Inheritors of Chaos

by Barbara Ann Wright

  “What happened to the people who were abducted?” Samira asked.

  “Rescued by the paladins,” Sebastian said.

  The man who’d grumbled stood up this time. “The drushka never would have attacked us if the paladins had stayed in Gale where they belong!”

  Lydia snorted. “Armor and guns wouldn’t have done anything against poison.”

  “What would you know, traitor?”

  Lydia shot to her feet, sick and tired of people who didn’t know her passing judgment on her. “I lost the love of my life in that boggin fight, the one the Storm Lord started!”

  Now the Galeans were on their feet, too, yelling, pointing fingers. All of Lydia’s anger and grief for Freddie came rushing out of her. Now that the shouting had started, Samira was on her feet, too. It wouldn’t be long until they were throwing power around. Lydia felt a tingle pass over her scalp, meaning someone was using powers already, most likely a telepath.

  “Who the fuck was that?” Samira yelled. A wave of force came off her, guttering the campfire. “One of you just used telepathy. Where the fuck do you get off reading minds uninvited?”

  “Things have changed,” Sebastian said. “We’re bringing worship of the Storm Lord back, starting with his children.”

  Lydia frowned. What children? The only child here was the infant. She stared. Could that be the Storm Lord’s child?

  The tingle fluttered over her scalp again, this time carrying a noise like droning insects. Lydia tried to cry a warning, but the sound overwhelmed her, cutting off her voice. She fell to her knees as she tried to think through the power assaulting her. It hammered at her mind, tossing away who she was and what she was doing.

  Someone was yelling. Fajir. Lydia struggled to focus. Fajir’s foot jolted through her bleary vision and connected sharply with her thigh; Lydia’s mind came back with a snap.

  “Rise, Nemesis!” Fajir screamed. “Or they will kill us where we sit!”

  Lydia stumbled to her feet. Several Galeans were on the ground, no doubt thrown by Samira, who knelt in the dirt, head in her hands. Mamet grappled with someone, but another crept up behind her and cracked her across the back with a wooden staff.

  Lydia grabbed Fajir’s sword, but one of the Galeans rushed her. The skin of her arms tickled before burning, the pain building as if she was covered in stinging insects. It had to be the work of micro-psychokinesis, but he didn’t have a fraction of Horace’s or Simon’s strength. She fought the feeling, swinging the sword to drive him away. He darted around her clumsy swing.

  Lydia fell into her power and saw his future self grab at her from the left. In the present, she dodged, keeping Fajir between them. Fajir reared up and bashed her head into his nose. He yelped and scrambled back, hands on his bleeding face. Lydia fumbled with Fajir’s bonds.

  “I don’t know why you’re helping,” Lydia shouted, “but I’ll take it.”

  “Worry not, Nemesis,” Fajir said with a cackle. “No one will kill you but me.”

  “How comforting.” Her hands went numb as the buzzing assailed her brain again. She stumbled and dropped Fajir’s sword, fighting to tell up from down. “Shit!”

  The feeling passed as if dismissed by her swear. Nearby, Samira stumbled, and Sebastian yelled, “I can’t keep both of them down at once!”

  Her and Samira. He was only attacking those with power, and he couldn’t do both. Samira must have acted every time Lydia went down. Mamet was still fighting weakly, trying to hold off the rest, and several more Galeans had been hurled into the grass. If Lydia could distract Sebastian, that would give Samira a chance to end this fight. She left Fajir and hurled herself in Sebastian’s direction.

  Dizziness crippled her, but her momentum propelled her forward. She could barely see Sebastian through the vertigo, and he sidestepped her easily.

  Someone shrieked, “The baby!”

  Lydia’s senses came back as Sebastian whirled around. He was thrown in the air by an invisible shove before Lydia could try to tackle him. She made it upright in time to see everyone standing still.

  “The fighting will now cease,” Fajir said in the sudden quiet. She knelt behind the woman who held the squirming baby against her chest. Fajir had one arm locked around the woman’s throat. “Surrender, or I will kill this woman, and perhaps her falling body will kill the babe. Perhaps not.”

