Ashes of Raging Water

by Michael J Allen

  I stripped naked.

  Dark oaths spilled from my lips.

  I flopped onto my nest grate and ground the play button on my remote. The paused tearjerker resumed.

  I didn’t want to sit in my little alcove and cry. I wanted to sink my talons into faeries or, lacking a more suitable subject, Vitae. Humans never dealt with the kinds of obscene ludicrousness in their jobs. They never faced unreasonable employers or had petty know-it-all bosses intrude on their private lives.

  They’ve got it all, and what do I have? Some old buzzard telling me to make nice and let the faeries chop my head off. I don’t even have my own name.

  Steam wafted off of my skin.

  I ought to go back there and piss in his nest. It couldn’t make him any worse. Better, maybe I’ll just quit. What’s the worst they can do to me? Hunt me down? Give me True Death?

  Nausea extinguished my rising temper and plunged me into icy sewage. A seed within blocks of my apartment registered a powerful Veil breach.

  Holy Hells, that’s a lot of taint.

  My seed went silent a moment later, and the taint vanished.

  “Quayla?” Anima asked.

  “Yea—”

  Another massive wave of taint entered the next nearest seed.

  What the hell could cause that much taint that fast?

  “Shield Quayla, two potent faerie forces have breached the Veil in your area.”

  “Yeah, I felt them.” I leapt from my nest. Uncertainty dragged my eyes back to the basin. The remaining essence level knotted every muscle with dread. “I’m on it.”

  It’s going to take weeks of tearjerkers to refill my nest.

  I dressed in a rush, slipped my backup hilts into belt loops and grabbed my purse in a headlong rush out the door. I practically flew down the stairs.

  Mrs. Cox emerged from her apartment. The little old lady’s voice had steel in it. “Young lady, I want a word with you.”

  “No time, Mrs. Cox. Yell at me later.”

  I threw open the door hard enough to rattle the imbedded glass. I turned toward my parking space ready to buy myself a few more steps by leaping the stairs.

  A shrill whistle ripped the air.

  I jerked toward the sound to find the escaped grendling, trousers around his ankles, waving his moldy, mulberry ass in my direction.

  “Well, I never!” Mrs. Cox exclaimed. “I’ll call the police, see if I don’t, you hooligan!”

  Unease slowed drawing my hilts. “Get back inside, Mrs. Cox.”

  The grendling leaped around, taunting me with waggling genitals and a singsong voice. “Yoohooo, little birdie. You can’t touch me.”

  Squeezed essence slid through my hilts. I gritted my teeth against coming pain. “Wanna bet?”

  “That’s no way to act in public. The authorities will deal with you!” Mrs. Cox rushed into the building, much to my relief.

  I charged three steps.

  Mrs. Cox’s shriek brought me up short.

  The bay windows fronting Mrs. Cox’s apartment exploded. Brick and wood, glass and doilies flew everywhere. Beyond the dust, a half-ogre stood in Mrs. Cox’s living room—one hand clamped over my landlady’s head and shoulders. His other hand shoveled baked goods into his mouth.

  He grinned a rotted, frosting-coated smile. “Hello, little birdie. Their majesties send their regards.”

  Quayla

  I turned my head toward the offending grendling. A wide, sinister smile split his face.

  I whipped the knife in a quick spin by its finger ring as I swept my arm his direction. I simultaneously halted my arm at the swing’s pinnacle and snatched the hilt to a stop. The blade of my essence tore painfully away from the hilt. An S-shaped blade of shimmering essence spun through the air and split the grendling’s face, perpendicular to his shock-faded smile.

  I turned back toward the ogre and pointed a newly extruded blade. “Drop the muffins and let my landlady go.”

  “Call the police, dear,” Mrs. Cox said through a gap in the massive fingers. “They’ll take care of this hoodlum.”

  Dylan’s car pulled in.

  I ignored him. I had no time for distractions. My mind raced. I had to figure out how to best the ogre before he hurt Mrs. Cox. “When it comes to his type, Mrs. Cox, I am the authority.”

  The ogre chortled.

  “You’re a florist, dear,” Mrs. Cox said. “I think forget-me-nots and daisies are more your speed.”

