12 Miles Below

Odin’Astrid’Smiðja.

She’d always been an odd one, Kres mused, even for a Smiðja. Eccentric, often running her beak and tail at anything that fascinated her, and one of the few Odin who didn’t feel intimidated to speak directly to the Icon of Stars.

That is to say, Kres had caught her sneaking to the bridge of the ship when the Gungnir weren’t watching. He’d never have befriended or even met her otherwise.

She’d even learned the ancient human tongue as well. Admittedly, out of sheer spite when Kres had told her she didn’t have the attention span needed to learn the difficult words in the first place.

“Hop faster.” She shot back at him, wide awake when she should be sleeping, and now making it Kres’s problem. “The Icon wanted me to bring you as soon as I was done with my project, and I’m too excited to wait any longer.”

Kres followed behind, taking measured hops through the dense city passage. At this hour, only the night shifters were out in the city proper, the rest of the city sleeping away. And they certainly didn’t care if a Smiðja and Vindr were running amok somewhere.

The moment they were outside the hull of the ship, he was back in his domain and even her enthusiasm wouldn’t let her fly faster than he could. “You were saying?” He asked, making slow lazy circles around her as she squawked with each wing beat to go faster.

She didn’t answer, every breath focused on being sent straight to her wings, but the little glare she shot him wasn’t missed.

The familiar airlock near the top of the ship opened up as soon as the pair dropped by, flashing green and sliding into the walls. They flew into the more sacred areas of the ship, fully free from any prying eyes. And soon they were at the very heart of the Icon, within the seat of all knowledge.

The console flickered to life. “Kres. Astrid. You’ve arrived earlier than expected. Well done Astrid.”

“It’s done, it’s done, it’s done!” Astrid crowed, hoping with each call. Then her beak turned and plucked out an unwieldy metal cube from the small sack she’d been carrying. She dropped that right at the foot of the console with little care, her tail feathers snapping back and forth. “So! What’s it do?”

“I am unsure.” The icon said in ancient human. When it needed to speak faster, it would opt to pick that language instead of the Odin. It could understand them just fine, and Kres had little trouble understanding human. "It is my hope that Kres will discover this soon."

The old raven in question squawked, “What’s all this about?”

“A potential solution to the infestation’s approach.” The icon said, and the already quiet bridge went dead silent. Even Astrid had stopped hopping around in victory, beak opening slightly.

“Explain”

“Oooh! How?”

They both said at the same time.

A pause for a moment. “I have made contact with the mites.” The console answered back.

Kres felt his feathers ruffle out on instinct, a small spike of adrenaline running through his system. The mites? The world forgers? The last time their people had seen the mites, it had been logged so far off, and yet their creations still stand to this day. If the mites were involved in all this now, chaos was about to ensue.

“Tanik will panic if he hears of this.” Was what he ended up saying. “Machines are terrifying to him. The mites are gods made manifest. How did you manage to contact them from your resting area?”

The icon couldn’t move. Hadn’t moved for as long as the Odin had lived inside her hull. And no mite colony had even so much as come close to her yet, thank all the divines for that.

“A colony is currently migrating under the Icon.” She said, instantly quashing his earlier thought.

“They’re under us? Right now?” Astrid asked, “Oh, I want to see! Want to see!”

“Are you safe?” Kres asked. He knew what mites did - they changed the world wherever they went, and anything that couldn’t move out of the way would equally be changed.

“I am safe enough.” The icon said. “They have been constructing under the Icon’s hull for approximately two years and four months as of now.”

Kres squawked further with curses and indignation, but the console only gave a mild chuckle. “If the mites had begun to eat at my hull, I would have alerted the Odin. And when they last had a chance to do so in the past, they instead entombed the icon and lifted it up here. I believe I am part of the mite’s grand design, they wished for an old human cruiseliner as a setpiece for this biome.”

“Have they changed their minds after all these years then?” Kres asked. “For them to return at the same time that the infestation closes its beak around us, perhaps it is not by accident.”

The console chimed, a quick beep of agreement. “Partially perhaps. As of now, they are terraforming the strata under us, not the current biome. They are close enough to the Icon due to terraforming the roof of that strata.”

“That’s still deep under us.” Astrid said, no longer hopping around. “Lot of metal in the way. How did you sneak a wire down that far? And which Smiðja do I need to slap around for stealing such a fun job?”