  The Galeans shuddered as if someone had thrown cold water on them. Only Sebastian could have stopped her in time, and he lay still at the foot of a nearby boulder. Lydia didn’t know whether to be chilled or relieved as Samira and Mamet went to stand behind Fajir.

  Lydia hurried over and held out her arms. “Give the baby to me.”

  The woman glared, then grunted as Fajir tightened her grip. She passed the child over.

  Fajir smirked. “The baby is leverage, Nemesis.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Lydia whispered back. She turned and pointed at the micro cradling his nose. “You, fix her.” She nodded toward Mamet.

  He glared, but he must have thought she was as heartless as Fajir because he did as instructed. He could only make Mamet well enough to stand again, not heal her as Horace or Simon could. For the moment, it was enough.

  Fajir hadn’t let go of her captive. Samira and Mamet saddled the ossors. “Is this your baby?” Lydia asked the woman Fajir held.

  She glared and said nothing. Lydia hadn’t known many parents, but she guessed that a mother would claim a child. They’d said the Storm Lord was the father, so what had happened to the mother? Was she one of these “traitors” they mentioned? If so, had they murdered her and taken her child? A horrid thought.

  “Give us the child and go,” one of the Galeans said.

  Fajir tightened her hold, making her captive croak. The others glanced at one another, but Lydia saw fire in their eyes. They weren’t going to give up, and Lydia didn’t want them dead. They were misguided, but anyone could change.

  “Stand away from her, Fajir,” Samira said.

  To Lydia’s surprise, Fajir obeyed, shoving her captive toward the others. Samira then shoved them all into the night with a great gust of force.

  Lydia, Samira, and Mamet mounted their ossors. Lydia watched Fajir closely, but all she did was glance away as if thinking about escape.

  “Mamet,” Samira said. “Grab Fajir.” She and Mamet grabbed Fajir’s arms, and she dangled between them as they rode into the night. They went carefully, taking no light and with Fajir spitting and swearing, but the slowest ossor could outpace anyone unfamiliar with the terrain.

  * * *

  The kidnappers’ trail led east. Cordelia couldn’t help a groan. She hoped they weren’t heading for Celeste to seek sanctuary from the Sun-Moon. Cordelia had seen enough of them to last a lifetime, not to mention the fact that Fajir lived there, and Cordelia would die happy if they never laid eyes on each other again.

  From the branches of Pool’s moving tree, the rolling plains seemed to be racing by. Cordelia wished they had time to stop and visit Wuran, but that was just her wanting to put off the inevitable. A lot of bad shit had happened to her in the east: she’d nearly been burned alive, had been kicked around by Naos’s gnarly mind powers, had her mind severed from her body for a few days, and she’d missed several big fucking fights that would have cut the tension nicely. Yeah, it was a nonstop parade of fun in Sun-Moon territory.

  Nettle’s slender arm snaked across her shoulders. “Your face is troubled, Sa.”

  Cordelia leaned into Nettle’s lithe body. “Is it selfish that I don’t want to go back to Celeste even to save a baby?”

  “Ahya, yes.”

  Cordelia stepped away, surprised. “I thought you’d say no.”

  Nettle wrinkled her narrow nose. “The thought may be of the self, yet you take the action. That defies selfishness.” She brought Cordelia back into her embrace. “And the thought is entirely within understanding. I share it.”

  Cordelia chuckled. “Well, if I didn’t want honesty, I shouldn’t
have asked a drushka. Anyway, a larger part of me hopes the Sun-Moon’s city is in flames.”

  “I do not believe that, Sa. You might wish for harm to come to the Sun-Moon, but you would never wish it for an entire city. When we were there, you defended the common people and hesitated even to kill those Sun-Moon worshipers who threatened you.”

  “Damn it, stop knowing me so well,” Cordelia muttered, but she didn’t push away.

  Nettle laughed and planted a kiss on Cordelia’s temple. “It takes much skill to know the difference between human jokes and human lies. You should feel fortunate that I am so very skilled.”

  Cordelia turned her head to kiss Nettle’s thin, soft lips. “Believe me, I know just how fortunate I am to have you. And how skilled you are.”

