CHAPTER 1
I Can See for Virtual Miles and Miles
The Realness of The Reals
The horizon hid behind a yellow-white mist awash in the pale light of a crisp ocean morning.
A cool breeze tossed wisps of snow-white sand across Jomtal's bare feet and brought the sweet taste of fresh ocean air to the nares set high in his beak.
He pulled in a deep breath, pausing momentarily to appreciate the rich depth of detail the designers had built into this scape. The most minor elements refined to perfection, the realism programmed into the Hyperian scape continued to thrill Jomtal after decades of play.
More real than regular life ever felt, Hyperion was his favorite scape and home to his favorite game.
Like so many others, Zale Maren, the player citizen behind the chiseled features of the "Jomtal Noden" avatar, never felt truly alive in the Regs. Even with its augmented veneer, regular life was lifeless by comparison: crowded, boring, pointless, and gray. He only truly felt alive in the Reals. He only truly felt a sense of purpose in the Reals.
In the Regs, he worked for the corporation like every other adult on Felicity. Whether a child was natborn like Zale or a vatborn, as soon as they could walk and feed themselves, they were moved into a rudimentary space of their own and assigned their role in society.
Whether the child worked in the fields, shops, maintenance, admin, housing, accounting, medical, security, etc., they all worked for the same parent corporation: Amoex.
Amoex built the ring, its central star, and everything in it. If you lived on Felicity, you worked for Amoex. Your life in the Regs served only one purpose: to generate profit.
Zale was an ice harvester. He spent his days with his body engulfed in a gelpod. There he'd lay, with all his physical needs taken care of, while his mind was connected through the pod's secure Q patch to a harvester drone somewhere in the Kuiper Belt.
He flew around each day with one purpose: to find the largest, purest chunks of ice his harvester could wrestle, grab the frigid nugget, plot a trajectory that would take the ice to Felicity's collection center, and ̶ push.
This was his life in the Regs. All day, every day, he pushed ice.
For his efforts, he was afforded a place to live, standard +2 food and water rations, and a few thousand credits to be used as he wished. The only company he could buy anything from, however, was, of course, Amoex. Sure, all the stores, shops, and eateries had different and often cutesy names, but they were all owned by Amoex.
When Zale finished his daily shift, everything would change. After logging his last push, he'd leap from his gelpod, throw back some high-protein algae chips and bean paste, and out the door he'd run. It was like he was born again each day.
To avoid drag, he'd find a comasofa as close to the public QNode as the crowds would allow. He'd trance into the Q and dive to one of his favorite scapes. There, he'd live a different life for several hours before heading off to rest, a life rich with purpose in any one of millions of worlds more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen in the Regs.
Zale was not alone in his zest for the Reals; 94% of the population “dove the Q” every day. There, they escaped regular life and lived out their hearts' desires. To most, the Reals were more real than the Regs.
Jomtal took one more deep breath of cool salty air and brought both eye orbs forward into a long-distance stare across the water from the back of a seaside dune.
With many miles between them, Jomtal could still see several of the identical spires jutting out of the water. The rock spires, a crucial part of Hyperion's game, were smooth like glass, each coming to a fine point some 2500 feet above the surface.
In Hyperion, rival houses of bird-like humans struggled against one another to gain control of territories. The spires were, for lack of a better term, the team scorecard. The more spires your clan or house could hold, the more prestige and influence they had over other houses and clans. The point, of course, was to rule Hyperion. Whether your house gained spires through politics, tactics, strategy, espionage, or brute strength mattered little.
Jomtal stretched his gaze farther and farther across the waves until he could first see some definition to the easternmost spire as it filled his view. Then he pushed even farther until he could see a fledgling alone on one of the many flight decks that speckle the sides of the otherwise featureless, javelin-shaped rock.
The fledgling also seemed to be staring with both eyes facing in one direction: Jomtal's.
Once it was clear that the pair of birds had each other's attention, the fledgling began forming subtle hand signals, keeping his hands in front of his waist so others in the spire wouldn't notice. After a few minutes of this confidential communication, the fledgling ceased making signals, turned, and casually made his way back into the recesses of the flight deck.
Jomtal crouched with his back to the dune to contemplate the situation.
'The Crest is here but will be leaving in the morning. We'll have to act quickly.'