“I do not have any physical connection to the mite colony.” The Icon said. “At this close range, the signals can penetrate through the thinning walls.”

“Oh. Wireless connection. Neat.” Astrid said, then pecked at the cube. “This what I think it is then?”

“It is not a tool to connect to their signals.” The Icon said. “I have already succeeded in communicating with the mites with the Icon's current communications array. It took a very long time to stumble on a protocol they could recognize, but I did manage it. The connection was brief, and in that timeframe I was able to request assistance.”

“Then, will the mites help?” Kres asked, morbidly curious. If it came down to the mites fighting against the infestation, he couldn’t see how the infestation had a candle’s chance to survive. The mites were legend, worldforgers. The infestation was simply a failed bioweapon that had overstayed its welcome.

“I am unsure if they will or will not help. Only that my request for aid and explanations of the current situation resulted in two data packages being returned and no other details.”

“This what I think it is then?” Asterisk repeated, this time with far more excitement. “Mite tech? Please?”

“It is.” The icon confirmed. “A schematic for the cube was sent as the first data package. Fabricators within the Icon could produce most of the materials, and Astrid was the best candidate to assemble it.”

The little Odin hopped around proudly. “Of course I was. Anyone else would have messed it up. Or told someone.”

“I’m more surprised you didn’t tell someone.” Kres said, genuinely taken aback that Astrid could keep a secret that big in the first place. “How long have you been building this cube for the heart-mother?”

“Lost count.” Astrid shook herself, letting the strap bag fall on the floor. She turned to preen her feathers where the bag had messed them up. “Ask heart-mother.”

“Six days, twelve hours and twenty two minutes of work logged.” The icon answered before Kres could. “She worked within my material laboratory, where I was able to observe and assist. And order her to leave for rest, food and water when necessary.”

That last sentence was said with a tone of great disapproval.

“You’re not the boss of me.” Astrid said. And her human was perfect there, so this must have been something she’d repeated again and again.

Kres nodded his beak, deep in thought. “And now that the cube is done, why bring me into this?”

“The second data package sent by the mites was not a schematic. It was a location.”

The old raven immediately saw where this was going. “You need me to go there.”

“I do. Astrid’s dexterity, expertise and precision with her beak allowed her to craft the cube to the specifications required. But her skills are not suited to traveling outside. I estimate her survival chances to be very low.”

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“What?!” Astrid squawked.

“She cannot complete the rest of the passage.” The icon continued, ignoring the outburst.

“Can to!” She insisted. “Can fight anything Kres can. Can fly anywhere he can too. Only thing Kress is better at is being bigger. And older.”

In a moment, he leaped out and quickly had the girl pinned, one foot stomping on her wingspan and his beak lightly biting into her throat.

She continued to squawk and flail around, even while it was evident she’d been beaten in seconds. Kres wasn’t even a Gungnir, but he still knew how to fight better than she did. He waited, staying frozen in place as the girl flapped her one free wing at his face, the angle too weak to do anything other than annoy him. Eventually she ran out of energy, simply panting under him.

He unhooked his beak. “See? You ca-”

She slapped him with a weak wingbeat. The audacity. He returned the favor with a quick wingswipe and crow as well, enough to make her hop away and brood for a bit, chastened.

“Where do you need me to deliver the cube?” Kres asked, deciding to ignore the hellion for the moment. He took a few hops back to the console, shaking his feathers back in place.

“Astrid has a printed map with the location outlined.” The Icon said, and a sulking Astrid hopped over to her bag, flicked it open with one upset beak, and pulled out a rolled parchment.

They both unfurled the map out, pinning it with their feet as Kres took in his mission. “This is far. Very far.” He muttered. “The Great Tree is two entire weeks away. And close to infestation territory as well. It is good you waited for me to do this. The mites have said nothing more?”

“Only a location, and the schematics for the cube. Nothing else. You will have to discover their purpose once you’ve arrived there. I can only hope that it may lead to something.” The Icon said.

Kres nodded at that. He had no doubts about the mission. “We do not have any other hopes besides this one. In this, I will put my life to it.”

