Chapter 49: The Gauntlet
Lyra pulled herself out of the cold water and shook the sodden strands of hair from her face. If she caught pneumonia from this, she was going to kill those techies and their naïve dreams. Maybe it would’ve just been easier to let them fall for that illusion and turn their back on this whole palaver – but then again, as much as she hated the thought, Lyra needed some form of backup to deal with those shaman, and the inept couple that were Gibson and Shimomura weren’t enough to cut it.
Armstrong rose from the river next to her, his swept-back fringe now clinging to his forehead and obscuring his eyes as if he were some kind of Hawk wannabe. He brushed it away and grumbled. “Times like these make you glad we got those Survival lessons,”
“It’ll be teaching those idiots who can’t be bothered putting the effort in,” replied Lyra, casting an irate eye back to Gibson, clawing his way through the shallows like a newborn baby learning to crawl. A roar cut between them as Smith flew past and deposited Ritches. As he turned back for another pass through the thickening cloud of gas behind them, Armstrong’s robot came cutting through with Rogan hugging it for dear life.
“This sure as hell better not get any worse,” said Armstrong, “I don’t plan on dying down here,”
Of course it was going to get worse. This wasn’t like going up against Godhand, whose power came from psychological manipulation – this time they were going up against a cult with actual power. The sort of ne’er-do-wells that stalked the desolate plains of the world, preying on the lost and feeble.
“We can handle anything they throw at us,” said Rogan, having disentangled herself from the robot and returned to the path that ran alongside the stream. Lyra doubted that. Lyra doubted that a lot. There wasn’t much she could do to stop them though – if faeries had failed, what could a abandoned vagrant girl like her do? She waded onwards once the group was reassembled, keeping a close eye on her charms. The magical traps were increasing in potency, draining the chi reserves she’d been building up. Soon she’d need to use her direct strength, and she had no idea how long that would last.
“Dudes, I dunno if I can’t keep up with this shit,” whined Gibson, slouching through the water as if the guitar strapped to his back were weighing him down, “This is a proper trek. We need to camp up and rest or something,”
Lyra rolled her eyes, secretly wishing the angst-ridden ginger boy would give up his hero quest and go home. It wasn’t like he brought any skills to the group, contrary to what Rogan believed.
“Get a grip, Gibson,” said Armstrong.
The rainbow-hatted Blumstein girl stopped and steadied herself against the tunnel wall, a pained expression on her face. “I don’t know, I’m starting to agree with Joel on this. I’m getting tired and…and I’m not sure we’re cut out for this…”
“Man, Annie, I had more faith in you than that. Anyone else wanna bail while we’re at it?”
Smith paused, his shoulders slumped – but Lyra imagined not under the weight of his machinery. “It just feels like this is all so pointless,” he said, “Everything. This investigation…even…even life,”
They were starting to sound like Ravens now, as if the atmosphere of the club above had somehow seeped into their veins and corrupted them from within. As is if to prove the similarities, Shimomura chimed in with her own, characteristic angst.
“It’s like looking in a mirror and seeing a failure,”
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