He pulled up a map of the area that showed a small rocky land mass closer to the spire. Then, after taking a quick peek at the weather forecast, he pulled up another chart. This one showed the phases of Hyperion's large, bright, blue-white moon with rise and set times.
A plan started to form.
Jomtal pumped his wings and launched himself between the dunes, staying low and fast. There was much work to be done.
He skirted the back side of the dunes for several minutes, careful not to be spotted by any of the spires' sentinels. The ability to hyper-zoom with the independent Hyperian eye orbs was incredibly useful, but Jomtal used this ability's disadvantage: a greatly narrowed field of view.
His biggest fear of being discovered was the possibility that a random sentinel would notice the plume of sand he made with each downward thrust of his mighty wings. They'd then have a point to focus on.
To counter this, Jomtal did his best to stay just below the top of the dune but not so low as to kick up dust. He was, however, very excited about the news he'd received from his spy. Focusing on the perfect height was a challenge while contemplating the possibility of capturing House Dragonfly's Crest.
House Dragonfly was powerful, holding nearly as many spires as Jomtal's clan, House Chimera. The thought of capturing their Crest and controlling all of Dragonfly's forces and resources was too much for Jomtal's imagination to resist.
In his excitement, Jomtal found himself either leaving too large of a plume or repeatedly popping up over the top of the dune. All it would take was a casual glance in his direction by some fledgling sentinel or aerie guard, and his plans would turn to dust.
Discovery of one of another house's critical players in rival territory would undoubtedly raise the alarm. The house and all its local spires would be placed on high alert, and Dragonfly's Crest would surely vanish.
Jomtal, recognizing his need for stealth and contrasting lack of focus, dropped to the ground between the dunes.
It was a few more miles to the southern tip of this island and a couple of hops across the water into current Chimera territory. Given the circumstances, he felt a slower path would be more prudent. So, after a quick scan of the skies, he did one of the few things Hyperians truly despised ̶ he walked. Of course, he kept one eye on the path ahead and the other scanning the sky.
Feeling very exposed due to both the slow pace and the fact that he was very visible from overhead, Jomtal took the first opportunity to cut between a pair of dunes into the tree line. He easily preferred the comparable cover of the jungle's edge to framing his dark silhouette against the stark-white sand of the dunes.
Walking through the jungle was slow going. Jomtal thought about flying through the trees, but he would lose the advantage of stealth should he happen across any Dragonflies.
He kept walking.
Death Before Dishonor
Before too long, Jomtal heard a commotion ahead. The sound was clearly the chopping of branches with a sword, but it was not rhythmic as if someone were hacking a path through the thicket. It was sporadic, and the swings were undisciplined. It sounded as if the wielder of whatever sword lay ahead, was swinging with all their strength.
Though his curiosity was certainly aroused, Jomtal chose to maneuver around the commotion and live to be curious about something else in the future. He turned right, deeper into the jungle, placing the noise at a 90 ° angle to his new path. He walked for a while, then, when the spastic chopping seemed far enough behind, he began to circle around to the left.
When he'd reached the point of passing the noisy sword swinger, Jomtal came across a steep-sided trench, both banks covered by thick underbrush. He looked to his left in the direction of the commotion, but a bend in the channel prevented him from seeing very far. Thinking there was plenty of distance between himself and the noise, he jumped across the ditch with his left eye orb trained in the direction of the noise.
Jomtal landed in a crouch and suddenly had an unobstructed view along the length of the trench—the trench that led to a clearing—a clearing currently occupied by a Dragonfly soldier—a soldier with his sword drawn—a soldier who could see him.
A shocked look grabbed the enemy's face, fear freezing him in place. His eyes were fixed firmly forward on Jomtal. He made no fevered glances toward "others" that may be with him and made no attempt to signal any comrades that might be hidden.
Judging by the cut leaves and branches strewn around the clearing and the lack of adornments on the young bird's sash, this was likely a fledgling feeling perfectly safe in his own territory to practice swordplay in solitude.
He was clearly alone.
Jomtal straightened to his full 7 feet and casually walked along the ditch toward the soldier.
The Dragonfly shook his head and closed his beak, trying to regain his composure, but the sudden realization of who this stranger from the jungle was sent that composure hiking.
"You're Jomtal Noden!" he gasped. The words had jumped from his face before any thoughts of discretion.
'Taciturnity is obviously not this one's strength,' thought Jomtal.
