Seaborn 03 - Sea Throne

by Chris Howard

  "Calling card...An army on the doorstep." Kaffia blinked, shaking her head jerkily. "I didn't—"

  "You don't know Fenhals. You didn't know what he's capable of, and I was too stupidly unaware, too stubborn—too crab-headed to trust you." Kassandra drew a breath, forced a resigned end of the world calm into her expression. She bowed her head. "Please forgive me." And then the facade crashed off her face and she choked on her words. "I've always been told what to do—even when I thought the decisions were mine. New at this...all decisions are really mine thing—and they're not final, and wrongs can be forgiven. Not sure how I'm supposed to...act."

  Kaffia shivered at Kassandra's vulnerability, like being told something deeply personal by someone forced to tell you. She looked away with a sharp undertow of shame. "It's what you said at the dinner last night. Then you have learned." Her fingers snapped tight around Kassandra's hand, a spasm of fear. "They're at the back door."

  Kassandra spun, her right hand lifting, stiffening then flexing as one piece, making waving motions. "No. Just archer scouts. The main battle group is still getting the sea out of their lungs."

  Six armored seaborn soldiers stood on the concrete walk, raised crossbows sighted through the space that used to be the sliding back door. They pulled triggers.

  Instant reaction, Kaffia pulled away from Kassandra to get out of the firing line, bolts streaking through dining room, seawater clouds streaming off their fletching like tracer fire.

  They splintered and vanished in powder bursts halfway across the room. Then Kassandra loosened the waving motion of her hand, her fingers coming out of the pattern, tentacle curls catching the floating wall of glass needles, the shattered panes that had been the sliding back door, pointing them east. Muscles tightening up her arm, gathering and rolling back, all of it released in one shoving motion in her hand.

  A hiss of glass fragments and the six armored scouts disappeared in streaky lines of red vapor, their armor, bones, tissue, shrieks reduced to particles suspended in tumbling jerky strobe light cloud formations, heavy rolling ripples of transparent red gliding to the ground, slick across the concrete with wet rattling crumbles of bone and hard tissue.

  Kassandra lowered her hand, grabbed her trident, and pulled Kaffia after her. "This way."

  They dashed out the back, skidding on the blood, then down the stairs and out across the long flow of grass, bristly grey and white in the thick mist coming off the Atlantic.

  Kaffia looked over her shoulder at charcoal shadows, gray thickets of spears, broad shoulder plates, the dull sheen off armor, hundreds of them. And swinging back, "Fuck." More of them, spears with sharp sea-dripping tips leveled.

  Kassandra let her go, pulling on her helmet, releasing the cheek guards, but not locking them down. Her trident standing on its own in the grass beside her, she unwound the strap on her sword, slid it out a few inches and then slammed it home.

  "Kaffia, when my trident lands in the earth, grab it, hold on with all your might, and think of the place where you first met Alex Shoaler. He will find you there."

  Kaffia looked around at the closing army. "I'm sorry for bringing this...to you."

  "Not a problem." Kassandra smiled, waved her hand through the air. "My grandfather, the king likes to annoy me—and he does not care how much blood ends up in the water—or in my backyard—in order to do that."

  The ranks closed, spears out, a band of sharp points running at them, a battle chant rumble.

  Kaffia swung her gaze along hundreds of weapons closing on them, panic settling into her muscle control, her voice. "But—we—we're going to...die."

  Kassandra held up a finger. "Follow me. Do what I do. We're going to jump in the air just before my trident hits the ground. Just watch me. It has to be the right time." She slid the trident through her fingers, pulling them into a fist at the end. Then she crouched and heaved it straight up. It twirled, immediately lost in the fog.

  Kaffia stared at her, silent, a little bit angry, as if she was caught up in someone else's madness, as if Kassandra was playing some game—but with people and lives.

  "That's exactly what I'm doing."

  Her back to the raging charge of spears, Kassandra pointed a little to Kaffia's left. "Stand right there. It's going to come down right here. We're going to jump in the air, and you are going to grab it—grab my trident as if it was Alex, and letting go of it would mean letting go of him."

