Free Merkabah Rider: Have Glyphs Will Travel by Edward M. Erdelac

on
Manx.”
    Cord nodded.
    “I’ll try to get them all back in
their barracks too.”
    “No, best leave them out in the open
where everybody can see everybody.”
    “Alright.” Cord half turned, and
Belden went to look for Milton, but the lieutenant called to him. “Belden.”
    “What?”
    “I’m…sorry…for that boy that died.”
    “That’s good to know,” Belden said.
He meant it. Cord might not be the stupid sycophant he’d taken him for.
    Cord went off to wrangle Manx.
    Belden found Doc Milton kneeling
over the unconscious Weeks, fanning himself with his hat.
    “How’s he?”
    “As if you cared,” Milton grinned. “He’ll
be alright.” He rose, and coughed into his sleeve.
    “ You alright?”
    “Some kind of fever or a flu. I’m
not sure what.”
    “Probably caught it from Manx,”
Belden said.
    “Could be.”
    “I’ve got a patient for you take a
look at, Doc,” Belden said, walking toward the guardhouse.
    Milton replaced his hat
    “That’s what I’m here for.”
    In the Yenne Velt , mystic blasts of blue-white and scarlet streaked back
and forth as the two astral combatants traded shots. There was no cover to
preserve them, only their own quickness. They were not more than eighteen or
nineteen feet apart at any given moment, and were firing wildly, Jacobi with
his Venditti pistol and the Rider with his Volcanic.

Scant seconds had passed, but to the
Rider the fight seemed eternal. He did not know what the nature of Jacobi’s
magic was. It seemed to be based on the same practices of the Essenes, but
somehow negative in nature. The color of his weapon’s discharges was one
indication of this—it was the same crimson hue as the lightning the Canaanite
Hayim Cardin had been able to summon from his fingertips. If it was some kind
of Outer God magic, who knew what it would do to him?
    Sheardown had employed the same
tools, and had disrupted his ethereal horse. At least he knew his own shooting
wasn’t in vain, unless Jacobi knew some form of protection Sheardown hadn’t.
The Rider had dispatched Sheardown in the Yenne
Velt , but only after his body had died in the material world. He still wasn’t
sure what the effect of his weapon would be on an astral form. It was designed
to disrupt the focused will of a spirit, and thus destabilize it. On human
souls it had the power to stun their consciousness, allowing him to pass into
and possess physical forms, just as Jacobi had been doing. But he had only
fought one other astral traveler in the Yenne
Velt with his Volcanic, and the question hadn’t been answered in that
instance.
    Astral bodies weren’t subject to the
same physical limitations as their material counterparts of course. With
training they could react somewhat faster than thought, as the mechanism of
muscles and synapses were no longer in play to slow down the progression from
intent to action. It was possible to dodge gunfire here, as they were both
doing. The relative slowness of their lever action pistols helped.
    Jacobi was amazingly skilled. He was
a ferocious opponent, feinting and diving and executing impossible ballet-like
aerial leaps as he skipped between the Rider’s attacks. It was an intimidating
display of power. He seemed to be giving his etheric form over to the buffeting
astral winds that always blew in this realm. These currents were strong, and
could tear an untrained will apart. It took years of training just to be able
to stand and remain in the Yenne Velt .
But Jacobi seemed to be riding the
winds.
    It was an incredibly dangerous
undertaking, almost as dangerous as his forced suicides had been. The Rider
wondered if it was something Adon had taught him. The last time they’d fought,
years ago, Jacobi had been just as formidable but not nearly so reckless.
    The Rider had never faced an enemy
in this manner, one who had embraced the lack of physical constraints in the Yenne Velt to such a degree. Jacobi’s
acrobatics were something the Rider himself had