Desa Kincaid- Bounty Hunter

by R S Penney

  Marcus began fiddling with dials, producing a crackling sound from the grill on the radio, and the clerk jumped back in surprise. “Sorcery,” he whispered as the colour faded from his face. “What kind of devilry is this?”

  “Not devilry,” Marcus said. “Technology.”

  With a small smile, Desa bowed her head to the poor man. “It's a device,” she said. “No different than a steam engine.”

  “But how...” the Clerk stammered.

  Desa only patted the man's arm and hoped that would suffice to calm him. A decade of traveling the Eradian continent had given her some small measure of sympathy for the peoples of this land. Marcus would need to learn such patience if he intended to join her on her mission.

  It was easy to call these people primitive, but that did not make them inferior. There was nothing special about Aladri citizens beyond the good fortune of having been born in a society with a more advanced understanding of physics.

  The clerk jumped again when a voice issued from the radio's grill, using the Aladri language. That was why Marcus had allowed the clerk to remain; he knew that there was very little chance the man would understand what he overheard.

  “Marcus Von Tayros,” a woman said through the radio. “You've been out of contact for quite some time.”

  Planting fists on his hips, Marcus stood with his back turned and nodded as if the speaker could see him as well as hear him. “Apologies, Prelate,” he said in Aladri. “But I have Desa Nin Leean with me.”

  “You found her?”

  “I did.”

  “Well then...” That haughty voice could only belong to Daresina Nin Drialla, the woman who had led the Synod when Desa fled Aladar in pursuit of Bendarian. It seemed she had retained her position through the intervening years. “What precisely do you have to say for yourself, Desa? Abandoning your people?”

  “My loyalty is not just to Aladar but to every living soul on this Earth,” Desa replied. “We abandoned them when we allowed Bendarian to enter their lands uncontested.”

  “And yet, ten years later, their world remains intact.”

  “Don't be so sure,” Desa countered. “Marcus and I have seen things that put paid to any notion that Bendarian was at worst a minor threat. He has twisted the Ether in some way and unleashed...something.”

  “Something?”

  Desa scowled as the memory of what she had seen on that farm sent a chill down her spine. “I don't know what it was,” she explained. “An entity of some kind, but vastly intelligent, and I get the sense that it has been looking for a way into our world for quite some time now.”

  “Has she gone mad, Marcus?” Daresina inquired. “Perhaps exposure to the locals has infected her with their superstitions.”

  Marcus set his jaw in stubborn defiance, and Desa braced herself for the worst. The way things were going, it wouldn't surprise her if he chose to deny seeing anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps he thought that would make her more inclined to return to Aladar with him. “Desa Nin Leean speaks the truth,” he said to her shock. “Something stripped the life and the colour from the land.”

  “What do you mean, 'stripped the colour?'”

  “He means that the land was gray,” Desa cut in. “And the trees, and the people. It was all gray: every stone, every leaf, every blade of grass. I found bullets that had turned gray, and they resist any attempt to Infuse them with a connection to the Ether. Whatever this was, it seemed to destroy the natural order.”

  “You can confirm this, Marcus?”

  He folded his hands behind his back, and his lips parted to show clenched teeth. “I just did,” he said forcefully. “The threat is real.”

  “We need Field Binders,” Desa added.

  “Field Binders?” Daresina exclaimed. “Are you mad or just foolish? I cannot spare such a precious resource on a rumor. In fact, this city needs its most skilled Field Binder to return home.”

  Desa stood with her hands in the pockets of her duster, her head hanging as she let out a breath. “I can't come home,” she said. “What Bendarian has done may threaten the whole world.”

  “I am uninterested in your excuses, Desa.”

  She looked up slowly, then narrowed her eyes. “Those aren't excuses,” she said, her voice as cold as winter frost. “If you will not aid me in protecting these people, then there is nothing left to say.”