Hoping to score a few points and escape the infamous enemy strike commander with his life and a story to tell, he added," I'm a big fan! You're famous even in the Regs!"
But he didn't score points with Jomtal. Zale was instead angered that his quarry would step out of character. Jomtal immediately shot back, "You know I could kill you just for that. Stepping out of character ruins the game for all. Outside the Regs, this is our life. You dispelled the illusion and spoiled my fun!" Zale wasn't sure if he or Jomtal was speaking.
The fledgling soldier stiffened and, speaking in a forced deeper voice, attempted to step back into character and brush the infraction aside, "It was a momentary slip. I swear it to you, Jomtal Noden of House Chimera, it will never happen again!"
Though the kid was now laying it on so thick that it sounded corny, Zale understood his genuine intent and chose to forget the infraction.
"So you know who I am, and you know I'm in your territory unaccompanied. So you know I can't let you live to deliver the information to your brethren."
The fledgling started to shake, and his eyeholes grew wide in their orbs. "I-I won't tell a soul!" he spat, "I-I swear it!"
"To keep the secret would mean betraying your House.” Jomtal admonished.
"I don't care!" said the soldier urgently. "I don't want to die!"
"So, you would sell out your own house to save your pathetic hide?!?" Jomtal was disgusted by this. Most Hyperians lived and played by strict codes of honor, and though the rules may differ slightly from house to house, the core values centered around strength, honor, discipline, and the like. This particular fledgling was not worthy of calling himself Hyperian.
"What if, instead of killing you," Jomtal said with a slightly sly grin stepping within striking distance of the fledgling, "I simply conscripted you into House Chimera?"
The fledgling's face lit up! "Could you?" he asked very excitedly. "That'd be wonderful!!"
Without hesitation, Jomtal reached across his sash and drew his dao in a swift, back-handed motion that sliced deftly through the younger bird's neck. The strike severed the fledgling's head so cleanly that it sat in place atop his shoulders.
In the seconds his victim had left before dropping to the ground, and out of this version of Hyperion, Jomtal gave him his lesson, "You are not yet worthy of Hyperion. We do not suffer cowards or traitors. Learn this or die a thousand more times."
Death in Hyperion wasn't the minor inconvenience a player of one of those hack-n-slash, level-based games might whine about. To the serious player citizen, and there was no other type in Hyperion, death was very much like ̶ well, death. Death in Hyperion came with genuinely undesirable consequences. Not only did you lose half of your physical stats and have to spend months training before you dared face battle again, but you couldn't return to the same version of the game you died in. When you regenerated, Hyperion may look the same, but the version you woke up in would have entirely different houses, citizens, rules, and codes.
The last words of Jomtal's expensive but vital instruction hung in the otherwise silent clearing for several seconds before the fledgling's vision went gray and then black. Moments later, he awakened in the aerie of an unfamiliar spire spitting the name "JOMTAL NODEN!" like a cussword.
Miserable Noodle
Jomtal glanced again through the palm fronds at the sky above, then quickly around the clearing and behind him. Having relieved itself of ample amounts of slightly brighter-than-genuine blood, the fledgling's body lay at Jomtal's feet, his head not too far away. Though the sand would make it a quick clean-up, the body couldn't stay in the open.
Jomtal took a few moments to push sand over the mess and toss the body in the thick underbrush. Then, satisfied that nothing strange could be spotted from above, he resumed his trek toward home.
Jomtal's march through the jungle to the southern tip of the island was slow and uneventful from then on. He chose the least resistant path whenever he could, but there was plenty of underbrush to wade through and more than the occasional spider with web, squitfly, war ant, or other annoying insects to contend with.
Zale usually appreciated the designers' attention to detail, but being speckled with bug bites was not on his list of their favorite accomplishments. The bugs and the need for his avatar to eat, drink, and evacuate (this last item always happening at the most inconvenient times) could have been left to the imagination as far as he was concerned.
He was used to the heat, but there was no breeze under the canopy to take the edge off or cut through the humidity. Body glistening from head to toe, drooping wings, sweat dripping from everywhere, dirt and tiny bits of leaves and twigs sticking to his skin, Jomtal felt like a dirty, wet, miserable noodle.
He could not wait to get back in the air!
The Encanta Islands stretched nearly 10,000 miles through Dragonfly territory in the north, Chimera territory in the south, and several smaller territories in both directions.