  She was fortunate to know all the drushka. And not just for the speed of the tree. The last time she’d gone to Celeste, she’d had to take one of the geavers, large animals that the plains dwellers used for transporting goods and people. Aboard Pool’s tree, she spotted several lumbering across the plains, their long necks sweeping over the ground as they searched for food. Slow and ponderous most of the time, they could run when necessary in a miles-eating gait that managed to upset the entire digestive system. And it had still taken days to get to Celeste.

  Pool’s tree nearly flew in comparison. The roots propelled it as if they were tentacles, and it stepped over ravines and uneven ground with ease. But it stuck out like…a giant tree in the rolling plains, so when a group of plains dwellers rode toward them, Cordelia wasn’t surprised.

  She hoped they didn’t want a fight. Not so long ago, she would have been excited at the thought, but she was in a hurry, and they had a huge fight looming in their future. She would have suggested that Pool ignore these newcomers, but she hated the thought of them following the tree across the plains.

  Cordelia felt Pool’s summons rather than heard it. Unless she was astral projecting, she had a hard time hearing Pool’s words, but she could always feel when the drushkan queen was near.

  The tree slowed to a halt. “If we’re going to talk to them, let’s take Reach,” Cordelia said. Reach was a shawness, a drushkan healer, but she’d also been the ambassador of the drushka to Gale. She had all sorts of useful skills. And she’d loved Cordelia’s late uncle. In drushkan terms, that made them family. Reach also had the habit of adopting stray humans. Her own son was an orphan she’d found during the boggin attack on Gale. She put many people at ease even if they weren’t used to drushka.

  “Ahya,” Nettle said. “And Horace or Simon? In case we have need of human healing?”

  Those two could do a lot more than heal, but to a drushka, a shawness was a healer first. Cordelia held her wooden sword to her waist until it sprouted tiny tendrils that kept it in place, a living weapon given to her by Pool.

  “The queen has sent scouts,” Nettle said.

  A trill of alarm passed through Pool’s connection, and Nettle hissed.

  “What’s happening?” Cordelia asked.

  “The plains people are not stopping. They ride hard for the tree, weapons out.”

  Cordelia ground her teeth. “Idiots! What are they thinking?” One of Pool’s limbs curled around her, and she stiffened, trying to relax as the limb lifted her to Pool’s riding place. It was convenient, but she didn’t know if she’d ever get used to being moved like a doll.

  “Sa?” Pool asked. “What shall we do with these fools?”

  Cordelia shook her head. “I don’t want to kill them.” That wouldn’t be good for inter-species relations, no matter that most Galeans wouldn’t care. “Their bows can’t really hurt the tree.”

  “A minor sting,” Pool said, lifting one elegant shoulder.

  “Put me down there,” Cordelia said. “I’ll talk to them.”

  Nettle stood beside her, ready as always, though an arrow would do a lot more than sting either of them.

  “Could we not ignore them?” Reach asked as she swung down to join them. “If we continue, they will fall behind.”

  “We can’t leave an enemy at our backs,” Cordelia said.

  “My scouts send me a vision,” Pool said. “These plains dwellers bear the sign of a single red eye.”

  “Fucking Naos,” Cordelia grumbled. Not only did she come down from space to fuck with them, she made sure she had a welcoming committee on hand.

  Pool’s branch grabbed the three of them, but instead of setting them on the ground, she brought them to a lower branch where Horace and Simon waited. Horace frowned in concern, but Simon looked grim. Cordelia remembered his promise to fuck up the Sun-Moon if they ever messed with his friends again. At the moment, he looked as if he’d carry out that threat without hesitation.

  “Get me close,” he said.

  Cordelia nodded, thinking of a plan to put him in the plains dwellers’ midst, then realized he wasn’t talking to her. He had a similar connection to Pool, and before Cordelia could ask what he had in mind, Pool lifted him free of the branches and held him out, shielding him as several arrows winged his way.

  * * *

  Simon flashed all the way back to college, to a course in ancient literature where he’d read a translation of The Iliad. The epic poem had started with the word rage. He’d always thought it an odd way to open a tale.