  “Marcus,” Daresina said. “You will take Desa Nin Leean into custody and return her to Aladar by the fastest ship you can find.”

  Unwilling to defy the Synod, Marcus turned to her and looked her up and down. “Don't make this harder than it has to be.” His hand settled once again onto his gun. Was the fool really going to force the issue?

  “I'm not going back with you,” Desa said.

  “How can you defy the Synod?”

  “Do it long enough, and it becomes remarkably easy.”

  “Marcus,” Daresina said. “You will-”

  Before she could finish that sentence, Desa picked up the radio and extracted the Electric-Source from its bottom. The transmission ended with a fizzling sound, and then Desa thrust the device toward Marcus.

  He stumbled backward as it fell into his hands, then turned his head to stare at the wall. The change that followed was quite visible. His expression hardened with resolve. “You're going to make me take you in.”

  “You won't be able to take me in.”

  Spinning around with a flourish, her coat flaring with the motion, Desa marched out of the cell. The clerk hopped back in surprise, blinking at her, but she was already halfway down the corridor and making her way toward the vault door.

  She heard the sound of footsteps behind her, and it was clear by Marcus's pace that he intended to catch up with her. Perhaps he meant to restrain her before she could leave the bank. Or maybe he would try to reason with her again. Either way, she was prepared to do what was necessary.

  She could feel her trinkets like little bundles of awareness in the back of her mind. The Gravity-Sink in her belt, the Light-Sink in her necklace. Her daggers which could fry or freeze anything she stabbed, her bracelet that could stop seven or eight bullets before it had taken all the kinetic energy it could handle: they were all with her, but that did little to ease her fear. It had been years since the last time she had been forced to fight another Field Binder.

  She pushed open the vault door and froze.

  Five men in dark-blue uniforms and billed caps stood side by side at the end of the aisle. The one in the middle – a sergeant, by the epaulettes on his shoulders – took a step forward and said, “By order of the City Watch, you are under arrest.”

  Chapter 11

  Desa looked up with a grim expression and felt a surge of warmth in her face. “On what charge?” she asked, striding through the aisle between the pillars. “We are just travelers passing through the city. We've broken no law.”

  In the middle of a line of five men, the sergeant stood defiant with his back straight and his shoulders square. He looked about ready to stare down a tidal wave. “The charge is witchcraft and practice of the dark arts.”

  She grimaced, shaking her head as she closed more than half the distance. “That is foolish,” she said. “As I've told Mr. Hatch, the device that my friend is keeping inside the vault is nothing but a piece of machinery.”

  In seconds, Marcus was coming up to stand beside her and directing a hard stare at the men in his path. “You are ordered to depart,” he said. “On the authority of the Synod of Aladar.”

  Folding her arms across her chest, Desa turned to him and looked up to meet his gaze. Her brow furrowed. “You do realize that I was just trying to convince them we're nothing but simple travelers, right?”

  “Remove yourselves from our path,” Marcus insisted.

  In unison, the five men drew their sidearms. The sergeant stepped forward, shaking his head. “Don't make us resort to the use of force,” he pleaded. “Come to the Magistrate, and we will get this sorted out.”
/>   “There is no need for this,” Desa began. “We-”

  Marcus reached into his pocket and flung a coin at them, glittering metal catching the light as it tumbled through the air. In that instant of surprise, all five men were blown off their feet as if by a strong wind, hurled to the floor.

  When the kinetic wave hit her, Desa didn't resist. She just fell backwards, slapped her hands down on the floor and flipped upright. She took the opportunity to run to the nearest pillar and hide behind it before the watchmen started opening fire.

  Closing her eyes as she took a deep breath, Desa rested her head against the stone pillar. “Five men,” she whispered to herself. “All in a line...Attack from the side where they can't all fire at once.”

  She opened her eyes to find Marcus leaning against a pillar on the other side of the aisle, peering around the corner to get a good look at the watchmen. “They're winded,” he said, cocking the hammer on his pistol. “Strike now before they recover.”

