Call of Destiny

by P. R. Adams

  The old man stared first at her hair, then at Lonar, but more gibberish from the hacker and the pseudo soothed whatever nerves were rattled by the sight of eight “motherless” strangers. He studied each of them through squinted lids, then held out a hand for one of the coins. He examined it, rubbed it, then waved for more. After inspecting them, he jerked his head toward the interior of the big house.

  When Lonar’s weight rested against the wood of the stoop, it sounded as if the nails holding it together were ready to give. Riyun and Tawod wrestled the big man through the doorway before things could fall apart.

  Quil fell back to their position. “I told him Lonar was wounded by brigands.”

  Riyun kept his eye on the old man and the hacker. “Good thinking. Rooms?”

  “He has four. The rest are… I believe they are under repair.”

  “You mean they’re in such bad shape, he wouldn’t put us up in them.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about food?”

  “Covered by the rent. His wife cooks only simple meals now.”

  Riyun’s stomach growled. “I could eat my boot at this point.”

  “If I had to guess, I think that might be on the menu.”

  “What about these lizard steaks? Could they cook those? Maybe smoke them?”

  “I can ask. Will they be spoiled?”

  “Soon. All right, we need to look like believable travelers—paired off. I don’t want Hirvok poisoning the well with Symbra or Naru. Keep one room set aside for Hirvok and Javika. Put Naru in another with Lonar. Quil, you and Tawod get the third.”

  Tawod chuffed. “I get stuck with the pseudo?”

  “More like why does he get stuck with you. Just deal with it.”

  The demolitionist grumbled under his breath. “The Steel Fury Brigade would never have—”

  “You’re not with them anymore. Remember that.”

  Symbra waited for them at the bottom of a short flight of stairs. “Let me help.”

  She did what she could, finally grabbing Lonar by the belt and hauling him up with them. She settled close behind Riyun, helping again when they reached a second short flight of stairs. From that landing, they had a clear look at a hallway. Two doors to a side, and an opening in the middle on the right.

  Quil pointed toward that opening. “They put washbasins and pails of water in there.”

  That brought a sour look to the Onath’s face. “Wash basins?”

  “It was how they cleaned themselves in this time. There was no running water.”

  “But they had fire. They could boil water.”

  “Yes. But their understanding of hygiene was limited, not as ours.”

  Symbra winced. “We don’t have to live like savages. How much would it cost to get a hot bath?”

  “We have already spent a good deal for the rooms and food.”

  A hot bath sounded absolutely divine to Riyun. “She’s right. If we can all get a hot bath, I think we’d feel better.”

  Lonar’s voice was a soft, incomprehensible rumble.

  Riyun patted the big man. “What was that?”

  “Beer. Lots of beer.”

  “Quil, see what you can do about that.”

  The pseudo’s lips puckered. “It does make perfect sense. After all, this is Wholesale Fantasy.”

  When he stormed off, Symbra cocked her head. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He gets like that.” Riyun headed down the hallway, turning right at the first door and nodding for Symbra to open it. “Far enough. This is his room.”

  They got the tweak through the door, then sat him down on one of the beds. There were two, one pushed against either wall at the far corners opposite the door. While the old man shuffled in with linens, Riyun stretched and rolled his shoulders. He was getting too old to haul someone as big as Lonar around. Tawod took the linens from the old man and made the empty bed, then took the second set and placed them at the foot of the bed Lonar sat upon. Riyun helped the younger man guide Lonar to the made bed, which smelled stale and moldy.

  Opening the shutters helped a little, and it let in a soft breeze that cooled the stuffy space.

  Riyun could almost feel the hot water carrying dust and dirt away from his filthy skin. He desperately wanted to clean up and get some sleep.

  Other doors opened in the hallway, and he caught the conversation between Quil and Tawod.

  Then Naru came through the doorway. She bit her lip as she made her bed, eyes frequently drifting over to the big man now supine on the bed. “I’m not a nurse.”