  I smirked, sweeping my feet through the fluid, focusing forms of Hep-Silat, an ancient martial art taken from Indonesian origins by Egyptian sailors and reborn to honor the river god Hapi. “By the Undying Light, I order you to release that mortal and either surrender immediately or return to Faery with all haste.”

  The half-ogre chuckled. Mrs. Cox hung onto the ogre’s sausage fingers for dear life as he shook her by her head and shoulders. “Play nice, little birdie, or there are melon chunks on the menu.”

  I slid a hand behind my back. Slight finger motions whipped the Karambit into a rapid spin. I pushed more of myself through the hilt. A quick jerk brought the blade out from behind my back. Fingers snapped down on the hilt. The water blade tore away from my already torn essence with a ripping sensation twice as painful. The new S-shaped blade stretched as it flew, severing the half-ogre’s hand at the wrist.

  “Quayla, stop!” Dylan yelled.

  Mrs. Cox dropped to the ground, grey hair coated in gloopy dark ick. She turned toward the ogre and kicked its shin.

  I didn’t hesitate.

  I raced toward the Wyldfae, forcing another blade from my hilt. I leapt onto the front stair. A bounding round kick off the banister spun me into a fluid whirl of gleaming blades. The Wyldfae swung wildly with both fist and stump. I flowed around its lumbering blows, darting in to slice again and again.

  A fist drove me onto Mrs. Cox’s blood-slimed carpet. The blow shattered bones that remained lighter for flight even in human shape. Brittle bones shattered at the point of impact. A birdlike shriek escaped me.

  The half-ogre reared back to kill me.

  I have to hurry back and save them even if my nest is too low for another rebirth. Can I talk to Ani if my nest is empty?

  Dylan leapt onto the ogre’s back, stabbing into the side of the Wyldfae’s head with his keychain Swiss Army knife.

  We needed help. I fumbled with a silver chain, struggling but failing to draw a silvered feather pendant from the neck of my shirt.

  The ogre roared, somehow swelling in size. His head brought ceiling pieces down.

  An ogre hand seized Dylan’s torso and squeezed.

  All thought of calling for help vanished in Dylan’s agonized cry.

  “No!”

  One of my arms refused to move, bellowing agony instead when muscles tried obey. Even with the cat out of the bag, I didn’t have enough time to transmogrify into pure essence and rebalance. The connected forearm was shattered so badly that it flopped like a noodle from my elbow down. The ogre was out of reach of my working arm, so I kicked upward with the only leg not in pain. My heel slammed into the ogre’s groin.

  The faerie bellowed. He doubled over and dropped Dylan in favor of cradling his genitals.

  Mrs. Cox seized a nearby baking pan covered in muffins. She slammed the cookie sheet into the ogre’s face. “That’s for stealing. That’s for accosting me and Quayla, and that’s for messing up my hair.”

  “Dylan, Mrs. Cox, run.” I hooked my working leg behind the ogre’s ankle.

  “We can’t leave you alone with this thing,” Dylan leapt out the destroyed wall, and grabbed a metal trash can lid.

  I jerked myself upright and threw my less-damaged arm in a wide arc to impale the creature’s femoral artery. Snapping sounds and pain exploded from my shoulder. My blade sank into the meat of his leg but missed the target. Impact shot fire up my arm. Dark spots swirled before my eyes.

  My bladeless hilt clattered to the floor.

  I could barely summon air enough for plead
ing whispers. “Help...we need...help...Ani...Vili...”

  Dylan hopped onto the banister and jumped back into Mrs. Cox’s apartment. He brought the lid down onto the bent ogre’s head with both hands.

  “Cox...Dylan...,” I wheezed, unable to take a full breath. “Go...please.”

  “He ate my muffins.”

  Without enough air to convince Mrs. Cox or Dylan, I tried to transmogrify. Reaching for my essence sent spikes through my eyes. I tried to fight through the pain but even the smallest wisps of essence slid from my attempts to harness it.

  I gave up on rebalancing and turned my attention to summoning help. “Dylan...please...my necklace...then...get her...clear.”

  Dylan dug a hand into my shirt.

  “Mister Silus!” Mrs. Cox scolded.

  He yanked the pendant from my shirt.

  I gasped for breath. “Vili...cangel...us, Vili...cangel...us—”

  A bright light filled my eyes.

  Hope spiked through me like blessed morphine.

  A shadow stepped in front of the light.

