Leviathan(60)

Almost staggering, Chesterton made another effort to speak into the microphone, but his voice had lost all strength. “Give me some response! Charlie and Beta this is Chesterton! Respond if able! Respond if able!” He waited without moving. “Respond!”

A long pause, longer. Chesterton somberly lowered the radio to his side, staring at nothing. Frank shook his head, eyes dimming. “They're gone, Colonel.”

Chesterton stared a moment more, face hardening. He wordlessly handed the radio to Barley, who took it in a strong hand and lowered it stoically to his side.

Silent, the big lieutenant turned his head to stare at the titanium vault. His dark eyes narrowed, focused and concentrated and enraged. His face was the purity of murder, of revenge.

He held his rifle close as he turned away.

***

The midnight sun, blood-red on the horizon, made Thor turn. He had waited all day, nervous and uneasy. He had long passed worry, settling into something darker, deeper.

Then a trembling wind passed over his back, causing Thor's skin to tighten at more than cold. It scattered across his bearskin, white and freezing, but Thor stood solid as stone, searching the sky, though in his heart he was searching no more. He knew what was there.

The scarlet sun seemed to separate the thin ribbon of smoke from the natural darkness, painting it a darker red. Against the somber image, Thor moved, equally somber, to enter the tower. He said nothing to the patient and loyal Tanngrisner as he climbed the steps to enter the upper chamber.

Stoically, Thor lifted his cloak and draped it across his shoulders. He moved to the bed, lifting his hunting rifle. A box of ammo went into his black woolen pocket and, with no expression, he moved to the mantle, pausing before the smoldering flames.

His face was sad, somber, and silent. He gazed up at the great battle-ax, the mythic weapon that had hung so patiently above the flames for so many long, long years, its crescent blades dull gray and red in the flame, the slow-dying sun.

Perhaps twice as old as the tower itself, the gigantic, double-bladed battle-ax had always been here, had been here even before Thor found it buried deep beneath a heap of overturned stones, secured high in the tower like hidden treasure.

The great weapon had been ravaged by centuries of rust and cold, but Thor had somehow sensed its strength as he pulled it free of the stones. And with the tireless dedication of a scholar copying a holy text he had carefully restored its strength, heating iron needles in the coals and patiently scraping away the rust until corruption surrendered to glory. Then when the great, sweeping blades were finally restored, silver in majesty, Thor knew that it was a truly great weapon, yes, a great weapon from a great age.

Iron flame had forged its heart, the hammer and anvil its strength. The master craftsman who shaped its form and etched the scenes of battle on the blade itself had given it purpose and meaning.

Upon one crescent blade was the image of a flaming chariot, a chariot commanded by a frightening, fantastic bearded figure who hurled lightning from either hand to strike a gigantic serpent rising from the sea. On the other side of the blade was an exquisitely detailed war scene of winged warriors, all battling with sword and lance beneath the galactic wings of a great dragon that wrapped its tail around the moon. And yet the dragon, though ultimately fierce and terrifying, was doomed to defeat because a fearless warrior grimly gripped the monstrous throat with both hands and was driving the fanged mouth down, down from the stars ... to the earth ...

A moment of power.

For many years the great battle-ax had rested comfortably in Thor's hand as he listened to distant wind whispering in the tower, whispering. Thor had come to find quiet companionship in its presence, as if they shared the same temper, heart, and spirit.

Silence, flames smoldering.

Yes, Thor thought, the same spirit.

Ageless and enduring, the battle-ax had rested on the wall for the long years, and Thor had often watched it, watched it with sad eyes when he was lonely in the cold night, haunted by silence and memories and dreams. But Thor had never been truly alone. For he had forever sensed a deeper purpose in the battle-ax, a purpose he knew also in his heart.

Now he stared upon it once more as the winter sun burned deep in the gray steel, soft and slowly glowing. And somehow Thor knew at last why he had found it here. Knew why it had always been here.

Waiting.

With a dark gaze Thor focused on the scene of battle— dragon and man, forever and ever, on the earth. Then his ice-green eyes blinked sadly as he reached up to grasp the battle-ax with his strong right hand.

Wind whispered in the tower ...

Old guardian of the people ...

Thor frowned, nodding.

Lifted it from its rest.



* * *

Beth glanced at Jordan. The tiny figure was covered with a blanket and fast asleep and she didn't want to wake him up. She wanted him to sleep through it all. To sleep until it was over.