The War of the Witches: Part 1
The moment the door to Auhtula Ty’uria’s Council Chamber materialized at our backs, Chester spat, “God, I can’t stand that guy.”
I patted his shoulder consolingly. Our update meeting with Auhtula Ty’uria and her councillors on our progress at the Temple of Aluthua on Vas Roya had not gone as smoothly as we hoped. For one very specific reason.
“Lija’s a dick,” I lowered my voice as a trio of Destyrians hustled past us into the Council Chamber. I grabbed Chester’s elbow, directing him down the hall, toward the residential wing of the palace. “Everyone knows that.”
“Everyone knows, but they don’t do anything to stop him from being one.” Chester scrubbed at the top of his beanie-less head. He had paired his treasured Air Jordan 1s with a red and black checked button-up that he’d tucked into a pressed pair of khakis, creating not only a dapper but professional look for the meeting.
He had hoped that his research on the technology of the Ancients would be taken more seriously by Lija, the Councilor of Technology. Chester, along with a half dozen Destyrian researchers, had been making astonishing progress in understanding the ancient tech, but also in implementing it—they were already marrying the orb reader recreations with current tech. A fact that Chester had shared with unguarded excitement during our update and Lija had stomped on with dubious contempt.
Thankfully, Lija had kept his opinions to himself during my portion of our presentation, but the severity of his sneer spoke volumes. His distaste for us was returned ten-fold.
“Auhtula Ty’uria seemed super impressed though,” I reminded Chester. We turned right into a sunny corridor filled with bustling bureaucrats going about their business. “She even agreed to expand your budget for testing.”
Chester’s frown twitched upward. A finely dressed representative raced past us, clearly late for her own meeting with the Council. Chester squished against me as her assistants buffeted past us. Chester huffed, “Yeah, but no thanks to that insufferable, douchey—oof!”
“Ahh!” I screeched as I scrambled to catch Chester around the waist to stop him from face planting into a pair of highly polished shoes.
I helped Chester stand and grimaced at who we had run into. Dark, scornful eyes set over an aquiline nose and a small mouth, glared back at me. “Councillor Lija,” I wheezed, “apologies for running into you.”
Lija glared at a nonexistent scuff on his pristine footwear, brushing the front of his taupe tunic. “You humans lack a great deal of grace, don’t you?”
Chester grinned without teeth. “It’s part of our charm.”
Lija barked a humorless laugh. “Charm? Humans? Now I know why Fulyiti Kezira is so taken with you, Chester, her Favored. You are entertaining at the very least, even if your understanding of Destyrian engineering and technology is...severely lacking.”
Chester’s fists clenched at his sides. I snaked a hand around his wrist and tugged him past Lija. Practically sprinting away from Lija, I called over my shoulder, “Again, deepest apologies for the...uh, collision. Okay, bye!”
Once we were out of earshot, Chester asked, “Do you think anyone would be upset if we took Lija with us to Vas Roya and let him get trapped in the Temple of Aluthua?”
Though the Temple’s programming hadn’t been active since Azo’lah’s artifact-aided surge of technopathic power all those months ago, it was a tempting thought.
Chester’s Ran’dyl, which was pinned to his chest, trilled.
“Fleetwood just left me a message.” He tapped the pin. A miniature bust of Fleetwood popped into existence before us. “Most Favored One! We have returned from our sojourn to Earth and—”
“Chester, Gretchen!” Ryan Thorley’s face crowded against Fleetwood’s. We both grinned at their newly dyed ombre hair and various ear piercings. It had only been months, but it looked like our young Captain, now a legal adult by US standards, had aged years. “Get back to Fleetwood’s rooms ASAP,” Ryan said, “and that’s an order. I demand a crew hang immediately!”
“Hurry, hurry!” Fleetwood added, blowing us kisses before ending the message.
“Glad they made it back safely,” I said. “I was worried the pick-up trip for Ryan was going to turn onto some sort of ill-advised—”
If it was possible to do so, I might have swallowed my tongue as the bust of Vic Mey-ran projected from Chester’s Ran’dyl. “Greetings, Chester,” the Covlax Vic greeted. His voice was oddly stilted, though his dark eyes gleamed with excitement. “I hope you have been well since we last spoke and that your scholarly endeavors are—”
Chester cursed loudly and slapped his Ran’dyl. Mey-ran dissipated. “Just ignore that.”