  She gave Kaffia a meaningful stare, a quick nod, and looked up at the approaching soldiers, but not focusing on them. Alex, where did you and Kaffia first meet?

  Alex's thought came back choppy, startled. On the grounds of the North Hampton Lyceum, in the birch grove behind Livanen Hall.

  Good. Go there now. Kaffia will meet you there.

  What's wrong?

  Kassandra's gaze roamed over the approaching ring of spear points and raw power and eyes deep in helmets studded with hate, more than two hundred heavy armored seaborn soldiers driving the prey to the center. Nothing at all. Just go there and...kiss Kaffia. Hey, what are you two doing next Saturday? My dad's setting up a day cruise on Stormwind—Jill's sailboat. You and Kaffia up for that?

  Alex didn't answer, too stunned or busy digging out his car keys—maybe even running on foot to their old school a few miles up Atlantic Avenue.

  She sighed. I'll catch up with you two later.

  Kassandra locked her cheek plates down, bent to her knees, tilted her head to the side listening, blinked and felt the cold sea in her veins. She gave the ring of charging spears a quick glance.

  Then she sprang into the air, felt a punch through the mist where Kaffia followed her off the ground with perfect timing.

  The trident slammed into the earth, driving several feet. An explosion of grass brushed Kaffia's feet, rolling out, gathering momentum. The shockwave expanded through the ranks of seaborn soldiers, lifting them into the air, throwing them face first into the dirt. The army went down, a forest in a tidal wave, spears flipping through the air. Then the crash of flattened stacks of armor and shocked yelling and helmets rolling.

  Kassandra drew her sword, glanced over her shoulder to see that her trident and Kaffia had vanished, and jumped into a sprint for the army's commander standing on the crest of grass near the stairs at the back of her house.

  She cursed him, pushed more strength into her legs, heels pounding across the backs of the army, let her right hand drop with the sword out low, backward in her hand, the blade in. Crossbow bolts snapped and rang off her armor, one snagging in the joint of her elbow. At her call, a handful of sharp silvery wedges of ocean whipped by her, driving through the archer line; wide meaty holes opened in their armor, bolts firing wide, screaming and toy like stumbling into each other. Kassandra breathed in their blood, the saltier taste of their tears, the taste of death and disappointment.

  She made the crest in one bound, legs wide and armor flexing, a flash of eeling yellow fire along the hard metal facings. Using all her momentum, she pulled her sword into a smooth blur of black blade, cutting through the commander's arm just above the wrist. His hand flipped in the air, fingers still curling with his song.

  She caught his name bracelet, blood running down her arm.

  The commander was a man in his fifties, dark braids sticking out from his helmet, arrayed neatly over his shoulders. He stared at her, his mouth gaping with a lost note, a picket of saliva slick teeth, tongue thrashing like a wounded animal in his mouth. His voice came out croaking, angry, childishly demanding, "Do you know who—?"

  Kassandra smiled and let the back stroke of her sword slide neatly through his neck, sheering through a bank of armor scales, pieces of them twirling in the air, armor confetti. His head rolled along his shoulder, down the inside of his arm, into the air, and made her think of some basketball player's trick she'd seen years ago in school. She nodded at the soft thump, the commander's head hitting the ground.

  "Of course, I know who you are, Akestoridas, General of Dosianax, grandson of t
hat magnificently useless old sorcerer, Sinaruos."

  Kassandra pulled off her helmet, curled her fingers and flicked them with a few short notes. Her crown burst into existence, a blinding ring over her braids, its rays cutting through the mist. When she turned, cold, untouchable, smiling, the army was running for the Atlantic, a rush of creaking scale armor and hard breathing over Ocean Boulevard, down the rocky embankment, into the waves, leaving their spears behind.

  She lowered her sword, mocking sorrow. "And I thought the party was just getting started."

  Chapter 21 - Dangerous Types

  Kaffia punched Alex in the arm. "What are you looking at?"

  "I thought I saw..." He shook his head, kept walking, and started up her conversation where she'd left off. "You're buying a car?"

  Kaffia pushed him ahead, spilling the specs, a rapid fire list of the vehicle's capabilities, add-on features, her money-saving and investment strategies paying off, low interest loan signed and ready.