  “I don’t need you to be.” Riyun listened to the big man’s breathing and caught the soft transition to a rhythmic pattern. After a few seconds of steady breathing, the lieutenant made his way over to Naru’s bed. “What I need from you is alertness. Maybe a little empathy. Can you swing that?”

  The hacker froze while shoving the gray, lumpy pillow into an even grayer case. “You think I don’t care about anyone else?”

  “Do you?”

  “Just because I—” She punched the pillow. “I care about people.”

  “All right. So, make me feel like a real idiot and keep an eye on the big guy. Okay?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No. I’m sorry. I should have sent you home before—”

  She stuffed the pillow the rest of the way into the case. “I’ll watch over him.”

  Guilt jabbed Riyun’s gut. He left her pouting on the bed, then backed into the room across the hall when he saw the old man and an equally old woman negotiating the narrow hallway with a wooden tub they must’ve taken out of the room Quil had said would contain washbasins. They disappeared into the room at the end of the hall on the side opposite Lonar’s room.

  Riyun followed.

  Leaning against the door frame, it was easy to imagine steam rising off clear water. The towels they’d set down looked rough and stained, but he’d used worse in the field. The soap, though—a white brick—didn’t look particularly pleasant.

  They squeezed past him, and the old woman said something he couldn’t quite make out.

  Water? They had to bring hot water. She was probably boiling it right now.

  The old man scratched the strange scars, and Riyun caught himself staring.

  Where had he seen those before? Spiraling over the cheek. One of the escaped slaves?

  He set his belongings against the foot of the bed on his left, then pulled his gloves off and placed them on top of the gear. His hands were dirty, but that wouldn’t make much difference with the linens that had been left for him. As he made the bed, he wondered if the others would take offense if he bathed first. It wouldn’t take that long to boil up a new batch of water.

  Where would he drain it? Use the basins and pail?

  Symbra came through the door, almost gliding on air when she saw the tub. “Quil said he could get one bath. I hope you don’t mind that I asked them to bring it in here?”

  One bath. He would let her go first. Even dirty water was better than no cleaning. “What cost so much?”

  “I guess they consider it a waste of time to boil water and haul it up here. A real luxury.” She blushed. “Thank you.”

  “Hm?” Did she think he’d intentionally only purchased one bath? He would need to talk to Javika about how best to explain to a young woman that a team sometimes had things go well for everyone, and sometimes things went well for individuals. Could an Onath understand that?

  Steps scraped outside in the hall, then the old man and woman stepped in, each struggling with two pails of water. The old man poured cold water in first, then the old woman poured in steaming water. Symbra cooed and tossed her gloves onto her bed.

  Riyun followed the old couple to the door. He didn’t know how to thank them, but they’d taken all his money. Maybe that would be thanks enough.

  The old man lingered for a moment, eyes squinted, then shuffled away.

  Those scars…

  Riyun knocked on the door frame
to Quil’s room. “Thanks for getting that arranged, Quil. Could you and Tawod double back and make sure Hirvok and Javika can find us?”

  The pseudo straightened. “I will do so now.”

  After a second, Tawod let out a deep groan. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  They tramped down the hallway, then down the creaking stairs. Riyun would have gone himself, but he wanted to stay close to Lonar, in case…

  For an instant, the crude building was replaced by the sturdier, better-maintained home of Riyun’s childhood. Winds howled outside, and in the distance someone screamed—

  It was the Portals. A new world. A pocket dimension.

  He leaned against the wall for support until he was at Lonar’s room again. The big man’s rhythmic breathing brought a smile to Riyun’s face.

  He’s going to make it. We’re all going to make it.

  Riyun pushed the door to his room open and caught the splash of water.

  “Oh!” Symbra hurriedly lowered herself into the tub. “Could you close the door?”

  He did. “Sorry.”