“Just ignore that?” I gripped Chester’s arm tightly. “You didn’t tell us Mey-ran’s been sending you messages. What does he mean since you last spoke?”
We took a right and entered the residential wing. Chester fidgeted with his shirt cuffs. “Sometimes Mey-ran will comm me, and we talk. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal!” I screeched, apparently unable to say anything that wasn’t a repetition of Chester’s previous statement. “Chester, he maneuvered Auhtula Ty’uria into promising you to him in a political marriage. If you’re talking to him, that’s a huge deal. Is he pressuring you to set a wedding date?”
“No, no,” Chester assured me. “He’s actually totally fine with me wanting a long engagement. He says he wants to get to know me. He calls, and if I’m free, I’ll answer sometimes. We talk, that’s all. Like I said, no big deal.”
My insatiable curiosity collided with my protective streak. I wanted to know more about Chester’s interactions with the Covlax Vic as much as I wanted to stop this outrageous betrothal triggered by our collective stupidity. We knew our actions on J’olpri and our search for Zerin would have consequences. We just didn’t know those consequences would be Chester, a member of House Fuiq due to his status as Fleetwood’s Favored, being forced into a marriage of political alliance.
“What do you talk about?” I didn’t want to pry, but by the slight smile Chester was fighting, I thought he might want to talk about what was happening between him and Mey-ran.
He shrugged sheepishly. “You know, stuff.”
“Enlightening.”
“He asks about my experiments, my life back on Earth. Typical getting to know you stuff.”
“Except this isn’t a typical getting to know you experience,” I pointed out.
“He’s not a bad guy.” Chester’s eyes darted around the corridor, assessing for eavesdroppers. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s weird as hell and doesn’t really get human social cues. And I’m not a huge fan of being forced to marry him in order to avoid war with his terrifying mother, but… he’s not a bad guy.”
I nudged our elbows together. “He’s also stupid hot.”
“So stupid hot,” Chester agreed vehemently.
“As long as he’s behaving himself, I guess it wouldn’t hurt for you to get along until we find a way to get you out of this marriage,” I said.
“While also avoiding war with Vicerenne Tov-ri,” Chester added. “Not a tall order at all.”
I linked our arms together. “Hey, we’ve pulled off some pretty impossible stuff before, right? Don’t underestimate the power of our crew on a mission.”
We entered Fleetwood’s chambers cautiously, prepared for a whirlwind of Destyrian princess and over-enthusiastic teenage Captain. Instead, we found an empty foyer and silence.
“Why does this complete lack of activity scare me?” I asked. It was genuinely disturbing not to hear a Broadway musical soundtrack pouring from a distant room while Fleetwood clung to us in greeting like a manic koala.
Chester sighed, “Because you know FleetMerc.” We crossed the foyer into the dining area, where we found a pristinely set table for six but no friends. We looked at each other, uncertain of our current situation.
“At what point do we consider kidnapping?” I asked as Chester led the way into Fleetwood’s lounge. The room was cavernous with its rainbow-painted ceiling, sprawling mosaic floor, and multiple window seats, cushioned in clashing designs of plaids, florals, and geometric kaleidoscopes. The multiple velvet sofas and chairs were devoid of anything but perfectly fluffed pillows. I couldn’t even spy Sebastian, whose favorite past-time was sunning himself on one of the window seats.
I spun in a slow circle. “Where are—AHH!” Chester and I were wedged together in a violent embrace. Ryan and Fleetwood hollered their glee as they collided into us from either side. Matt silently braced us all, his strong, steady arms at our backs.
“Where the hell did you come from?” My question was muffled against Ryan’s shoulder.
“Missed you!” Fleetwood cheered.
“Saw us this morning at breakfast,” Chester reminded her but snuggled into her anyway.
“Missed this!” Fleetwood corrected as she gestured at all of us (sans Azo’lah) together.
Ryan, still plastered against my side in a tight embrace that I wasn’t prepared to release, turned their face to the ceiling and sang loudly, “Reunited and it feels so —”
“Food!” Fleetwood finished for them. We laughed as we extricated ourselves from the hug, though we stayed close together.
“Did you get taller?” I held Ryan at arm’s length and studied them. They were clad in sneakers, jeans, and a Cosmic Conquerors t-shirt, and my hands, which rested on their shoulders, definitely sat higher than they had last time I had hugged our Captain.