Getting home would mean crossing the water to a small island to the south and then across another short stretch of water that marked the current border to Chimera-controlled territory. Time still being a significant factor and so much of it being eaten up by his wretched trek through miserable heat and filth (the designers were WANNAS!), he'd have to make both of these crossings in broad daylight ̶ without being seen.
Though he'd obviously exercise extreme caution the entire way, he knew his most significant exposure would be the second water crossing over the border. Veteran sentinels from 4 Dragonfly spires kept keen eyes on that section of the border at all times. Rarely would there be an actual patrol, but every one of the dozens of Dragonfly flight decks would have at least one guard peering from as few as 4 miles away. This was a short distance for Hyperian eyes.
Jomtal was relieved to reach the nearly non-existent beach on the southern tip of the first island. It was just a thin strip of sand, no more than 6 feet across, with jungle trees shading the water's edge and partially shielding the mid-morning sky.
He was a gritty, sweaty, bug-bitten mess. His sash and pants were drenched with sweat and stained from jungle grit, blood from bites and scratches, and drying salt stains.
Though the water looked like a refreshing piece of Heaven, caution at this point was more important than Heaven. He begrudgingly chose to stay in the tree line to observe the nearby spires before making a move.
From this vantage point, Jomtal could see all 4 Dragonfly Spires. Sentinels from the two nearest spires, one about four miles to the east, the other about 6 miles west, could easily spot someone flying across to the small island to the south if they were scanning in this general direction with a mild zoom. The other two, 15 to 16 miles East and West, were much less of a threat. Sentinels and aerie guards would have to zoom tightly and look almost directly at Jomtal to see him.
From just inside the edge of the jungle, he focused on the two closest towers, one then the other. As he'd expected, there was at least one Dragonfly sentinel on each flight deck of the border side of the spires. However, all were scanning the stretch of ocean that made up the border on the south side of the island ahead of him.
Guarding a rival house's border was an important task for Hyperian warriors. Birds on both sides were anxious for the recognition that being the first to spot enemy encroachments would bring. This, however, left the decks that faced Dragonfly territory nearly vacant, simply dark holes in the otherwise unbroken spire walls.
His best bet for this first water crossing couldn't be more straightforward. He'd make one last scan of each of the two closest spires simultaneously, one with each orb, while he bolted from the jungle and across the half-mile open stretch of water as fast and low as he could fly.
There was no sense in trying to keep an eye on the enemy while flying; if he was discovered, he was discovered. So, he instead would focus everything he had on pushing his legendary speed to its possible limit.
The island ahead was small indeed. One could easily walk its perimeter in a couple of hours, but the jungle was denser than the one he was leaving behind. The trees made a nearly perfect shield to onlookers, especially those wishing to fly across the channel at breakneck speed, looking for the ideal spot to land.
After studying the coastline for a time, he could see a small gap between the trees at the jungle's edge toward the island's western end. Jomtal figured that would be the optimal spot to aim for as he'd not need to slow down before entering the tree line. He could keep flying at full speed until he was under canopy cover once again. At least, he hoped.
Hyperian eye orbs were fabulous for seeing clearly over very long distances. They were a great tool for looking in two directions at once. They possessed no special benefit, however, that helped a bird see into the darkness from a well-lit place. What looked like an opening from across the water could very well end in a rock wall concealed by jungle shadows.
He turned and walked away from the jungle's edge, deeper into the trees. Jomtal found the difference between the fresh breeze-blown beach and the suffocating jungle amazing. Just 20 feet back inside the tree line, and he thought he was in the wettest version of Hell.
Though Hyperian wings don't sweat, the human portion of his body and moist jungle surfaces had soaked his wings to the tips. He could still fly but wanted nothing to slow him down in the coming moments.
Jomtal removed the tipblades from his outermost primary flight feathers, hung them from his filthy sash, then, arching his back toward the sky, slowly stretched his wings to their full 18-foot span. It felt good to unfold his wings and stretch, but after just a few seconds of enjoyment, he began shaking his wings violently, forming a cloud of filth and sweat-mist that meandered lazily through the trees.
Satisfied after several seconds that he would not get them any dryer, he replaced his tipblades and stepped back toward the beach until he could clearly see both of the closest spires. He zoomed in once again on every flight deck and every bird. Only one was looking in his direction. A lone Aerie Guard on a low flight deck was gazing along Jomtal's little stretch of beach!
