Page 80 of Ruined Omega

The Farlanders gathered around me have all taken one big step back. Not a single murmur or whisper comes from them. They do not make a sound lest they be the next to taste my violent rage. The only sound is my own voice echoing and re-echoing into the woods around the clearing.

The witch, still knee deep in the mud, cocks her head, listening.

“Something is coming, Master.”

A moment later, I hear it too. Soon everyone does, turning toward the source of the sound at the southern edge of the clearing.

It is not so much a sound as a felt vibration. A deep, steady hum at the lowest limit of audibility.

It grows, getting closer.

The thing that rises over the treetops sends a wave of panicked cries through the Farlanders. The cowardly among them flee in terror. The stupid among them crouch and bare their ragged fangs to fight. Neither response makes any sense.

I alone stand still.

I sense, somehow, that my prayer, if one can call it that, has been answered.

The flying machine is dark and bulky. Its hull is composed of sharp angles and straight lines. Tinted glass and raked alloy. It must be thirty meters from nose to tail. The ugly thing sweeps sideways over the treetops. Its downwash dances the upper limbs and sets loose swirling sprays of leaves in its wake.

Outsiders.

Subtlety is not their strong suit.

The dark craft slows, engines down-shifting in pitch. The flying machine does not land but hovers in place over the village. The Farlanders, those who have remained to stare in astonishment, are forced back to avoid the blue-hot downwash of the ship’s angled jets.

A broad door rasps open on the side, revealing a small figure with black leathery skin and goggled eyes. A chorus of gasps rises up from the Farlanders.

Though I have never seen an Outsider before, besides the female who has escaped me, I am not wholly ignorant of their ways. I know, for example, that this black “skin” is really a protective body suit. Encased within is an even smaller, frailer human being.

“Who is in charge here?”

The voice booms through the clearing. There is no way such a small being could produce that sound. It is amplified by some kind of Outsider magic.

“I said, who is your leader?”

A stone sails up from somewhere in the crowd of circled Farlanders. It misses its mark and plinks uselessly off the armored hull of the craft.

A gun turret hanging from the belly of the flying machine swivels in the general direction from which the rock came.

The gun spits fire.

Several bodies are reduced to geysers of red liquid. The remaining Farlanders scatter like bugs.

“Would anyone else care to cast stones?” The black-masked face scans over the crowd. “Good. Now that we understand each other on that point, I will repeat my question. Who. Is. Your. Leader?”

I take a step forward. My heart is pounding my breastbone like a smith’s hammer working a red hot steel blade. It is not fear that I feel, but elation. The old gods, the dark gods, have sent me a blessing. I can feel it.

“I am the leader here,” I call out over the rush of the ship’s engines.

“Good,” the Outsider says in his amplified voice. “We are looking for a woman. An Outsider woman. Have you seen her?”

My elation mounts. My heart speeds.

“I know the woman that you speak of. She has been here, but she is gone. Escaped to the central ruins.”

The Outsider man curses under his breath, though the sound is still loud from the amplification. He thinks for a moment, then speaks.

“This woman is important to us, Alpha. She carries in her mind knowledge that we want. Valuable knowledge.”