Ryan shrugged. “Probably.” They roped Chester and me into another hug.
“How was graduation?” Chester asked.
“The longest four hours of my life,” they groaned. “Then Mom and Dad wanted to take about a million pictures of me in my cap and gown. I almost missed the meet-up with Matt and Fleetwood.”
“We also demanded pictures,” Matt said, beaming. He held up his Ran’dyl, a hologram of himself, Fleetwood, and Ryan, still bedecked in their forest-green cap and gown, smiled cheesily at me. I immediately tapped my Ran’dyl against his; I needed that picture in my archives immediately.
“Delete that,” Ryan demanded, flopping onto one of the sofas. “I look like a tool.”
Fleetwood dropped down beside them and patting their head. “You looked splendiferous as hell in your regalia, Captain.”
“Ah, Captain, I’ve missed that!” Ryan watched Chester, Matt, and I find seats and said, “No one can make me go back to Earth. I’m eighteen, and officially a high school graduate now,” they pulled a folded piece of paper from their back pocket, “and I got the receipts to prove it.”
From his high-backed chair, Chester winced in horror as Ryan unfolded the paper and proudly brandished it. “You folded your diploma?”
Sebastian wriggled out from his hiding spot under Chester’s chair and joined Matt and me on our sofa. “No one’s sending you back unless you want to go back,” I promised Ryan. They had met all of our previous stipulations, even going so far as to find an early admissions program at UCLA as their cover story for needing to leave directly after their graduation ceremony. “How was the rest of your senior year?”
“Who cares?” Ryan sat up and trained their excited eyes on us. “Tell me everything I’ve missed.” They knocked their knee against Fleetwood’s. “This one wouldn’t spill any tea on the ride back here.”
I asked, “Do we even have enough time before dinner starts?”
“Worry not, Gret’chen,” Fleetwood said, waving her hand through the air. “We cannot have food, glorious food until Azo’lah has been more chill with her Soul Healer.”
I nodded at the reminder. Azo’lah had been doing much better since we returned to Destyr with Zerin four binary cycles ago. She had increased her visits to her Soul Healer and had been much more open with us when she was struggling with her darkness. It was a work in progress, but we were all more than happy to be there for Azo’lah in any way she needed.
“Aw hell. I’ll start,” Chester offered, sagging into the plush cushions of his chair.
Twenty minutes later, Matt had provided us all with drinks, and the recap was winding down.
Ryan gaped, wide-eyed, at Chester. “You’re engaged,” they said slowly, “to the Covlax Vic in a move for political alliance?”
Chester drained his glass. “That’s the long and short of it.”
“Why you?” Ryan crowed indignantly.
“Two reasons,” Fleetwood answered in Chester’s stead. “Mother was not willing to offer up any member of my family who could potentially sit the throne.” At Ryan’s nod, Fleetwood continued. “And second, whenever Mother suggested a different family member, Mey-ran always demanded Chester instead.” In a mock-whisper, she added, “He wants the dick.”
“FLEETWOOD,” Chester hollered, sinking deeply into his chair with mortification.
“I don’t like this.” Ryan popped up to their feet and began pacing. “How do we get you out of it?”
“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Matt replied.
I said, “We haven’t come up with an answer quite yet.”
“It isn’t urgent.” Chester set his empty glass on a side table. “ Mey-ran isn’t demanding a wedding tomorrow. This whole...betrothal is an exercise in curiosity. He’s never met a human before, and he wants to know what we’re like. I’ll just wait him out. He’ll get bored eventually.”
Ryan snorted. “For a genius, that’s an incredibly stupid outlook.” They gestured to all of us. “What the hell, guys? I was only gone for three months. And all of this nonsense happens—Azo’lah has an identity crisis, Chester gets engaged, and Gretchen almost fucks Shockley.” They pointed at me. “Yeah, I’m not letting that go.”
I took a bracing sip of my drink. “It isn’t an ongoing thing,” I said, defensively. And, if I happened to check my comms for missed messages from a certain mercenary every now and again, no one but me needed to know that.
“You all are a hot mess. None of you are allowed to make decisions without my approval,” Ryan declared.
“Does that include the decision to start dinner?” Azo’lah asked from the doorway.
“Azo’lah!” Ryan cheered as they took a running leap across the lounge.
