Wolf of the Tesseract

Chapter 12

Like a jolt of lightning, Claire's eyes rolled forward and she shot back into the land of the conscious. She sat up with such force that she nearly tumbled into Rob's arms. For a moment, she shook violently as her mind tried to get accustomed to the temperature shock; sweat poured off her trembling frame.

She gazed at Rob with a look of confusion. There wasn't time to address it; old Ma Kechewaishke also rocketed into consciousness, albeit her landing was more graceful.

Ma took a deep gasp and straightened up, stiff for only a moment. Her eyes unclouded and she rushed to Claire's side. She wore a mixed look of both elation and alarm upon her face. "Did they touch you?"

Claire only stared at her, slack-jawed and unable to string together any words in her muddled mind.

Ma grabbed her by the arm and shook her so hard that sweat droplets flung violently off both of them, like a shaking, wet dog. "Did they touch you," she called loudly, trying to snap the girl out of her fugue.

Slowly, like a bewildered child, Claire pulled up her moist pant leg and exposed her lower leg. A blackened spot grew like an angry stormhead on her calf. Still catatonic, she stared at the wound with vacant eyes.

Ma Kechewaishke squeezed her eyes tight and sighed with disappointment. When she opened them again, she addressed Rob.

"It's a psychic wound," She stated flatly. Worry permeated every word. "She has been marked by the enemy."

Rob spotted the difference in her. Ma had become a completely different person since her astral journey. She had undoubtedly made contact with the great Gichi-manidoo. Rob wished he had time to share with her Gichi-manidoo's role in the divine scheme; religious texts of the Prime had much to say about how the manifold realms of the Tesseract often misinterpreted spiritual forces under a pantheistic pretext. But Ma's look of worry and her shortness of breath insisted that their time grew shorter each second.

"They will find us, and sooner rather than later." Her intense eyes nearly burned into Rob's soul.

"Gichi-manidoo told you of the vyrm?" He and Claire had shared so little information with her until now.

"Yes. And I've seen their war raging across the heavens. I've seen the end: I saw through the desolation and into the void where Sh'logath dwells in his nonexistence—he awoke from his slumber and devoured all of Gichi-manidoo's beauty. And then, I too was devoured, but not before Gichi-manidoo told me what you must do!

"You must take the Stone Glaive!" Ma reached over and squeezed Claire's arm. She only stared blankly at her for a long moment.

"There is more?" Rob interjected.

"Her father..." she trailed off.

Rob nodded, understanding how the vyrm operated: swiftly and decisively. He pressed a hand to Claire's face while she looked at both of them, quite confused by their conversation and even by her presence in the rank, sweaty hut.

"Bithia's father remains entombed, so the Princess is the last of the royal blood on the Prime—one piece of the puzzle is already in his possession."

Swallowing hard, Rob looked down at his ward. He knew what that meant: if either Claire or Bithia died, Nitthogr's options in this grand game would become so limited that he would call upon Sh'logath and unleash the Devourer. The sorcerer could afford to play this cosmic game of chicken. Either side needed both pieces in order to win.

Rob scooped Claire up into his strong arms. She looked into his face and squinted, trying to remember. "I know you, I think?"

He nodded. "Yes. Yes, you do."