  Alex's gaze drifted away from her, slipping off her shoulder, focusing across the mall.

  She punched him again, this time harder. "Will you stop that." Kaffia turned, following his gaze, loud pools of forty-something moms shopping, a herd of painfully skinny teenage girls in striped tights, a couple druggy looking guys sloping along the dark windows of an eatery, staring in, resentful, trailing weird blue smoke. Kaffia turned back, nothing worth staring at across the wide sun-splattered tiled mall-way. "What is it?"

  "Kassandra."

  Kaffia stopped in the flow of mall traffic, turned back. "I don't see her."

  Alex caught her hand, folding his fingers in with hers. "I don't anymore, but she was there, keeping pace with us, watching us." His voice was shaky. "Smiling."

  Kaffia frowned and faced Alex. Kassandra stood right behind him, a hint of the smile still on her face.

  Alex met Kaffia's eyes, scrunching up his nose. "I smell...I smell the ocean."

  She jutted her chin, and he turned, jumped back, colliding with Kaffia, nearly knocking her to the ground. He found his voice but it was a hoarse rasp. "How did you get from the other side so fast? I didn't even see you move."

  Kaffia glanced over her shoulder, spotting Nicole across the mall, walking toward them. "I didn't see you at all."

  "You wouldn't. I can walk through the moisture in the air." Kassandra looked at her, caught her eyes for a moment, and then another, moments stretching into minutes. Kaffia had her own sort of aura, not like a crown, but something that glowed and connected her to Alex. Kassandra's gaze slid to Alex and then back to Kaffia. He's done something without meaning to. She let a hint of Alkimides bias out of its cage.He's a damn Telkhines who doesn't know he is. They sweat and piss magic, and they control everything they touch.

  Kaffia's memories flooded into focus, numbers flowing like rivers, but so many, becoming currents in an ocean. Information, Kaffia lived off it, it wasn't in her blood. It was her blood. Kassandra moved through it, heavy, slick against her skin. Like seawater. She turned to a flash of light, gray buildings, rows of them, office structures with narrow arrow slit windows, very official looking, government. She followed Kaffia's soul into a hundred buildings, apartments, military command centers, research institutes, banking complexes. Kaffia the hacker. This was her world. The buildings faded, washed with a pale tint, and only their doors stood out, bright and inviting.

  The doors opened, right in front of her, more of them, doors everywhere, swinging open as she passed, modern glass on magnetic hinges, ancient heavy wood on hinges that should have creaked, but were silent. All of them had numbers on them, addresses, hand-painted flourishes, metal hardware store replacements, stenciled, handwritten, numbers that marked these doors in the world. Location. Everything had a location. Kaffia stored them all in her soul, with a roomful of machines to make keys.

  Kassandra moved on, deeper, to a place so choked with horror and pain, that Kassandra felt a jolt of shame intruding there.

  She heard a sob break from Kaffia's lips.

  And then a smear of dark water and the light of the sun a lifetime away, out of reach, and Kaffia giving her soul to Alex, and she wanted nothing in return. Just to live. Kassandra pushed harder into Kaffia. You owe him your life? Alex saved your life? Kaffia nodded without meaning to.

  "How?"

  "Drowning. I drowned and he brought me back. I owe him everything, freely given because he risked everything to save me."

  Kassandra nodded. He really did risk his life. He didn't know he couldn't drown. He went in after you thinking that he might save your life and give up his own.

  "Shit. What are you doing to her?" Alex shoved Kassandra, getting between the two of them. "Leave her alone."

  Kassandra caught her balance, stared at him as if his reaction baffled her, and then she leaned toward Kaffia, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Kaffia, I just didn't get you before...but now I do." She glanced at Alex then turned back to Kaffia, nodding. "You're a witch—a technology witch."

  Kaffia gave her a difficult to read expression, serious doubt, a hint of a smile, a question, wouldn't it be cool if that were true?