Azo’lah caught them off the floor in an easy embrace. “Captain,” Azo’lah set Ryan down. “It’s good to see you. I trust your return trip was satisfactory.”
“Damn right it was.”
Azo’lah turned her gaze to her cousin. “Fulyiti, dinner has been served.”
Fleetwood bounced to her feet, reaching for me and Matt with both hands. “Let us feast! And then, a surprise in the gardens!”
“A surprise?” I queried. Fleetwood’s surprises were either spectacular fun or incredibly dangerous. Usually both.
Ryan linked their arm with Chester’s and led us toward the dining room. “Our dearest Fulyiti has set up a Cosmic Conquerors screening for us! Finally, I get to educate you plebes on what good television is.”
I laughed as we settled around the table, our little family feeling a little more complete than it had this morning.
Ryan’s eyes blazed brighter than the enemy's incoming firepower. They pointed up at Azo’lah, who was manning the weapons module on the balcony of The Gold Dust Wo’man’s bridge. “Fire on the left!”
“Yes, Captain,” Azo’lah sighed, triggering the simulation’s missiles.
“Captain!” Fleetwood rushed forward, panting. She held up her Ran’dyl, which displayed a fleet of ships and missiles flanking us. “We’re about to be cornered!”
Matt leaned back in the pilot’s seat and kicked his boots up on the flight console. “Captain, a meteor field is fast approaching.”
Ryan stepped forward and ecstatically scanned our fake viewport. “Excellent spot, Majumdar. Take us through, flyboy.”
“Aye, aye,” Matt said with a mocking salute.
Ryan smacked him across the back of his head. “It wouldn’t kill you to take this as seriously as Fleetwood, you know!”
They turned their scorching gaze on me in my chair and to Chester at the back of the bridge, who was lackadaisically monitoring the life support systems. I squirmed uncomfortably at the chastisement. In our defense, we had taken the first star-cycle of training drills very seriously. Not only was Chester getting infinitely better at flying The Gold Dust Wo’man, but Fleetwood and I had also received training in running the emergency backup and weapons systems. Chester had taken Matt under his wing, teaching him more nuanced mechanical fixes to our operating systems, and Azo’lah had given us all an in-depth class on emergency first aid for Destyrians, while Ryan and Matt taught us about humans.
All of those classes felt necessary and practical. But these increasingly outlandish emergency sims that Ryan had us run the last few days were starting to feel a little silly.
“Apologies, Captain,” Matt said, not bothering to cover his yawning mouth, “but maybe we could take a lunch break.”
The warning alarms blared around us, signaling a new swarm of imaginary enemies.
Ryan gestured widely, their blue eyes glinted with indignation. “A lunch break? We’re surrounded on all sides, and you want a lunch break?”
“Captain, all due respect,” Azo’lah called, leaning against the balcony’s railing, “we are a diplomatic crew who, admittedly, get into more than our share of trouble. But the likelihood of us being engulfed by an insurmountable army of enemies while navigating a meteor shower is almost nonexistent.”
“Don’t invite that evil into this house!” Ryan yelled. At my incredulous stare, they said, “Saying we’ll never encounter something is as good as setting us up for it in the future.”
The warning sirens cut off abruptly, and the simulation disappeared from the screen. “A break is probably a good idea,” Chester said as his fingers delicately tapped the screen at his station, shutting everything down. “Rest and full stomachs will be helpful for total concentration in this afternoon’s simulation.”
Fleetwood thrust her fists into the air. “Total domination!”
“Fine,” Ryan acquiesced, “we can do lunch. But only if you all promise to take this afternoon’s training seriously!”
“Promise,” I cried, leaping from my seat. Matt dove from his chair toward the door.
“Pinky promise,” Fleetwood announced, holding out the aforementioned digit.
Ryan and Fleetwood linked little fingers just as my Ran’dyl blasted an annoyingly familiar 80s rock anthem. The song brought Matt and Chester to a stand-still at the door. They, along with the rest of the crew, turned to stare at me.
Fuck.
I smacked at my wrist to make it stop and accidentally answered the incoming call.
“Hey, babe, how’ve you been?”
The holographic bust of Maximillian Danger Shockley, sweaty, smiling, and framed by the sharp, geometric wings of a high-backed chair, hovered before me.
