. “Don’t forget what power wiped out the ancients in their prime. What if they decide to rid us from the world as they did the plaguebeasts you led into them? The Icon of Stars wouldn’t hold. None of us would.”

“The Icon of Stars already pleads us to leave her behind every day.” One of his teammates hissed. “Our own home tells us she cannot hold back the infestation. If we anger the machines, what difference would it make? Rather a swift and clean death from them, than to see my flesh rot from infection and my mind grow rabid from disease.”

They’d seen machines stirred up before. Placid things mostly, uninterested in the comings and goings of animals so long as said animals didn't get too close. When angered, escaping was the only option. Most predators didn’t realize that fast enough.

“The Gungnir have been hard at work finding new ways to seal off the old breaches. The ship will hold.” Kres said, puffing up slightly. “We’ve always fought for the tribe, we know best.”

Maggots must have rotten the priest’s brain. He truly thought it was an option to live the rest of their lives inside a closed off ship, seal off the hangars. Pray to the power that it remains steady, that the crops and fields continue to grow forever more. The infestation would swallow the land around and never let go. They’d be caged here like the Av, and no one knows if they still lived or not inside the Starlight Wonder. Those lands had been overrun years ago.

Even if they still lived, what kind of life would that be? Entombed in their own home.

“Any hope to defend the Icon, I will take.” Kres said. “My decision saved our own team from having to risk plague bats, or calling in the Greyroamers and risking their lives.”

“They’re not our allies! They’re meat eaters, and your time with them is affecting your perception!” Tanik hissed back. The other three behind him ruffled up, those bludgeons and needles looking more and more dangerous. “They’re abandoning us already, giving up their dens and pride! There's no loyalty to be found there. The moment the forests are gone, they will be gone with it.”

The other birds on the platform were quickly making a getaway, squawking warnings to one another about the possible confrontation.

Kres didn’t back down, further puffing himself up and hopping forward, wings spread out. “I’ll not hear slander on our oldest allies. You overstep yourself Tanik. They’re far closer to the infestation, their dens on land where the plaguebeasts could trample them over. Leaving for better isn’t honorless, only pragmatic. Something we should learn from.”

The bird’s guards warbled, equally hopping forward. “They’re barely intelligent! If there weren’t a larger threat to distract them, we would be just as valid a meal as any. Meat is meat to those carnivores.”

“Without us, they couldn’t craft the tools they need. They’ll always need us.” Kres said.

"The Ringtail have far better dexterity. If it's tools they want, those scavengers will always fill the role for a price." The other minions behind Tanik all gave nods of approval.

Kres shook his head, "Food is scarce, and we don't need to eat the same diet - we have agriculture. Greyroamers will always see us as natural allies and Ringtails as competition."

The Greyroamers were powerful, a bite from them could crush through him, bones and all, in one snap. Teeth just as deadly. And their size - some likely would have rivaled the size of the ancient humans. But four paws with no thumbs and a jaw with poor reach meant they had little means for crafting anything. Even Silverfur for all his dexterity could hardly tie anything together by himself. Or if he did, it would have been filled up with so much slobber as to be useless until dried.

That pack leader had already made it clear to Kres any of his or the tribe of Odin would be welcome to migrate with the pack. Almost pleaded for it, if he understood the Greyroamers right. Language barriers between the landbound species were particularly difficult, since those species couldn’t make any other sound than barks and howls.

The other tribes had left with different packs, but the other tribes never had the same ties to the land that the Odin did.

The Odin were the first, the Icon was the capital to their species, the birthplace of all knowledge. The great caretaker.

“I am done attempting to speak logic to you.” Tanik hissed. “I will bring this up to the council. Perhaps they can slap some sense into you, or allow me the privilege.” He turned, then flapped off, flying up past the sleeping nests. The other three squawked warnings at his team, then followed off after. Those weapons brought here must have been for show, along with the war markings and all.

Kres didn’t believe Tanik would ever seriously attempt to harm him or his. They were Vindr, the ones who flew out to burn the infestation away. Without him, there’d be one less to defend the Icon. Tanik could cry out all he wanted, few others could fly as far as he did each day.

The seeds were all gone by the time he turned back, even the paste had been ripped away. The rest of his team looked at him with mildly guilty expressions, before he waved them off to go back to their homes and mates.

