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Grace felt very connected to her obsidian sisters.
Leto’s voice penetrated her mind. You can’t believe what your combined wings look like. The flames of all three are exquisite. The colors are bold. You’ll get to see when we land because there’s a video-bot flying above us.
For herself, Grace had forgotten the joys of flight. She didn’t fly often enough. It was important to mount the wings at least once every two weeks to keep them fit and healthy. Ten days was even better. But flying was a different experience altogether, one of the real benefits of ascended life. She could see the various regiments below her, some receiving instruction over loudspeakers, some practicing marching. All wore flight battle gear, which gave a formidable unified appearance—and of course the black leather kilts were a great look.
She flapped her wings steadily, moving forward in an easterly direction along the parade route. Endelle’s beautiful graded administrative building, with terraces of hanging plants, was off to the south, Camelback Mountain to the north. A thousand tanks anchored the route, and stands were lined up in set intervals. The spectators, however, had been strictly limited to Militia Warriors in casual dress, no civilians allowed.
All along the route, the video cameras were in place, with their operators, everyone testing and retesting their equipment. She was amazed at all that Marcus, Havily, and their teams had created within a brief twenty-four hours. Large stands of stadium lights were already part of what was a traditional parade grounds.
Landing platforms had been set up at both the east and west ends of the route. It was strange to watch hundreds of warriors arrive then literally run off the platforms so that the next squadrons could fold in right behind them.
Leto, she sent telepathically, avoiding the com.
I’m here.
The organization is phenomenal. Have the hidden colonies sent their regiments?
No, they’ve remained within the colonies to protect the citizens. We’re still acting as if Greaves intends to attack at any given moment.
Thorne’s voice came over the com. “Grace, do you see the warriors at attention?”
Grace glanced down and to her left. There they were, in massive blocks of five hundred each, ten blocks total. “I see them.”
“That’s your mass-fold target. We’ve gathered ten thousand for practice.”
“Copy.” It was so strange to use such formal com-speak.
Marguerite’s voice broke over the com. “Banking left.”
Grace could feel the other two women turn just as she turned, their movements functioning as a solid group. They were a triad now. Maybe there were a lot of bumps yet to overcome, but for now they were obsidian flame.
Traveling up Scottsdale Boulevard Two, Marguerite happened to pull forward from her center position. Right afterward, Thorne recommended they keep the stronger, arrow-like formation because it would allow for greater visibility from the wing position.
He was right. Grace could see Fiona straight across from her now and could even catch her eye. Fiona nodded and smiled. The woman looked euphoric, but then she had only been flying for a few months. Nothing was more exhilarating. She flew like a pro, using her arms constantly to help make slight wing adjustments with every current of air that whipped over her or hit her broadside.
Two more miles and Marguerite spoke into the com, “Bank right. Folding endpoint site in one mile.”
Now heading east, Grace saw the massive area cordoned off with more rows of tanks. The tanks were Thorne’s idea to help substantiate the rumors Marcus had sent around on the web that Endelle had a bigger army than anyone knew about.
Grace’s heart began to hammer in her ears. Thorne came on the com. “Is ‘the flame’ ready?”
“Ready,” Grace responded. The flame was Thorne’s idea for abbreviated radio-speak.
Both Marguerite and Fiona called out, “Ready.”
“Execute at will,” Thorne ordered.
Still in flight, Grace didn’t hesitate. She took possession of Fiona, and as the shared obsidian flame power vibrated heavily through her, she focused on the mass of troops back at the parade grounds.
Grace pictured the formation square containing ten thousand warriors, and she simply thought the thought.
She felt a tremendous vibration through the air as well as movement, very swift. The next moment, the entire force appeared below the triad, next to the tanks.
She glanced at Thorne. He smiled at her and winked. Yep, ten thousand Militia Warriors, all in perfect formation, were shouting, punching the air with strong fists, and whooping it up.
Grace’s smile was so broad her cheeks hurt.
The breh-hedden never arrives at the opportune moment. But then in life, there rarely is such a thing as an opportune moment.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 16
Stannett sat up and vomited into the bowl the female Militia Warrior had provided him. His eyes rolled in his head. He’d been working most of the day, and he didn’t know how much longer he could sustain the blocking maneuvers. The hour had to be nearing six in the evening, and the spectacle event was set for eight. As for discovering what Endelle was up to, or her now famous obsidian flame triad, he couldn’t even get close in the future streams.
Greaves stood on the deck opposite Stannett’s chaise longue, arms crossed over his chest. “Anything new?”
He shook his head. He felt weak, sick, discouraged. Coming to the Illinois Two Seers Fortress, and heading up Greaves’s entire system, was supposed to have been a pinnacle in his life, something to be enjoyed and celebrated. Now he was a quivering mass of nausea, with a raging headache, and he felt weaker than shit.
“No change,” he said. “I can’t reach the spectacle event. Marguerite has it blocked off.”
“How can she perform both functions?” Greaves asked.
Stannett shrugged. His cheeks cramped. He’d be losing it again soon. “My guess is that she’s been training Seers to work in teams.”
“My on-the-ground surveillance near the Camelback Parade Grounds says that they’ve done a couple of mass folds. What do you make of that?”
What did he make of that? Why the hell was Greaves asking him questions better suited for his generals? “I don’t know.” He brought the bowl close, took several deep breaths, and threw up again.
“You shouldn’t have indulged, Stannett. Now, when I need you the most, you’re at your weakest.”
With his chin low, he looked up at Greaves. “I truly regret my indiscretion.” Of course, right now he would have said anything to appease Greaves.