  Tears collected in my eyes, girding themselves up to leap to freedom.

  Terrance

  A huge bellow proceeded Terrance. He drew earth from beneath him, swelling until he rivaled the Sidhe’s bulk. He crashed through the door into the apartment and slammed bodily into the ogre. The impact sent the Wyldfae sprawling through the demolished wall and onto the trash cans.

  The ogre screamed in pain.

  Terrance leapt down onto it. He pummeled the ogre with spiked gauntlets of jagged glowing quartz and obsidian. Crystal and lava rock hammered the Wyldfae backward into the street one blow at a time. Foul blood coated Terrance’s cestuses, taint sinking sickness into his flesh.

  Quayla blinked. “Terr...ance?”

  “Dylan, move little sister away.” Terrance dodged a blow and slammed crystal into the Wyldfae’s face.

  “Do I know you?” Dylan asked.

  “We know you.” He took a blow from the half-ogre, sliding backward a stride and using the space to answer back harder. “Get her to safety, the old wafer too.”

  Mrs. Cox gave the ogre’s severed hand a disgusted snarl and kicked it into the street. “Wafer, dear?”

  “Safety?” Dylan asked. “I thought Quayla could heal herself.”

  “She must be too badly inj—”

  The half-ogre took advantage of Terrance’s distraction, delivering his own hammer blow into the earth phoenix’s gut. Terrance grunted, but answered back just as hard. The ogre—no doubt deciding his ambush had been routed, snatched up his hand and bolted up the street.

  Terrance looked as if he might pursue for a three count. A soft growl escaped Aquaylae’s shield brother, but he leapt into the broken apartment and bent over her.

  “Dylan...knows, but Mrs.—”

  Terrance put a finger over her lips. “I will handle things. This is going to hurt.” Terrance scooped her up. “Dylan, lead.”

  She cried out.

  I am sorry, little sister.

  Each jarring step up to her apartment poked a yelp from her lips until the pain overwhelmed her and she fell still. Terrance laid her on her couch. “Dylan, fetch a pitcher.”

  Quayla’s paramour returned with a plastic pitcher.

  “Fetch water from her nest,” Terrance said. “Do not let your skin touch it.”

  Mrs. Cox frowned at him. “She’s not a bird, why would she have a nest? I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “I’ll see to it, ma’am,” Terrance said. “Can you fetch washcloths?”

  “Oh, of course.” Mrs. Cox exited the apartment.

  Dylan returned with the pitcher, handing it to Terrance before closing the door behind the landlady. He went to Aquaylae’s side as Terrance dribbled essence into her mouth. The expression on Dylan’s face emphasized the things Aquaylae had told them about the mortal. Terrance agreed with Vitae that mortals shouldn’t be aware of their existence, but it was hard to fault Aquaylae’s choice.

  “She’ll be fine,” Terrance reassured.

  “That thing crushed her. She can’t breathe.”

  “Her essence will heal the lung punctures. She needs time to regain her strength.”

  “Maybe we really should take her to the hospital.”

  “You’re an engineer, correct? A man with an analytical mind?”

  “Yeah,” Dylan said.

  “Analyze what happens if she’s taken to a hospital.”

  “They take her in, run some tests...tests will tell them something’s different about her, won’t they?” Dylan asked.

  “They will.”

  Aquaylae’s eyes flickered open. Seeing Dylan added pleasure to her weary expression. Her gaze travelled higher and higher until it fixed on Terrance. “How?”

  “Anima notified me of breaches adjacent to your apartment. After your incident in the Goblin Market, I feared the Sidhe might have their own justice planned. I’m glad you didn’t have to die again.”

  “Maybe...better.”

  “Maybe.” Terrance took the pitcher, tipped it slightly and dipped Aquaylae’s uninjured hand into it. “Heal yourself.”

  Aquaylae shook her head. “Can’t use...that, barely enough...”

  “Can you transmogrify and rebalance?” Terrance asked.

  Aquaylae shook her head. “Can’t...focus.”

  Terrance’s voice hardened, the basso echoing off the ceiling. “Then draw in this essence and heal.”

  Aquaylae focused on her fingers, drawing her essence back into her body. Bones rearranged with tearing, mind-numbing pain. The stabbing sensation in her chest eased and breath came easier. She drew essence until a salty crust dried on the pitcher’s interior.