  “Wait!” Desa hissed.

  She yanked her necklace up over her head and closed her fist so tightly around it the metal pendant dug into her skin. “Fool of a man,” she growled, tossing the necklace around the pillar. It skittered across the floor, and she didn't have to look to know that it had landed right where she wanted it. “There are other ways to solve problems.”

  Desa drew her knives.

  With a thought, she triggered the Light-Sink and listened for the gasps of men who had found themselves in darkness. A quick glance around the pillar showed her a strange dark patch in the middle of the bank, as if all the gloom in the world had decided to come together in one spot.

  Her necklace took only enough light to reduce each man to a shadowy silhouette. She could see the shapes of their bodies, but there was no colour, and from the way that they stumbled about, it was clear they were petrified.

  Desa ran toward them.

  One man got his pistol up, but he didn't know quite where to aim. “Almighty help us!” another bellowed. “Help us!”

  With a knife in each hand, Desa leaped into the blackness, choosing one man at the end of the line as the first target. He heard the scuff of her boots on the tiles, turned to face her and tried to lift his pistol.

  Desa slashed with one knife, striking the gun and tearing it out of the man's hand. She used the other to draw a thin, shallow cut across the man's neck, producing a yelp as her enemy stumbled backward.

  Desa kicked him in the chest.

  Thrown off his feet, he toppled backward onto the next man in line, and they both fell to the floor. The third man in line – the sergeant - seemed to realize that there was just enough light to make out the shape of each body. He swung his arm around, pointing his gun at Desa.

  Falling backwards, Desa caught herself by slamming both hands down on the tiles. There was a clap of thunder, and bullets zipped past above her, each one burying itself in the wall.

  She let the light return.

  The sergeant shut his eyes, unprepared for the sudden brightness, and he staggered. That gave Desa the opening she needed. In a heartbeat, she was upright and throwing one dagger.

  It tumbled end over end, struck the man's gun and knocked the weapon out of his grip. He gasped and shook his hand frantically at the sting of shallow cuts. Now that they could see again, the final two men were spreading out so as not to be in a line.

  “Don't even think it!” Marcus snarled.

  He was standing in the aisle between pillars with one hand extended, pointing his gun at one of the two remaining watchmen. The look on his face – the grim resignation in his eyes – made it clear: he didn't want to pull that trigger, but he would.

  In that brief pause, the first two men that Desa had knocked down got to their feet and cast nervous glances around the room. “She's a demon,”one stammered. “A bloody demon. We can't let her get away.”

  “You've seen our power,” Marcus said. “Don't force us to fight you.”

  The sergeant was still looking down at the cut on his hand, and when he turned his gaze upon his men, the fear in his voice spoke volumes. “These two have power unlike anything we've seen,” he said. “We might take them, but several of us will die.”

  “I'm willing,” one man said.

  Hissing air through her teeth, Desa shook her head. “This is beyond foolish,” she said. “Does the fact that we have made every effort to avoid harming you mean nothing? Killing you would have been much easier.”

  The sergeant turned his cold stare on her, and he nodded reluctantly. “That's true,” he said. “But you're guilty of a crime, madame. Witchcraft is expressly forbidden under the law.”

  “What we do is not witchcraft.”

  “What I've seen here says otherwise.”

  “Well now!” a twangy force boomed through the room. Desa cringed as soon as she heard it. She knew that voice all too well.

  The five city watchmen parted to reveal a barrel-chested man in black pants and a white shirt standing in the doorway. He was pale, with a thick dark mustache that showed more than a few flecks of silver, and his eyes were shaded by the wide brim of his black hat. “You want something done right,” he said. “How does the rest of that go?”

  “Morley!” Desa hissed.

  Without thinking, she drew her revolver, cocked the hammer and pointed it straight at the vile man's chest. She fired once, twice, three times, filling the church with furious thunder, and Morley stumbled as bullets chewed through his body. Black blood soaked into his lily-white shirt.