Jomtal slowly folded his wings, crouched low to the ground, and peered in closely. This enemy raptor stood straight with an air of confidence missing from most average soldiers. Though his adversary's bright green Dragonfly sash was only lightly decorated, it was folded in perfect pleats around his waist and tied in a flawless knot whose corners might slice a melon. Every feather was so shiny-clean and aligned with its counterparts that from this distance, the soldier's wings looked like a pair of perfect bronze shields across his back. Not a single strand of his human hair dared stand out of formation, and the down-turned point of his upper mandible was sharpened to a fierce spike.
Warbirds weren't recruited into an elite guard without a history of exemplary service and a reputation of honor, strength, and courage. More than that, however, this raptor's posture and evident dedication to discipline told Jomtal that he was a serious and formidable foe. The lack of medals and ribbons lining his sash only meant he was young to this version of Hyperion. He was likely a decorated hero in another before meeting an untimely end.
Zale had died many times playing Hyperion, but it had been many sysears. Back then, it wasn't a big deal. He had little to lose. He couldn't imagine dying now with as far as he'd advanced in the game. Truth be told, Zale's fear of starting over was part of what made Jomtal Noden such a ferocious and infamous foe. He played out every situation in his mind before taking action, as even a minor mistake could be devistating.
Jomtal strained to zoom his orbs in as tightly as he could manage. 'This bird is a threat.' He would know his face.
Just then, the menacing bird casually turned his gaze to the east, away from Jomtal, having apparently satisfied himself that the coast, at least in this direction, was quite literally clear.
After making a mental note to get a spy on this new vulture threat, Jomtal scanned the spires one last time. Taking a deep breath, he took off into a sprint toward the edge of the water. His bare right toes found the root of a small shoreline banyan tree that served as a perfect starting block to launch himself across the channel.
Jomtal pumped his wings for all he had, casting himself toward the opening in the trees.
There is no greater joy for a Hyperian than flight. Zale could never imagine anything as extraordinary. The wind whipping through his hair and flapping the loose ends of his sash like flags in a hurricane was more than just exhilarating; it was clearly designed. They wanted the birdmen to crave the sky, to devour flight like a favorite dessert. 'The designers were awesome!!'
Jomtal reached the channel's far side and broke into the jungle's dark embrace once again, only to be met with the familiar pang of sadness that the ground inevitably brings his kind. But he'd made the first crossing without a hitch. The second would not be so easy.
Lunch
Little more than a jagged tree-covered rock, Jomtal found the small island's jungle much more challenging to navigate. Being too large to maneuver well while flying through the branches, he spent the better part of the next hour climbing over sharp rocks and hillocks, squeezing through craggy places, and shredding the bottoms of his feet against the jagged landscape until each step took a genuine effort.
'I'd really like to know whose idea this barefoot thing was,' thought Zale. 'When I get back, I'm commissioning someone to make our first pair of SHOES!!'
Once again, spiders and insects of various types and sizes seized every opportunity to make a quick meal of Jomtal's exposed flesh. He couldn't take two steps without walking through a random web or slapping at the sting of a new attacker. The air, ground, and every surface seemed to be alive with biting squitflies, war ants, flesh beetles, and parrot spiders.
As he neared the apex of the island's central hill, he came across a wall of jagged rock that had been split by the roots of a great banyan tree. Though it would have been challenging to navigate through the thick jungle to get around the wall, he thought he could spread his wings just flat enough to squeeze through the fissure.
Not willing to suffer any surprises while he was squeezing through such a tight space, Jomtal first used a long, leafy branch to sweep away the webs, spiders, ants, and other creatures from within the crack. Then he stretched out his left wing pushing it through the gap. With his body turned sideways, he followed his wing and stretched his other wing behind him.
It was tight enough that Jomtal felt suffocated by the space. His heart began to pound audibly, and he rushed to exit the fissure as quickly as possible. He imagined getting stuck here. The odds of being found on the ground, stuck between these rocks before he starved or desimorted, were minuscule.
In his urgency to escape the imagined fate, he missed the webs that spanned the far side of the split and came out the other side with a face full of gossamer a bit more fibrous than he'd found on the leading side of the wall. This, of course, added to his panic.
Jomtal spazzed.