  “Will she be all right?” Dylan asked.

  “In time,” Terrance said.

  “That thing hit you too,” Dylan said.

  “My bones are stronger and I learned long ago to encase them in stone—something little Aquaylae cannot do,” Terrance said.

  Dylan frowned.

  “We all have our talents.” Terrance shrugged. “I’ll notify Anima of our situation and request a rewrite.”

  He made it halfway to the bedroom when he froze. Aquaylae’s sudden stiffening told him she felt it too, an Arch had opened nearby.

  “Terrance?”

  Terrance relaxed. “A departure I think. Rest, little sister.”

  Dylan took Terrance’s place, kneeling next to Aquaylae and taking her hand as if it were most fragile china. “Rewrite?”

  “Mrs. Cox will need—”

  “What will I need?” Mrs. Cox asked.

  “An undented baking dish,” Aquaylae said.

  “Look who’s breathing better.” Mrs. Cox wiped Aquaylae’s forehead with one of her damp cloths. “We really should get you to a hospital.”

  “Terrance is taking care of it,” Aquaylae said.

  “Good, just rest now, dear. I told you to leave that hooligan be—not that I knew of your fancy knife skills.” Mrs. Cox smiled at Dylan. “This is definitely a night I won’t soon forget.”

  16: Mothering Earth

  Terrance

  Quayla slept beneath Terrance’s watchful perch. Her breathing had steadied, the infusion of essence repairing the lung punctures she’d suffered from being moved after her bones had shattered.

  “She should really go to a hospital, dear.” Mrs. Cox frowned at Terrance hovering over Aquaylae. “Broken bones could puncture a lung. Maybe we should call her mother.”

  Terrance frowned. “She doesn’t have one.”

  “Anymore,” Dylan added. “No family.”

  Terrance cleared his throat.

  “No blood relations,” Dylan said.

  “Poor dear and an orphan too.” Mrs. Cox’s frown brightened. “Guess you don’t have to worry about a mother-in-law then, eh, boy? When are you two getting married?”

  “Aquaylae needs rest,” Terrance said.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Cox, let’s let her rest,” Dylan
said.

  “Yes, yes, you’re right,” Mrs. Cox said. “Maybe. I’ll fix up some soup and bring it by in the morning.”

  Terrance left Aquaylae to the lover and the landlady, crossing to her kitchen. A faint aroma of taint wrinkled his nose. The prevalent scent belonged to a nymph—vile Sidhe he hated for past incidents, but something almost hidden beneath the overly strong taint scented off. Either way, he couldn’t fault her for having contacts in the Courts when he had some himself.

  Opening the woefully stocked fridge offered little in the ingredients he required. The cabinets bolstered the meager makings with pinhead oats and honey. He could make do, but the thin offering would help Aquaylae little.

  “Dylan?”

  The mortal’s eyes snapped up to meet his own. Anguish and anger lurked like caged beasts seeking prey.

  “Show me little sister’s bedroom.”

  Mrs. Cox frowned first at Terrance and then Dylan. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for any man to enter a single woman’s bedroom, certainly not a stranger.”

  “T-Terrance is...family,” Aquaylae whispered.

  Mrs. Cox whispered, but not softly enough that her words escaped Terrance’s hearing. “Honey, you’re hurt, delirious maybe, and you might not be thinking straight. I don’t think this man can be your kin. He’s negro, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you can’t be rel—”

  “Aq—” Terrance cleared his throat. “Quayla has offered her blessing. Dylan, please show me.”

  Dylan crossed to a door and pushed it open. Before Terrance could reach the bedroom, Mrs. Cox rose, and faced off against Terrance despite at a considerable height deficiency. “This is my building, sonny, and—”

  Terrance placed his hands gently on her shoulders, lifted her a yard off the ground and set the disbelieving woman gently to one side before stepping through the door. Aquaylae’s bedroom proved a mess. Two bookshelves bracketed a mirrored alcove barely glowing silver. He crossed to her nest with hasty strides only to stop short.

  Oh, little sister.

  He knelt down beside the stone basin. A shallow puddle of Aquaylae’s essence offered nowhere near enough for even a single rebirth. “Summuseraphi.”

  “Get away from there,” Mrs. Cox said. “You have no right digging through a woman’s unmentionables.”