  The son of a bitch closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were as black as those she had seen on the gray people. As if someone had filled the inside of his skull with tar. But this wasn't the same. Aside from his eyes, Morley was in full colour, and he didn't seem to be under the control of that creature. “Something the matter, Desa?” he asked. “Not quite what you were expecting, is it?”

  Morley ripped open his shirt, sending his buttons flying, and exposed three holes in his chest. Holes from which black slime oozed. In mere seconds, they closed themselves, leaving only unblemished skin.

  Morley looked up to show her a beatific grin, then shook his head ever so slowly. “It's a part of me now, darlin',” he said. “You can't kill me.”

  Desa screamed.

  She ran toward him, leaped and drew back her fist to punch his vile face. When she got close enough, Morley's hand snapped up to catch her shirt and hold her with her boots dangling several feet off the floor.

  She punched him anyway.

  The man smiled up at her with black blood dripping from his nostrils, droplets of it sliding over his chin. “Lord Bendarian has given me new life,” he declared. “And you, my dear, are nothing but an insect!”

  He threw Desa with incredible force, sending her flying backward through the aisle. Ignoring her dread, Desa used her belt buckle to free herself from gravity's pull. That way she would fly all the way back to the vault.

  When she neared it, she backflipped, pressed her feet against the metal door and pushed off to launch herself back toward her enemy. Morley was pulling a revolver from his holster and taking aim.

  Desa let gravity reassert itself.

  She landed in the aisle and ran at full speed, raising her left hand to shield herself. There was a deafening CRACK, CRACK, and then two bullets stopped dead right in front of her. She ran for the nearest pillar.

  Desa slammed her shoulder against it, taking refuge in the safety of cover. And not a second too soon! Bullets grazed the side of the pillar, breaking chunks of stone off. Her ears were ringing from the noise.

  Lifting her gun up in front of her face, its barrel pointed at the ceiling, Desa gasped for breath. “Bullets,” she panted. “Bullets.”

  She flicked open the cylinder and quickly loaded three more of the gray bullets she had taken from the farmhouse. None were Infused, of course, but they would do. Oh yes, they would do.

  Desa threw herself sideways, rolling across the width of the
aisle, and came up on one knee. She extended her arm and fired.

  Another slug pierced Morley's chest, forcing him to stagger backward with his arms flailing. That gave her a second to get up and run for the next pillar, taking cover behind it and catching her breath.

  “You can't win, bitch!” Morley's voice echoed through the bank. “Ain't nothin' you got can kill me! Understand?”

  There was a mournful bellow as Marcus went flying backward to land atop one of the bookkeepers' wooden desk. The entire structure gave way beneath his weight, and he dropped to the floor.

  She spun around the pillar to find Morley striding through the aisle with his teeth bared. “What can you do against me?”

  “Something like this.”

  Raising the gun in both hands, Desa squinted as she took aim. She fired again and again, burning through all five rounds. With each hit, Morley stumbled and black blood drenched his clothing.

  He was off balance.

  Desa ran to him, jumped and drove her shoulder into the man's face, throwing him down onto his back. She unsheathed her only remaining dagger and plunged it hilt-deep into Morley's stomach.

  He tossed his head back and screamed. So, the man could still feel pain. Well, that was certainly welcome news. Before she could celebrate, however, Morley seized two fistfuls of her shirt and flung her upward.

  Which was exactly what she wanted.

  Desa triggered the Gravity-Sink inside her belt buckle so that she wouldn't fall, and when her back hit the ceiling, she grunted. Twisting around to hang upright, she grabbed one beam of the vaulted ceiling and swung herself like a pendulum. Then she triggered the Heat-Source that she had Infused into the knife. Morley's screams filled her ears.

  At the apex of her arc, she let go, curled up into a ball and somersaulted through the air. When she was far enough away, she let gravity resume its pull and dropped to land in the aisle.