My cheeks burned cherry red beneath the gleeful, teasing glances of my friends.
“Don’t call me babe,” I said by way of greeting.
Shockley ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair. “Listen, I don’t have much time to talk—” In the background, I heard an explosion. Shockley winced but continued. “I got a call from a contact. Long story short: Someone on Huxor wanted to hire me to come in and snatch something up for them, but I'm a little busy at the moment.”
“I fail to see why that warrants you calling me,” I said, my tone of irritation in direct opposition to the way I hungrily scanned his face. It had been too long since I had seen him in the flesh.
Shockley’s smile widened, throwing into sharp relief the darkening bruise along his jaw. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you.”
“I thought you didn’t have time to talk?”
“I’m always willing to make time for you, babe.”
“MAX!” Tyler shouted from somewhere behind Shockley. “I’m not trying to harsh your flow, but focus up, bro!”
Shockley shook himself. “Right. Like I was saying: the necromancers. Things on Huxor have been strained for a while now, but the necromancers are planning on taking things to the next level.”
“When you say the necromancers,” Ryan said, striding to my side and waving at Shockley, “do you mean a group of baddies who call themselves ‘the necromancers’ or do you mean honest to God—”
“Witches with the power to raise the dead,” Shockley finished for them.
Ryan tipped their head back and whispered to the ceiling, “So awesome.”
“Not so awesome for the rest of Huxor,” Shockley continued over Tyler’s indistinguishable shouting. “The necromancers are planning on stealing the Crystal of Cajlire and destroying it in some ritual to boost their powers. Son of a bitch!” His face tightened as his floating bust barrel-rolled before righting itself—something I assumed his ship had just done. “Figured I’d throw this one your way, Name Police. Considering.”
“Considering?”
“The Crystal of Cajlire is majorly of yore,” Fleetwood said.
A brilliant glare of green light pulsed behind Shockley. “Over 6,000 years old.”
“It’s rumored to be imbued with ‘magic,’” Chester accompanied the last word with air quotes. “But most importantly, the Crystal is this quadrant’s version of the Rosetta stone. It is the key translation tool between five ancient inter-planetary languages.”
“And these necromancers want to destroy it for power?” I asked, my voice an octave too high as I shook with rage.
Shockley grinned as his bust tilted sideways. “There she is.”
“Max!” Tyler bellowed in the background. “They’re closing in.”
“Fuck.” Shockley gave me a mocking wave, like a chivalrous knight going off to war. “Gotta run, babe. Have fun on Huxor. Give Fleetwood Tyler’s love. Give Azo’lah Nyc’arra’s hate.”
“Fuck you, Shockley,” Azo’lah shouted.
With a laugh and a wink, he disappeared.
I scanned the faces of my friends, biting my lip. I knew nothing of Huxor and its witches or alleged necromancers. But I did know I could not stand by and let such a priceless historical treasure be destroyed so callously.
I cleared my throat. “Guys, I won’t ask you to come with me, but I have to go to Huxor.”
Fleetwood flapped her arms and shrilled like a bird. Matt crossed to his seat and pulled up a schematic. Lines and ships appeared across the viewport as he tapped against his board. “The Gold Dust Wo’man can get us there in less than half an Earth day, Captain.”
“I’ll definitely need my testing kits,” Chester said to no one in particular, “possibly the electromagnetic probe and telemetry scope.”
Ryan looked up to Azo’lah. “Myax?”
Azo’lah tapped away at her Ran’dyl. “I’ll have to take weapons inventory, but we should be fully stocked. I assume we want to take the Qu’een as well?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll load her in below and make sure she’s fueled up,” Matt volunteered.
“Alright, then let’s be ready for an early take-off tomorrow morning,” Ryan clapped their hands together. “Training is canceled for the rest of the day. Everyone pack up, we’re headed to Huxor.”
Fleetwood released another warcry, this one more piercing than the last.
“You guys don’t have to come with me,” I said.
“Don’t be stupid, Borowicz,” Ryan patted my shoulder as Fleetwood spun Chester around in their signature ‘we’re going on an adventure’ dance. “We go where you go. We’re a crew. Plus: space witches. I’m so there.”
“Are you positive I can’t post this on Instagram?” Ryan asked, barely out of breath from our hike up from the valley. They were already scaling a mossy boulder that skirted the emerald field we had summited to get a better view of our surroundings. “Cuz that’s a gram-worthy landscape if I ever saw one.”
