Earth Liberation
Audiobook · Earth Liberation: The Novel (Part I)
Prologue
Eastern Europe
774 century B.C.
Snow was falling heavily from the gray clouds onto the petrified grass of the frozen plains. An old mammoth with broken tusks was making his way, trumpeting convulsively at every step. Sensing his death approaching, the mammoth had separated from his herd, seeking solitude on his last journey.
On the leeward side of a hill, stand the hunters: Bearded and shaggy, and clothed heavily in rhino skins. They're smeared with mammoth manure to conceal their smell. Their faces are darkened by crusty mud and the soot of fires. They clasp shafts with stone pikes and they pursue the mammoth with stealth. A pack of wolves hurries after the men, hungry for the scraps.
The leader of the hunters - the most rugged and square-shouldered among them - was the only one not carrying a shaft. A broadsword hung on his belt, in a suede sheath. And around his neck was an amulet made of flat white metal - a regular-shaped diamond with the lower corner pulled into a spike. The amulet glowed as a stone that burns white hot in a fire. The heat radiating from it caused the leather of his rhino skin clothes to crease and buckle.
The mammoth, trailed by the hunters and the wolves after them, crossed the bare field. After many severe winters, the frozen grass lay dormant under a thick blanket of ice and only the hardiest bushes of elfin wood had sprung through the cracks. Several decades more and there will be nothing left of this road, which leads to a forgotten city; a city that was connected to other forgotten cities in ancient times.
It was before the time of the living, but the stories of those cities were handed down - stories of great camp grounds where stone tents kissed the skies. Stories about sledges that ran automatically along the roads, more fleet than the wind.
Everything was different in the times of great grandfathers, before the war with dragons, when it was summer all year round and there was always enough food. And machines that performed magic.
Honestly, even the elders didn't know for sure what the machines were: Totem animals that helped them? The good spirits of ancestors?
Nevertheless, none of them remain. The dragons arrived and in the great battle with them, when the clouds were burning and the mountains were blown sky-high, everything died. The cities and the machines, all the dragons and almost all of the people... Almost.
The mammoth stopped, trumpeted dolefully and slowly fell to his knees. The hunters, with their shafts at the ready, started to surround him quietly and carefully. The mammoth was dying but it was still dangerous.
The leader removed his broadsword from its sheath. Its steel blade had become rough after many years, but was still as deadly as the day it was forged. The engraved hieroglyphs on it were as bold as when they'd been first written. A dangerous weapon that was passed to the leader - together with the amulet - from his father, and from his father before him. This was the weapon of grandfathers and great grandfathers: The weapon of dragon slayers.
But soon its blade will not have a grind at all. Perhaps it's time to cross over to some stone stuff, thinks the leader. Otherwise there will be nothing left of the broadsword, and the leader, or his son or grandson, or the grandson of his grandson, will have no weapon fitting to greet the dragons if they come back.
Indeed, they'll be back. So the elders say.
Northern Black Sea area
IX century B.C.
Cimmerian hair lasso captured Spalaris's neck and ripped her down from the saddle. In the same flash of time, the arrow, darted from Zamiris's bow, pierced the cimmerian's greasy beard and stuck in his Adam's apple. Both, tied up with the lasso, almost simultaneously collapsed on the spring grass: the cimmerian croaking and blowing bloody bubbles and the amazon without making single sound.
Zamiris slung the bow on her back and trotted to her mother. The five surviving cimmerians sped away. Their pathetic attack was typical of mindless youths: They had set out to seize cattle and captives by attacking suddenly, but they didn't expect to face opposition.
Two others were rolling on the grass, and the last one, tied up, was surrounded by the younger sisters. Zamiris didn't come to help them. They would manage it on their own. It was standard practice to cut off the captive's hands and legs and to drag him to the men's barracks. No loss if he dies. And if he survives, his crop will be strong.
Among the amazons nobody was wounded. Except Spalaris, who was lying still on the ground. Zamiris jumped out of the saddle and hunkered down by her mother's side. The old amazon was breathing, bright-eyed, but her spine was broken - Zamiris realized it at a glance. She had tumbled awkwardly off her horse, and suffered a kick from the horse too.
And so her time had come. Spalaris had travelled the globe for years. She'd just turned forty five. And with her own hand she had sacrificed her newborn great-grandson - thirty-year-old Zamiris's first grandson - to the Virgin-Huntress.
"I can't feel my hands. Or my legs," Spalaris said.
A despairing wail wafted - the sisters had got down to stumping the captive - but Zamiris didn't move a muscle. She silently drew her short sword out of its bone scabbard.
"Wait, daughter. Untie my collar...take the amulet...".
Zamiris bent over mother and unlaced her leather coat. On a chain that showed exquisite workmanship, like the Babylonians had, hung an amulet made of a matte white metal. It was diamond shaped, but with a spiked lower corner.
"Wear it from now on," Spalaris gasped out in a weakening voice. "This is the Virgin Huntress's spear-head...When my own mother gave it to me, she said: When the dragons come back, it will give you force"'.