He left that same day. All his hard earned wealth instantly spent on anything that might help his mission, for it might be the most important mission of them all. A full pack of the highest quality firebombs he could buy this early in the morning. Weapons to help him defend against threats, and the best silk pack he could find. Comfortable, easy to move in and sturdy enough to carry anything he needed. High density foods and nuts to keep him fueled for the journey, and his old tried and tested smaller tools to help him scavenge the rest of the food he’d need.

He didn’t tell another soul about his mission. Not even his team. No one in the council either. The priests would complicate this somehow, inner squabbling would end with the mission sabotaged by one or another’s power play, dooming the Odin completely. By the time a mission would be set out, perhaps even a year would have passed by.

The Icon of Stars had picked him for the mission, and she hadn’t told a soul more than she had to. The old human ship had always kept a wing off from the fledgling Odin, only giving the most basic and harmless advice when pressed, and claiming her duty was simply to maintain life support and operations going within the ship.

But what she had done here was a deliberate attempt at getting past the inept leadership that had taken hold of the top. Kres would be a fool to throw all that planning away.

Oh, he had no doubts Tanik would catch up to his scheme quickly. The pest would hear of his sudden and unannounced departure, examine what Kres had been up to, find a whole slew of long distance purchases and from then on it was only a matter of time until Tanik had everything outlined.

The bird was a fool with his aspirations and misplaced hope, but certainly not incompetent when being a detective sniffing out trouble. He’d find a way to get a copy of the map - it had been printed out somewhere, and that meant a record existed. No matter how well hidden it had been. And from there, he’d learn of the plot, the cube, the Icon and mites. He’d send a wing of Vindr after him, if he didn’t come after Kres personally. Certainly a calamity high enough to have the mites involved would make his feathers fall out in sheer fury, so perhaps he might not be able to even fly after him.

But for now, Tanik was fast asleep, unaware of the plot happening under his beak. Kres made the best route, backups, and outlined all the possible resource depots scattered around by and for Vindr like himself. And then he was gone, out the open hangar and into the wild world beyond.

The trees below quickly opened up to more dangerous battlefields if he followed their path west, but instead he had made a decision to prioritize his own safety over speed. If arriving a day earlier at the mite location was the difference between salvation and failure, he didn’t have high hopes of the Odin surviving anything.

However, if he never arrived to the promised land, the mission would fail completely. The Vindr soon to be chasing after him would equally pick a safer route, turning this into a marathon instead of a sprint.

He could do that. He was among their best.

The trip took him two weeks. Each day, he would spend nearly the entire time flying across the lands. At night, he would try to sleep as quickly and safely as possible. Finding good hollows to hide in from any possible plague bats, sealing the entrance and masking any sent they could follow by spreading smashed berries anywhere holes could be.

But that had only been temporary. Within the first week, he’d reached a small side stop. Below him lay Greyroamer lands. And soon he passed a very specific den of rocks. Marked with colored paw prints, pretty blue’s and yellows, with occasional reds and ultraviolets haphazardly put down, breaking a prior pattern and harmony. It looked slightly garish to him, but the greyroamers saw beauty in it.

He landed on top of a larger rock, then crowed loudly. A few cubs sprinted out, along with a denmother padding slowly behind the cubs with the tired weary gait of someone who’d been given one too many shifts. The cubs of course, didn’t notice, each racing to get to him and nip at his feathers.

He hopped from rock to rock, taking care not to stay too close in range, before flying over to land on top of a branch by the waiting denmother. There, he gave a deep bow, flaring out his wings in the process.

The denmother gave a quick gruff, her tail wagging a few times. Kres wasn’t great at translations, but he recognized the general welcome followed by asking what he was here for, and the tail wagging meant it was all said with a tone of curiosity and mild happiness.

“Seeking Silverfur.” He said. The howls and barks were easy for him to mimic, but the tail wagging was the hard part. He always felt a little ridiculous, leaning forward that far to make the tailfeathers rise up to keep with the rhythm of excitement and mild happiness.

“Out hunting.” She answered back, her tail still wagging with the same speed and angle as before, still to the rhythm of curiosity and mild happiness.

Kres knew he shouldn’t stop shaking his tail at any time while talking to greyroamers, they would see it as if they’d said something so shocking it changed his entire mood. But he had been flying nearly non-stop for some time. “Need rest. Can’t move tail much. Is okay?” He asked, all the while still moving to the rhythm of mild happiness, as to not show insult.

“Understand.” The Greyroamer said and quite literally sat on her own tail, pinning it down.