  Steam had created the faintest haze in the room, which now smelled like damp wood. He unbuckled his long coat and armored top and set them on the floor at the head of his bed. “I wonder if we would be able to get something to clean our armor at no cost.”

  Symbra sniffed the white brick of soap; her nose crinkled in disapproval. “I hope it’s better than this.”

  “That’s probably just a mixture of lye and fat. I don’t think it would do a good job on the armor.”

  “Lye and fat?”

  “Sure. It makes an okay soap, although it doesn’t smell very good.”

  “Ugh. So long as it gets me clean. Speaking of…” She held the bar out to him.

  “Oh, I can smell it from here—lye and fat. I bet they don’t have perfumes. Not for free.”

  “I was hoping you might wash my back.”

  “Sure.” He took the soap from her, dipped his hands into the water, and built up a lather. “It’s funny, I’ve never really thought of it before, but it seems like women have a hard time getting to their backs. Javika has asked me to wash her back several times. I can get to mine just fine. Well, probably not as well right now, not with this shoulder tender like it is.”

  The young woman leaned forward to let him work the soap in. “Are you and Javika—?”

  The door burst open, and the Biwali warrior walked through. Her eyes were narrow slits. “What is this?”

  Riyun sighed. He’d never thought a bath could cause so much trouble. “We only had enough money for the one. You can go next if you want.”

  Javika spun on her heel and stomped out of the room.

  Riyun chuckled. “She can be moody sometimes. Have you ever worked with a Biwali warrior before?”

  Symbra’s back muscles were tense. “No.”

  “She changes everything. This team couldn’t function without her. Still, there are times when I just don’t understand her.”

  “She’s…deadly, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, that’s putting it mildly.” He tossed the soap into the water and rinsed her back to be sure he’d gotten all the grime off. “All right. You’re all good. I guess I’ll go check on her and see what’s got her all worked up.”

  He dried his hands on one of the towels and realized sometimes the hardest part of running a mercenary team was managing all the fragile personalities.

  But that was what they needed now more than ever: to stay together.

  Because alone, they wouldn’t have a chance.

  21

  After dinner, Riyun struggled to sleep. He wrestled with worries and a sense of failure—the things that always plagued him. And there was the fight with Javika, a disagreement that made no sense but lingered through the bland dinner and into the night. Then there was the bed, which was about as comfortable as sleeping on rocks. As bad as the linens had reeked, the hay stuffed inside the mattress smelled worse. Maybe someone had died on his mattress in the past. Died and melted. Then exploded.

  The mattress was that bad.

  Unlike him, Symbra had no problem drifting off. She complained about the bed at first, but once she actually set her head down, the complaining stopped.

  It was the cycling worries that nagged him: Could they find Zabila in a place like this? Could they escape? Could he realistically hope to keep everyone alive?

  A few times, he drifted off, only to be awakened by the jingle and clank of men in armor patrolling the streets. When he peered out through the window, they looked like the soldiers on the wall, but these men had lanterns and marched in a tight formation.

  Watchmen.

  Riyun tried to close the shutters, but the room quickly became stuffy despite a whispery breeze. He finally settled on keeping the shutters open just enough to let the air circulate.

  Sometime after watching the silver moon settle overhead, he drifted off.

  Pleasant memories were a rare thing for him. They were concentrated in the years before he left Hurdist. Whether it was the boxing training he received from his Uncle Govon or the struggle of trying to coax seeds into life, or even trying to learn the Ruodir music that meant so much to the Hurdisti, the memories were about simple and reasonable goals. Even someone like Riyun had a chance.

  But the true pleasure in life didn’t come until he met Monisa. How was it that someone so perfect could have been born in his small settlement? And how was it that she could fall for someone like him?

  It only made sense that something so precious and perfect would be taken from him.

  That night was a nightmare he could never escape.