  Kassandra grabbed her arm, strong conviction in her tone. "There's something about being a witch that has nothing to do with magic—or magic is just another power—or maybe science is the new magic, I don't know. It's a mind-set, a worldview, a way of living and facing existence, and it amounts to something like not letting the world get away with anything you don't approve of. It's making as much of existence you can control play by your rules. There are things in the universe that no human can alter, but there are many things we can. We—you, me, my sisters, we witches, we play right there at the interface, pushing the boundary a millimeter at a time into existential-cannot-change-things territory. Witches push...and when someone pushes us, we push back hard." Kassandra smiled, and it was soft, genuine. "I do like you, Kaffia Lang. I wasn't sure before, but now I am."

  Kaffia couldn't help smiling back, turning it into a grin at Alex as she pushed him out of the way. "Last place you want to find yourself, Alex, is in the middle, between two witches."

  "Everything okay, Kass?" Nicole put her hand on Kassandra's shoulder, giving it a squeeze, but she swung her gaze from Kaffia to Alex, as if the tension in the air was their fault and she might have to do something about it.

  A slow smile came to Kassandra's lips. "Always."

  Nicole relaxed, took a step back. "Did you get the invite?" She looked from Alex to Kaffia. "A day of sailing on Saturday. Jill's skippering. My dad's setting the whole thing up. We can lounge on the deck, go swimming. You have to come along."

  Alex and Kaffia locked eyes for a second and then nodded. "Sure."

  Nicole dug her phone out of her pocket, nodding to Kassandra, turning to Kaffia and Alex to say, "Rye Harbor. This coming Saturday. 9:00 AM." She took Kassandra's arm. "We've got something to do. Maybe we'll catch up later?"

  After a minute of walking in the other direction in silence, Kassandra leaned in with a tired whisper, "Really been a busy last couple days for me. What do we have to do?"

  Nicole led her to a bench in the middle of the mall, sitting down. "Jill" was all she said.

  Kassandra tilted her head to the side as if listening, smelling, tasting the air. "She's here with Jordan." She pointed. "Up there, around the bend, in one of the clothing stores."

  Nicole gave her a serious stare and flipped her phone around. "I hired someone to look after Jordan. He just passed along his first report—with pics."

  Kassandra jerked away, her fingers about to snap off one of the bench slats, a heavy thump of angry blood through her head. She closed her eyes, opened them and focused on the bright screen. Nice clear shots of Jordan with his mouth open mid-moan, a woman's slim legs wrapping his waist, her feet in the air, one curling climactically, pink polished toenails, her long dark hair spilling across the pillow.

  Kassandra's voice was hoarse. "You hired an investigator?"

  "You said discree
t." Nicole nodded. "Her name's Kimberly."

  "Who? The investigator?"

  "No. The woman our dear Jordan's fuck fuck fucked on the side for months. I have pics of a couple others. According to our paid cameraman at the scene, Jordo's intercoursed his way through half the debutants on the Cape. This one." She pointed at another pic of the dark haired woman, this time sitting on the beach in a sheeny lavender bikini top, one hand in Jordan's hair, the other off frame, but obviously playing down the front of his shorts. "Apparently she's his fave, sees her at least once a week, probably when he's not up here with our sweet sister."

  Kassandra lifted her head to taste something in the air, jumped to her feet, and strode off without looking back, fingers grinding, crumbling a broken chunk of recycled plastic bench slat, leaving a trail of it.

  Catching up, Nicole grabbed her shoulder. "Where are you going? Let Jill handle it."

  "I told Eupheron to stay low for a while," she whispered furiously. "Not thinking we had other problems that would crop up. Damn! That's how I protect her? Let this shithead stick his hardon in every hole from here to P-town? And I stand aside, let it happen?"

  "No." Nicole was getting angry, shouting after her, "You let Jill handle it."

  Jill was right there, hanging on Jordan, swinging shopping bags, half a smile and curiosity in her expression. "Let Jill handle what?"

  Kassandra shoved her away, bags flipping out of her hand, a papery slap and skid across the tiles. "You can't handle it."

  Nicole shouted, "No!"

  Jordan blinked. Kassandra spun into his arms, her body pressed against him, her face buried in his hair—all the rush of a woman in his arms except her sharp fingers digging into the soft exposed part of his throat, her other hand curled around the back of his neck for leverage, and her furious whispering in his ear. His throat tightened. He swallowed dryly, and her voice pounded into his head.