This one was rather empathetic to do that, Kres thought, pausing his own movements and standing back up into a proper relaxed stance. “Need help.” He said. “Big mission.”

“How big?” She asked.

“Biggest. Win or Lose. Infection. Big. Big.”

“Oh. I see.” She turned, then howled long and loud.

No immediate answer, so she leaped off her tail and raced up to the top of the den, giving another howl. Tail wagging to intent and excitement.

In the distance, howling came back. “They come. Soon.” She told him, sitting down on her tail again to keep it from moving.

He gave her thanks, and waited with her, as the cubs under began a game of chase and tackle. It wasn’t long before a loping giant and the pack arrived. Silverfur.

He spat down his old human blade, licked his chops free and loosened his jaw before turning to stare up at Kres. “Yes?” He sent to the languid tail swishing of interest and calm.

Kres put down his bag and pulled out the mite cube. “Mission. Asked mites for help against enemy. Cube made by mites. Bring to location.”

“And then?”

“Not sure.” He answered back, “Discover.”

The greyroamer gave him a nod, which was an Odin gesture of understanding. Then he turned and gave a few barks. Food was brought out by the pack, a small rabbit that had been half eaten. It was thrown on a rock slate, and where a runt of a wolf moved up to the dead prey, quickly stripping it into smaller parts with quite some skill and precision.

“Appreciated.” Kres said. “But need something else.”

The rhythm changed to curiosity in Silverfur’s tail. Then excitement as the clever pack leader almost instantly understood what Kres had come here for. “Heh. You came for battle.”

Kres tried to move his tail to the rhythm of triumph, though he was sure he butchered the cadence of it by far too much. “Yes. Yes. To battle!” He said, and the entire pack under him began to move around, yips and yowls floating around. To them, fighting the infestation with an Odin on their side was almost guaranteed sweet and easy revenge.

“Possible enemy near location. Deep territory.” Kres said.

“It is of no matter. We are fast and swift.” Silverfur said, to the rhythm of determination.

“I know. It why I come here.” Kres said. “Can repay later, mission too important.”

“Understood.” Silverfur said. “Will ask for repayment after mission complete. How much time can be returned?”

“Not sanctioned. I am rogue. All the time now, no duty calling me back.” Kres said, and Silverfur actually stopped wagging his tail for an instant, shocked.

“But… banishment?” He asked, his tail switching to sorrow.

“Maybe.” Kres admitted. Going behind the back of the council would surely be grounds for exile. If they didn’t pluck out his feathers and gouge out his eyes, he might instead be outright branded a traitor and told never to return. Admittedly, to a Vindr like himself, striking it out alone in the wilds was a far easier fate than most other Odin.

“Big mission.” Silverfur said, giving him another nod. He understood. It had to be truly monumental to have an Odin turn against their flock and go out alone like this. “Will help.” The wolf said, then turned to his pack and gave the orders.

The pack moved at once, racing into the den to bring out gear and supplies. “How far?” Silverfur asked while the hustle was happening.

“Five days. The great tree.” He said. That’s where the coordinates were pointing him to. The area had one massive landmark, a tree so huge it dwarfed the entire strata, leaves and branches flattening on the roof of the world. The roots grew across giant silver cubes, lifting the entire tree up in the air. Gravity itself felt strange while flying under the great tree’s roots, as if nearly nothing was pulling him down. He hadn’t seen the tree himself, but other Vindr before him who had scouted the area out initially had explained anyone not prepared would end up losing control of their flight and slamming against the giant roots.

And deeper under all the floating roots wrapped around cubes, lay a single metal tower with the glowing power of magic. They say the area is cursed, and not even machines step foot within it.

This had been years ago, but he knew the blight had been slowly spreading that direction. He wasn’t sure how much of that territory had been taken by now.

Silverfur came back from the den with a wooden perch in his mouth, complete with straps and other strings to hold it in place. That was attached to one of the other wolves, and Kres took the invitation as offered. He flapped down and let his claws wrap around the perch, now firmly secured to the wolf under him.

They wanted him well rested, so that the moment of the fight, he could dash past the plague bats and execute the deadly bombing runs his people were famed for.

The journey prepared, seven wolves and Silverfur himself set out with him in tow, the rest of the pack howling their goodbyes behind him.

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