The combination of frustration and anxiety forced a loud growl from deep in his gut as he slapped the webs from his face. The growl evolved into an enraged howl as he thrust his fist and wings out wide, yelling at the sky!
Through his squinted, rage-filled orbs, he caught sight of a dark shape falling toward him from the branches above. About the size of a 10-year-old boy, it controlled its fall with eight hairy, outstretched legs.
Years of battle and countless hours of training had thankfully left Jomtal with lightning reflexes. No thought could race through a mind fast enough to beat his automatic reaction. In one deft, silky-smooth movement, Jomtal stepped his left leg back shoulder's width from his right, turned his left foot to be at a right angle to his right, bent his knees bracing for the impact, found the hilt of his dao with his right hand, and drew it across his body and over his head to block the attacker.
At that moment, a giant green and black drop spider hit him with enough force to have knocked an unprepared Hyperian to the ground, most likely rendering them unconscious. If he'd not prepared so quickly, he'd have awakened somewhere foreign with no sash, accomplishments, or reputation.
As it hit Jomtal, the beast wrapped its legs around his body, pinning his left arm to his side in an iron grip. Jomtal's block, however, had managed to catch the creature's lifted fangs with his sword, successfully preventing their penetration into his upper chest.
Face to face with the deadly beast, Jomtal could clearly see the creature's vacant black spheres staring back at him.
There was nothing there. It was soulless --- emotionless --- it was a hairy, eight-legged, eating machine with 10-inch, green-ooze-dripping fangs.
All Jomtal had known in this place, the people he'd bonded with, the things he'd accomplished for his house and compatriots over the last 33 sysears meant nothing to the spider. To this thing, Jomtal was no more than a sandwich.
The back edge of the dao's point pressed hard against Jomtal's left shoulder. He could feel the sharp tip digging into his skin, but that tip was the vital fulcrum leveraging against the vicious spider's fangs.
He pressed outward against the sword's hilt, pushing the fangs away, but the beast responded by wrestling its body higher up Jomtal's torso to gain more leverage, then pressed in again on its difficult meal.
Luckily, Jomtal still had his wings outstretched from squeezing through the gap in the rock wall. He briskly batted his feathered appendages until predator and prey lifted off the ground, locked in a deadly airborne struggle.
Jomtal then wrapped his legs around the upper end of the spider's abdomen to keep it from gaining more advantage. The beast's coarse abdominal hairs bit through Jomtal's thin pants like needles jabbing painfully into his inner thighs and calves.
As the spider pressed in, its right fang, dripping slimy green, managed to pierce the skin of Jomtal's left pectoral. The wound was little more than a scratch but sent fire into his chest, and a surge of adrenaline-fueled urgency quickly followed.
When faced with the choice of cutting into his own flesh or filling his veins with nasty green Q-knows-what poisonous gunk, Jomtal preferred the idea of the former to the latter. He let out a growl, pressed the hilt of his sword harder against the vermin's grip, and managed to extract the fang from his skin at the cost of digging his own blade's point deeper into his shoulder. He could feel the blood starting to trickle down into the crease made by the joining of his body to the arm pinned at his side, but this was a minor concern.
He batted his wings wildly, jabbing at the spider's abdomen with his tipblades on each down-stroke.
Tipblades weren't the perfect weapon for killing giant spiders bent on turning your insides to liquid and drinking you like a slushy. They were very sharp but had small pointed ends. The bulk of the blade ran along the outer edge of a Hyperian's most primary flight feathers, protecting them from an adversary's blows. The small edged point of the blade could be used for cutting feathers or rupturing an eye orb but wasn't ordinarily useful as a primary weapon --- with one minor but famous exception, you'll learn about later.
With every jab of his blades that managed to break through the rigid plates on the creature's sides, Jomtal would push down and outward, hoping to tear more significant wounds in the animal's carapace. At the same time, he did his best to stay airborne without running into random branches or rocks whose impact may cause the spider to gain an even greater advantage.
After several minutes of this midair death dance, Jomtal began to tire. The back of his right arm burned from the strain and started to shake violently, causing the beast's right fang to pierce his skin several more times like a giant tattoo needle. That part of his body, however, had thankfully gone numb.
Nearing the end of his strength and thinking this might be all for the great Strike Commander Jomtal Noden, he noticed a slight loosening in the spider's grip! The dozens of jagged tears he'd managed to rip in its abdomen were finally having an effect!