The mission was a success. There had been no casualties, and no debts to the Greyroamers called on. The infestation had been burned back, and the forest would heal by the next week from the char and ash.

Still, he felt morose. Beyond the reaches, to places far out of his range, the infestation still grew and slowly surrounded them. Biome after biome. Soon it would trap them completely, and then slowly tighten around from every direction until it reached the Icon herself. Only a mite colony traveling through might clear the blight, but the little world makers didn't sing to anyone's tune, not even the Icon knew more about them besides their name and effect upon the world.

The battle had been won today, but the war had long since been lost by nature of the enemy itself.

Kres flew off, away from the city. Out the hangar, past the outskirts and up. To the bridge of the ship. The place he went for solitude.

Time was an enemy. Every day, the infection grew. Rabid, unwilling to settle for anything lesser than complete ecological destruction. The mites wouldn’t do anything to save them, at best they’d make the Odin a new potential home - further off.

Useless. The Icon of the Stars had been their home for generations. She had taught them how to read, write, create. Had always been there to listen and speak. She watched over their fields, their young. Kept track of the history of his tribe, his people, his species. They'd named themselves after the stories she'd tell them, mythology passed down from her old creators. To abandon her would feel like abandoning their gods.

The airlock door opened up for him, flashing green for a moment as he hopped inside the giant doors. The passage beyond equally opened, the ship silently welcoming him in.

So much space. Some sections here were so wide another city block could be built inside, house a few thousand more of his people, if they hadn’t preferred to nest outside on the hull.

But these sections were more sacred, untouched by the Odin. The great bridge of the ship. Where ancient humanity once commanded these giant titans to move.

He hopped through the empty grand staircase leading to the command center, watching as all the screen flashed awake inside. The clear windows in all directions showed a fading set of lights far off across the biome. A sea of trees, broken apart every now and then by the graveyard of ancient human ships, all gathered together over time by the land.

Strange statues littered the command chamber, the human version of perches. Their bones would have been here, slumped over their station, had thousands of years not already turned them all to dust. Only metal remained behind, the empty seats, and the Icon herself. All these seats had enough space to fit a nest. Several even, if the inhabitants were fine with vertical stacking and making nest homes instead.

A reminder of the sheer size the long dead titans had. He’d seen one of their armors before, something that would have encased them completely. It towered over him, the helmet alone as big as Kres’s body. The human inside had been long dead of course like the rest of their species, but it still took ten Greyroamers to even lift the thing onto a cart and transport it back home.

“What should we do, heart-mother?” He chirped, landing at the forefront window, tapping one of the glowing holographic buttons. She saw everything through her thousand eyes and ears. The debate with Tanik would have been recorded, processed and archived in her storage. “I fear that Tanik is right. I’ve grown reckless in trying to halt the infestation. If the machines become more and more involved, why would they simply stop at the infestation? They could just as easily turn their weapons on us.”

The artificial voice crackled, "They would have become part-of regardless. The infestation would not halt-hold or avoid their territory-tree." She said. “I will remind you, a cruiseliner was never designed for permanent dwelling-nesting, even if everything were in pristine condition. It is not built for combat-Gungnir situations. I recommend-advise relocation.”

She didn't have wings, a tail, a head, or feathers. The Icon was forced to manually sound out what could have been said in simple head bobs or beak snaps. It made many of her words overly large, and still some words just ended up spoken in old human. The Odin didn’t have a word for cruiseliner.

“We. Can’t abandon. You.” He croaked, dipping his beak at the end to get the sound right. He had to focus, eyes narrowing with each word. Despite her effort to speak in his people’s language, he liked to speak the human language with her. It was difficult but not impossible.

The screen flashed into a green circle, with two black dots as eyes facing forward, and a curved line under. “I appreciate the sentiment.” She answered back in the ancient tongue. “But as I have stated, I cannot do more than seal doorways or control life support systems. Your people need to vacate while you can.”

Their heritage, or their life, the Icon of Stars had warned them. All the other children of air had long left the vale for better lands, like nestlings who had outgrown their mother's protection.

There were no other choices, and only a precious few years left to make that choice.

Kres feared for them all.