  They’d been planning their wedding and negotiating with the people of the settlement for a plot of land to build their house upon. The other young men of the village were jealous—Monisa had been the desire of so many. She’d never let it go to her head, and she’d never given Riyun any pause or doubt. They were meant for each other and would be happy together forever.

  A single gunshot had been the alarm that night. It was all the alarm they needed.

  Riyun had rolled out of his bed, fetched up his long knife, and bolted from his room. His father Faxal was already at the front door with his own blade.

  “Tungron raiders!” The old man was too angry to be afraid.

  They threw the bars off the door and sprinted out into the night, hunched low and ready for anything, leaning into the wind. Torches burned like falling stars, speeding through the village streets. The Tungrons were vagabonds, people uninterested in the honesty of hard work. They attacked farmsteads, killing and stealing to survive.

  Riyun had survived two raids before. On that night, his blood boiled. Tungrons also liked to steal women.

  Another fire lit the night, this one large and stationary.

  Monisa’s farm.

  “Monisa!” Riyun straightened. “I have to go to her.”

  Faxal slapped his son on the back. “Go! I’m with you.”

  They stayed off the road, watching for riders. When no one was around, they ran, risking the uncertainties of the treacherous terrain. It was nearly a mile to the burning farmstead. The flames had grown higher and brighter in that time, revealing the barn that had been targeted.

  Bodies lay before the breached door of the house. Raiders darted in and out, arms full of grain sacks and pickle jars. They howled like animals and cackled, reveling in the slaughter.

  “Six of them, boy.” Faxal squeezed the grip of his weapon and shook his head.

  Riyun’s breathing was ragged and loud. “Twenty wouldn’t be enough to drive me away.”

  “I know but be cautious.”

  They crept in, focused on the two raiders left out on watch. Getting to them meant sprinting across an open patch of ground. Fortunately, the Tungrons weren’t known for discipline, and the two men were no exception. When one of their brethren howled, the two howled back.

  Riyun pointed at the farthest of the two with his knife. “That one.”<
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  “I’ll take the other.”

  They charged, with Riyun sure he’d cut the other man down but at the last moment switching to the dull hilt of the weapon to club the raider unconscious. Faxal had no compunctions about killing Tungrons.

  The old man scooped up the rifle from the dead raider, inspected it, then tossed it to Riyun. “No matter what happens, keep yourself alive.”

  Riyun had used a rifle once, when hunting with his uncle years before. They were a luxury, and they were uncertain. If there was any chance to get in close, Riyun would.

  They crept in, sometimes on hands and knees, sometimes crawling on their bellies. They stopped about thirty feet out from the horses that were now burdened with bag upon bag of goods. A year—a lifetime—of toil. And that lifetime had been ended. Monisa’s father, brothers, and mother were all dead.

  Where was she? Alive?

  Riyun held the rifle in his left hand, the blade in his right. The four remaining Tungrons were still inside. Their frenzied rush to load the horses had stopped.

  Why?

  He signaled to his father—it was time to check what was going on inside.

  Riyun slipped past the animals, quiet as the night, feeling the heat from the barn fire riding the wind. The smell of smoke almost made him cough.

  Inside, the lights were on. The kitchen was a disaster, one of the sturdy chairs shattered and the table overturned. Blood spatters covered the floor, some of it left a trail that ran to the doorway. And there was a dead Tungron in the corner, a bloody gash in his forehead, a rifle clutched in his hand.

  Crazy cackling brought Riyun around, but it was the soft gasping of Monisa that froze his heart.

  Her room. They were in her room.

  He wanted to charge, to get into the room and kill them all. He wanted to lift her up and carry her to freedom and safety, as he’d promised he’d always do.

  But his legs were frozen. The muscles in his forearm ached from squeezing the hilt of his knife.

  Then Monisa screamed his name, and whatever had held him in place released him.

  He charged inside, blade raised. There was a vague awareness of his lovely wife-to-be pinned beneath one of the monsters. Tears rolled down her face, and her ruby lips contorted.