Jomtal quickly unwrapped his legs from the creature's abdomen and drew them toward him managing to squeeze his toes under the spider's 7th and 8th legs where they joined its body. With the last remaining ounce of strength he could muster, Jomtal released a mighty yell and shoved outward against the creature with his legs and against the hilt of his sword simultaneously.
The spider's grip broke, and it dropped toward the ground.
Not willing to grant the beast a single second to recover, Jomtal dropped as well, directly down onto its back. He put all his weight behind his trusted dao, thrusting the sword through the creature's thorax and into the ground beneath.
Pinned securely to the ground, the spider writhed but could not move. Jomtal quickly pulled the kopis from his sash and stabbed the beast repeatedly. Over and over, he stabbed and ripped at any purchase the blade made. When the spider finally stopped moving, he stabbed it 15 or 20 more times before collapsing exhausted to the ground, covered in black blood and bug guts.
The urge to rest for a while was nearly undeniable, but too many things on this damned island wanted to eat him. The thought that he'd wake up to find either the war ants had devoured his appendages or the squitflies had sucked him dry was enough to motivate him to action.
He sat up next to the spider's corpse. Its eyes were just as dead in death as they were in life. The thought gave Jomtal a shudder he'd never admit to his men.
Taking a quick assessment of his physical situation, things weren't as bad as they could have been. The bottoms of his feet were severely abraded with a few deeper gashes from climbing jagged rocks. His left arm and shoulder were limp, bloody, and numb. He was covered in bug bites, bug guts, blood, dirt, and sweat. He had a jagged puncture wound in his left shoulder from the sword he was suddenly very grateful for and several deep scratches in his left chest that were turning green-black from some sort of poison. The dozen or so needle-sized holes in his inner thighs and calves were starting to itch, and his sash was so stained that you could hardly see the original purple. Besides the numb chest and shoulder, every square inch of his body was sore, and he was more thirsty than he could remember.
Thinking he could remedy this last item, Jomtal pulled his water sack from inside the back of his sash. There wasn't much left, so he chose to clean his wounds and stay thirsty.
He splashed the last few swallows on his left chest and shoulder, cleaning out the wounds and wiping the blood and green goo from his flesh as well as he could with field bandages that were also stuffed into the folds of his sash.
At that moment, he became aware of movement in the trees, and both orbs shot immediately toward the commotion.
High up in the branches several meters to his right, another drop spider was repositioning itself in its down-turned-funnel-shaped web. Jomtal felt he was in no immediate danger from this one but took a moment to scan the rest of the canopy and spied four more funnels within a rock's throw.
Looking around for the first time since coming through the wall, he realized the ground on this side was littered with shriveled silk pods that apparently contained the drained remains of many small, furry, unsuspecting snacks.
Finding themselves in the middle of a nest of drop spiders may shake some Hyperians to the core, but Jomtal knew he just needed to be more aware. Unless another managed to surprise him like his dead buddy had, they'd be pretty easy to avoid or kill if need be. It was, however, time to move.
Jomtal cut the dangling ends from his sash and wrapped his feet with what remained of his field bandage supply using the silk sash material as an outer layer. Then, feeling the presence of each of his body's muscles in not such a nice way, stood up, stretched, groaned, and returned to his trek. Of course, he now returned to the practice of keeping one eye above and one eye on "the road."
Fisherbirds
Other than the constant bites, stings, cobwebs in the face, and rock obstacles, Jomtal made his way across the rest of the small island without incident.
Well past mid-day, he finally reached the edge of a rocky cliff that dropped 80 or so feet into the beautiful azure waters of the Southern Ocean. Across a mile-wide channel that made up the current border, he could see the northernmost point of a peninsula covered with trees. This was the first he'd seen of his home territory since late last night when he left for his meeting. The land was breathtakingly beautiful. Yes, it was the same type of terrain that he was leaving behind, and the unbiased observer may not be able to tell the difference, but Jomtal was unashamedly biased. The land across the water was home.
Farther across to the southeast, he could just make out the jagged outline of buildings surrounding the Iliana Spire as it pierced the sky.
All the spires on Hyperion were the same, but those that rose from larger islands and land masses were almost always hosted by towns or cities. The city of Iliana was one of the largest and definitely the most beautiful. She was named after the great warrior Queen Iliana Tu, who envisioned and forged the first Hyperian civilization.