Ryan wasn’t wrong. Huxor was unquestionably stunning. In the nearby distance, forest-skirted mountains rose imperiously above the shoulders of rolling hills. Behind us, the cerulean splashed horizon dropped off to wild cliff-ringed beaches. It was like every magical, wild place in Celtic lore had converged on this planet.
“No outer space social media posts.” I grinned, wading through the waist-high, flaxen grass to meet them. With much less grace, I climbed up the boulder to stand beside them.
Ryan snorted. “What’re they gonna do? Send the stupid Space Force after us?”
“Don’t get me started on Space Force!” Chester huffed as he came into view over the rise of the steep incline. Matt had parked the Gold Dust Wo’man at the flat bottom of a valley, sheltering it as much as possible, just to be cautious. From what, I didn’t know. There didn’t seem to be any settlements or any people around, let alone necromancers.
“Why did you impersonate a mountain goat instead of taking the stairs?” Ryan gestured to the wide, worn flat stones that had been embedded into the side of the valley ten yards to the right.
“Now you tell me,” Chester wheezed, clutching at the stitch in his side. He leaned his back against our perch and glared at the rudimentary stone steps. “Why are there stairs, doesn’t look like anything is around—”
He was interrupted by screeching. “Slow-jokes!” Fleetwood flew over the rise like a pole-vaulter, just as Azo’lah snatched her around the waist. Azo’lah dumped Fleetwood behind her, jumping forward. But Matt, sneaking up behind them, dove the last few feet.
“I win!” he crowed, spitting grass out of his mouth.
“Cheater, cheater, orange squash eater!” Fleetwood chanted, hopping onto Azo’lah’s back. Azo’lah accepted Fleetwood’s weight easily, her arms securely supporting her cousin as Fleetwood locked her legs around Azo’lah’s waist. “The victory should have been mine!”
“It’s pumpkin eater,” Chester grinned at the cousins, breathless with exertion and laughter. Azo’lah looked up at me, her navy eyes glittering, smile brighter than the slivers of pure gold sunshine that pierced the rolling clouds, which were, I noted with alarm, getting incredibly dark, incredibly fast.
I knew the moment Azo’lah noticed what I had--her grin fell into a frown. She tapped Fleetwood’s knees to get her to hop down.
“Get down,” Azo’lah ordered, already reaching for me. Her body heat as she helped me off the boulder was searing in contrast to the sudden, bone-deep cold of the air. There was a blinding flash, a terrible, rattling gasp, and then a flood of uncomfortable heat. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision. The ground rumbled, throwing Ryan off balance. Matt caught them, setting them safely down onto the grass.
Earth erupted at Ryan’s feet. Bomb, I thought, as Ryan screamed for us to find cover. Chunks of ground, rocks, and shattered pieces of trees rained down. My field of vision tinged magenta as Azo’lah powered up the jeweled band on her bicep, activating her glowing shield, covering us from the debris, even as she rushed toward Fleetwood to protect her. When the dirt stopped flying, I realized with horror why it had. Something was rising, no, resurrecting. A skeleton floated from the upturned ground, draped in disintegrating robes of cornflower blue.
“Zombie Jesus!” Ryan hollered, wide-eyed. It was an apt description, but they didn’t need to sound so excited about it. I wasn’t sure if their hand was reaching for their holstered weapon or to activate their Ran’dyl to take a picture.
After the initial shock, I realized that Zombie Jesus had a strange, empty socket in the center of its skull. It turned toward the valley, bony arms rising.
Skeletons, all wearing robes in varying states of degradation, burst out of the sides of the valley, floating horizontally as if literally dragged from their eternal slumber in what was clearly a tiered, ancient burial site built into the hillside.
“The stairs make sense now,” I said dumbly.
“Not the time, Gretch,” Chester said.
Ryan gaped at the rising bodies. “These necromancers really aren’t fucking around, are—”
“My ship!” Matt howled, drawing all of our attention as he reached futilely for the valley floor. Clods of dirt tumbled in a landslide toward the Gold Dust Wo’man, even as the dislodged dead floated upwards to join Zombie Jesus.
Suddenly, the ship disappeared in a blinding flash of gold-washed silver. When I blinked, the Gold Dust Wo’man was imprinted on the back of my eyelids in a golden luster.