  Now he understood. Anger washed over him, at the world, at every single person who’d ever pushed him around, at himself for taking it all those years from colleagues, from family, from acquaintances and friends alike. From Dillon.

  And here came some assholes who’d decided to shoot instead of talk. Humanity should have moved past such attitudes, but here on Calamity, ignorance was alive and well. It was probably the same on Earth, too. Well, it was high time such violent people learned that actions damn well had consequences.

  Even though they sported Naos’s symbol, these people weren’t possessed. Simon had cut that power from Naos’s repertoire. She could have ordered them to attack random strangers, but that still gave them a choice. When Pool held Simon forward, the sound of their arrows punching into her bark and the pain spiking from her tipped him from anger into rage.

  His power shot from him in a burst, and he interrupted them as he’d done to people several times before. His power impacted every part of their bodies, freezing each cell in place as if they were in stasis. Not even their brains could function without his permission, and they couldn’t die unless he let them.

  He left the animals alone, their riders slumped in the saddles. The drushka leaped down and herded the animals until Pool’s human allies could round them up. Still, their riders didn’t move, held by Simon’s power.

  He strode toward them once Pool set him on the ground. Cordelia would want to know what they had to say. A tiny part of Simon wanted to snuff them like candles, but he wouldn’t let his power drive him mad. Still, as he looked at them, held so completely, he knew why some feared him and everyone like him.

  “Simon?”

  Horace stood behind him. Simon didn’t trust himself to respond, not liking what he might say. He reached out blindly and felt Horace’s warm hand close over his. He needed that connection to ground him, though Horace had to be as tired of people fucking with them as Simon was.

  When Cordelia had the plains dwellers’ weapons, she said, “Okay, Doc.”

  Another reminder that he was still human. With a sigh, Simon bottled his power, though he kept it ready, right next to his anger so they could feed off each other if necessary.

  The drushka had lined up the plains dwellers on the ground. When Simon let them go, they jerked, their muscles responding to signals he hadn’t let their brains send before. They hadn’t been able to see or hear anything, and now they sat up and whipped around with wide eyes and shocked faces. They’d never be able to remember the missing moments, and now that they were surrounded by a host of armed drushka, they seemed less willing to fight.

  “Who’s in charge?” Horace asked in the plains language. Simon stood cl
ose to Cordelia so he could translate. Even with as much time as she’d spent on the plains, she’d never learned the whole language; she’d claimed she was good at enough other things to make up for her lack of linguistics.

  One of the plains dwellers lifted their chin. “The goddess is in charge here and everywhere.”

  Simon sighed after he passed on this tidbit.

  “She didn’t stop us capturing you,” Horace answered.

  Simon glanced at him in surprise. Horace had always been a peacekeeper, the first to call for everyone to calm down, but lately, he seemed to be spoiling for a fight. Or maybe he was just restless. Too much action crammed into too small a timeframe could feel like a drug.

  The plains dwellers bristled, but some looked worried.

  “We don’t have time for bluster,” Cordelia said. “Ask them about the Galeans, the baby.”

  The plains dwellers didn’t want to answer questions. They blathered about Naos and her all-seeing eye and how she was going to take over the world now that she’d come to the planet. So, she’d told them about the crash, told her followers to wreak as much havoc as possible so that Simon and all the other Atlas crewmates were nice and distracted.

  Now that Simon thought about it, hostile plains dwellers might be keeping the Sun-Moon contained in Celeste; these had been headed toward Gale. If they weren’t going to attack the city, they might have been commanded to keep anyone from coming out.

  “What do we do with them?” Horace asked as Pool joined them.

  The easiest answer was to kill them, but Simon could tell by the tense faces that no one wanted to do it. The fact that they weren’t cold-blooded killers was comforting even if it carried a host of problems.

  “We can’t take them back to Gale,” Cordelia said. “Even if the keep had a big enough jail, we’re not the wardens of Calamity.”

  “Turn them over to other plains dwellers?” Horace asked. “Someone like Wuran?”

  “They hold leaders responsible for the crimes of a clan,” Reach said. “And Naos is not here.”