Before what was commonly called "The Birth," Hyperion was just a game where people came to kill each other for fun in their off-time. No one bothered to gather resources, hunt, fish, build, or trade; there was no economy, art, literature, or dreaming of better things. Only killing for fun --- over and over.
The city of Iliana had changed hands many times in the century or so since the warrior queen ghosted herself, but regardless of who held her, the name of the city never changed. Every citizen knows the value of Hyperion was discovered and made real by Iliana. Not only does her essence live on in the Q, so does her legend.
Today the city of Iliana is a jewel coveted by every house in the scape. Your clan wasn't necessarily the most powerful if you held Iliana, but controlling her granted great prestige and respect from rival crests. Jomtal's yearning to get home to her could not be overshadowed by the pain in his feet or the poison in his chest.
From within the tree line, Jomtal peered past the closest of the Dragonfly spires, just 4 miles to the east, at a fleet of small boats. The local fisherbirds were pulling in long nets full of gray stripe, a staple fish in this part of the world.
Fisherbirds were their own breed of Hyperian. They were rugged, rough, free-spirited, and proud patriots of their clans. They were also law-abiding when, of course, the law aligned with their impulses. Their favorite pastimes included drinking, fishing, fighting, fornicating, and tormenting their neighbors, not necessarily in that order.
Today, this particular flock of Chimera Fisherbirds chose to fish close to the center of the channel. Being careful not to cross into Dragonfly waters, they fished just close enough that the rival house's sentinels were compelled to keep a close eye on them. Disagreements and even the occasional scuffle were common, and tensions were always high.
Jomtal once again reached into the folds of his now filthy gray sash and pulled out pieces of a small mirror that had not survived the journey. He held the largest shard in his hand and, staying well hidden from rival sentinels, held the glass in a beam of sunlight, angling the reflection toward the fishing boats.
He trained his orbs on the deck of one of the boats closest to him, then zoomed in far enough to see through a porthole in the wheelhouse. There, he focused on the familiar face of a stout bird intently watching Jomtal's little island but apparently not seeing anything unusual.
Jomtal tried several times to aim the beam correctly, hoping the shard was big enough to do the job before he finally saw a look of surprise and delight cross the other bird's face.
Once he knew they'd found each other, Jomtal made a series of hand signals to which the receiving bird simply nodded eagerly with a large and genuine smile. This bird was clearly happy and perhaps even relieved to see his companion.
A few minutes later, the small boat and several others crossed over the center of the channel and began casting their nets in Dragonfly waters as if they hadn't noticed the infraction. Immediately, several Dragonfly guards and sentinels swooped out of their nearby spire and toward the boats.
As the fisherbird captains and Dragonfly guards launched into a very animated conversation, most likely filled with foul language and references to the opposition's ancestry, Jomtal turned his right orb to the western Dragonfly spire. As hoped, dozens of Dragonflies were dropping from the flight decks heading toward the aquatic altercation.
Jomtal ducked deeper into the jungle watching from cover as this new flock of warriors passed him, headed east toward the growing confrontation. He waited several more minutes and watched as guards and warriors from both houses descended upon the tiny fishing fleet. Local leaders, tradesbirds, warriors, fisherbirds, and various others had gathered and drawn an imaginary line across the small fishing fleet, making obscene gestures and yelling insults and obscenities from one side to the other. From this distance, it was rather comical to Jomtal, and he suddenly understood why the fisherbirds enjoyed taunting the neighbors so much. It was just good, clean fun.
All eyes now focused on the confrontation to the east, Jomtal could fly under the sight lines of the birds in the spires to the west. They'd be staring directly past him to focus tightly on the action. As long as he avoided crossing their narrowed fields of view, he could fly right in front of them and never be seen.
Bandages and silk now shredded and barely holding on to his feet, Jomtal hobbled to the cliff's brink and dropped over the edge without hesitation. He enjoyed the free fall until just before he hit the water, then flattened out his flight path to stay as close to the wave tops and as far away from the watchers' focus as possible.
As tired as he was, the sprint across the channel was nonetheless intoxicating. Though it had only been a few hours, Jomtal missed being in the air. Flight was a Hyperian's drug of choice, and this flight was a well-needed fix.
He hugged the wave tops until he was home, then collapsed in the sand just inside the opposite tree line.