“My ship!” Matt screamed again. “Where is my ship?”
“Safe,” a disembodied voice behind us announced. “You, however, are not!” The air rippled, and a young woman, probably about Ryan’s age, with long black and turquoise braids woven with silver thread, miraculously emerged. She had a third, milky-white eyeball in the center of her forehead, which contrasted starkly with her dark skin. She sped down the closest hill toward us in a wheelchair. It was a high-backed and cushioned cottage-core steampunk dream that had been altered to handle the planet’s terrain. “Behind you!”
Azo’lah whirled, but Fleetwood had already fired her gun at Zombie Jesus. The bolt sliced right through his aged sternum but otherwise did little to slow it down.
“Your weapons won’t work on the dead!” The young woman pulled a sliver of wood out of her bag. She lobbed it with one arm toward Zombie Jesus, while her free hand made a complicated hand gesture that was impressive for its speed and grace. The piece of wood burst into a suddenly raging bonfire that swallowed Zombie Jesus. The acrid smell of burning bone and fabric made me gag as it wafted down into the valley on the wind. Behind the curtain of curling black smoke, the other newly raised skeletons crested the ridge.
“Everly!”
I shrieked as the air rippled, and a new woman emerged from out of nowhere. “Everly! Why did you break cover?” the newcomer demanded. Her tawny and mauve braids whipped through the air as she turned her fiery gaze on us. She, too, had a milky eye at the center of her forehead. “Who are they?”
“I don’t know, Zorina,” Everly said. She threw another piece of sparked wood at the approaching skeletons. “They came in a ship. I banished it to the closest safe zone.”
“We came to help,” I inserted hopefully.
Ignoring me, Zorina surveyed our rescuer through narrowed eyes. Even her blind third eye seemed to glower at Everly in disapproval. “Moving that on your own used too much power. You know better.”
Now that she mentioned it, I could see sweat beading on Everly’s brow, her breathing turning ragged. Everly shrugged it off the confidence of youth. “I couldn’t risk it getting buried.”
The air by Zorina rippled, and a small piece of paper fluttered into her palm. “Aurelia’s found the Necromancer. He’s hiding, cloaked on the mountain.”
Everly’s chair spun at a sharp angle, churning up more dirt. “That’s close. Let’s apprehend him.”
Zorina grabbed her by the arm. “No. Our sisters and I will handle this. Take the new arrivals to Anthea.” Even as she spoke, more witches were arriving on the scene, grouping together in threes and beginning to ward off the encroaching, decomposing horde.
Everly shot one longing glance at what were clearly her fellow Space Witches of Huxor before she jerked her head at us. “Follow me and hurry!” She begrudgingly led us over the hill she had first appeared on, her wheelchair easily navigating the steep slope. Azo’lah ignored Fleetwood’s protestations and positioned her in the middle of our group for better protection.
“So, not to state the obvious, but something is going on here,” Ryan said. They were walking on Everly’s right side as closely as they could without getting in the way of her chair wheels. “This is not at all what we were expecting.”
“And what were you expecting, whoever you are?” Everly trailed off without moving her eyes from where she was going.
“Ryan Thorley, Captain of The Gold Dust Wo’man,” Ryan supplied, running a bit to catch up as Everly’s chair glided downhill.
“Do you often joyride to planets in the midst of war, Captain?” Everly glanced up at them.
“Our contact failed to mention how much things had escalated,” Ryan admitted.
Everly turned left at the bottom of the large hill, moving beneath a copse of trees. Once we entered the cover of them, she faced us, silver-gold fire erupting in her hands. Bathed in the glow of her power, she looked like a Goddess of Rage and Power. “Who sent you?”
“Woah,” I threw up my hands in a placating gesture. “My name’s Gretchen Borowicz. I’m an archaeologist, and my...friend got a tip that the necromancers were looking for someone to try and steal your crystal. I just wanted to help that not happen. And my crew came with me.”
“Give me your hand,” Everly commanded. I obeyed immediately because I didn’t want to be barbequed by witchy moonfire or whatever it was. Azo’lah reached for her hidden zali’thir, clearly ready to intervene if Everly did anything. But all she did was touch me. “You’re telling the truth. Fuck,” she groaned. “Grab hands. I’m low on power, but this can’t wait. It’s time for evac. Now.”