Zamiris kissed the amulet reverently and put it on. It was heavy and hot - hotter than a human body. The old amazon closed her eyes, as if to say: Go ahead now.
"Farewell, mother," Zamiris said. "See you in the Heavenly Heath". And she made a deep cut across Spalaris's throat with her sword.
Grodno, the Republic of Belarus, 2006
It was all over. Alyona was left alone in the apartment. Only her mother's photo, covered in a veil, was on the table.
The table. The sofa. The sour odour of senile loneliness. And bookcases over all the walls*.* What was she going to do with all this?
Alyona didn't want to think about anything. She was too weary. She wanted to go back to her hotel immediately; she knew she wouldn't be able to spend the night n this apartment. She figured she would draw up a power of attorney (or something like that), and get her aunt Uliana to sell the apartment. And she could go back home to Dublin, to her husband, as soon as possible.
The apartment and the library. There was nothing more that her mother had left her. In the closing stages of her life, she was obsessed with esotery and spent all her money on some mad books. What was Alyona supposed to do with them now?
Perhaps her aunt should give them away to some library; that is, if someone there is interested in this literary garbage. Alyona took a couple of books from the shelf at random. "The Mysteries of Preglacial Civilization", "*Who Rules the World? The Entire Story of the Great Conspiracy*". She put both books back with disgust. Then she noticed, among the bright and glossy spines, one that was different. It was gray and bound in cloth. Was it something antique?
She drew the ancient volume and opened it. The paper was time-darkened and untouchable. The author was someone named Iccius. And the title of the book read - De Reptiliorum Mysteriis, but the letter "s" looked like "f" without a dash. The date of publication was MDCXC - but what does that mean?
Something hard stood out through the thickness of the pages. Alyona turned over several pages. She saw small print in Latin, with underlinings everywhere and notes in the margin, made in her mother's handwriting. She was a teacher of Belorussian literature; could she really have known Latin?
There was an envelope between the pages with something hard and diamond shaped inside it. A jewel on a chain fell out and clanged on the floor; a letter appeared.
"Dear Alyonushka!
When you read this, I'll be no more. You can believe me or not, but I beg you to fulfil my last and only wish.
Treasure this amulet. It has been passed maternally in our lineage, an ancient lineage of sorceresses, since the beginning of time. May you pass it to your elder daughter.
For many years I've been trying to understand its mystical power and its connection with Order of Dragon Fighters, but I haven't discovered anything. All I can share with you is the words my grandmother said to me when she passed the amulet on to me: When the dragons come back, it will give you force. Be happy and take care. Your loving mom".
Alyona sobbed and blew her nose. She put the letter and the amulet into her handbag. The jewel was warm, as it had been removed from someone's living, breathing chest just a moment before.
Dublin, Catholic Republic of Ireland, 2049
"Please, take a seat, Miss Rothrock,". The jeweller, an elderly Albanian, was so serious that Kelly felt uncomfortable. Why has he invited her to this office? What's wrong with this damned locket?
"I'm sorry that the analysis has taken so much time. Standard methods didn't work. I had to go to a laboratory with an electron microscope. Don't worry, you won't have to pay extra for it. I did it for myself, out of a sense of curiosity".
"So, what is it made of?" Kelly asked. "And how much will you pay for it?".
The jeweller laid the locket out on the table. "This is not white gold, nor silver, platinum or palladium. In fact, this isn't even a solid material".
"How can it be unsolid?" Kelly didn't feel curiosity - the only one thing she felt
was disappointment. So, this son of a bitch wants to say that the locket goes for nothing?
"This is an aggregation of nanorobots. They're held together by a geomagnetic
field of a very fine and complex structure. Radioactive decay is the source of power. But don't be afraid. The radiation level is absolutely harmless for a human."
"So, how much does it cost?"
The jeweller shrugged his shoulders. "That's a senseless question. This is a unique artefact made using an unknown technology. Perhaps it's a top secret implement, or maybe..." He checked himself. "How did you come by this, Miss Rothrock?"
"From my grandmother...My grandmother was from Eastern Europe," She added, as if it could explain these wonders. "So, that's some military bullshit?"
"I suppose I should call the intelligence agencies," The jeweller lowered his voice. "But I don't want to contact them. My business, as you'll appreciate, loves silence. Let's make as if we've never seen each other. Take your object and don't try to sell it to anybody, ever. Anyway, keeping radioactive materials is unlawful".
"Sir..." Kelly's voice trembled. "What else is there for me to do? I need money badly. This jerk dumped me, and you see - I'm seven months pregnant. I'm out of a job and there's nothing to sell except..."
The jeweller screwed up his face, dug into a drawer and shelled out a thick pack of fractional currency. "Take it, Miss Rothrock"
Kelly stopped talking immediately and swept the money into her handbag.
"But don't think that I have sympathy for you. This is hush money. My name mustn't be mentioned in the context of this locket. Never ever. Do you understand?
Kelly jumped up. "Of course, sir! Thank you, sir!"
"Don't mention it. And I strongly recommend that you don't come here anymore". There was a subtle hint of menace in the jeweller's voice. "Strong-ly recommended!"