Inheritors of Chaos

by Barbara Ann Wright

  The mumbling ceased. Only a couple of them had given birth before in their lives. No matter what they’d heard, the prospect of the actual experience was a frightening one.

  “Are you going to help us?” one of the women asked quietly.

  Simon met their gazes. In all the emotions flying around, he couldn’t tell who was on Dillon’s side. He supposed it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to let the Storm Lord worshipers suffer even if their god didn’t give a shit whether they lived or died.

  * * *

  Horace couldn’t remember much, just that he was tired of being punched in the face. It had happened several times now. He’d opened his eyes, had enough time to remember the last punch, then another came from out of the darkness, and he started the whole process over again.

  Finally, he opened his eyes, remembered the last hit, and managed to croak, “Wait!”

  No punch. That was different.

  His face burned, throbbing along with his side. He reached for his power and found it denied, that part of his mind shielded behind a telepathic wall.

  “Shit,” he said.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Patricia’s voice said behind him.

  He turned slowly, not wanting to aggravate his injuries. She sat against the wall of a tunnel, and he lay on the floor. The area around them was lit by lanterns, enough light to see the Storm Lord sitting just behind her, scowling. His hair was grayer, and he’d acquired a scar down the side of his face, but there was no mistaking him.

  Horace bit back most of his questions, knowing they probably wouldn’t be answered. “Is Jon all right? The paladin who was with me?”

  “I kept him from dying. If you cooperate and behave, he’ll be fine, blah, blah, blah.” She picked a piece of dirt from her trousers.

  Horace couldn’t help a burst of anger. “Good to know you can be so flippant about life and death.”

  She yawned. “I’ve been shamed by people far older and wiser than you. Do your worst.”

  The Storm Lord just watched Horace intently. Horace stared back, surprised. From what he’d seen, the Storm Lord didn’t often let others do the talking. Seven other people stood farther down the tunnel, talking amongst themselves. Liam was one of them, and he didn’t seem like a prisoner.

  Horace sighed, completely unsurprised. “I guess it’s too late to say that I knew your story about the mayor having brain damage was a sack of lies. We shouldn’t have even talked to you.”

  “What did you want to do? Kill me and be done with it?” She still sounded more tired than anything.

  He put all the vitriol he had in his voice. “That would have been better for everyone.”

  Her bored look turned into a glare at last.

  “Are you controlling him, too?” Horace asked, nodding at the Storm Lord.

  She snorted. “Just be content with the fact that you don’t know anything and shut up.”

  Horace tried to stretch, but his aches and pains didn’t let him move far. “How come you healed Jon and not me?”

  “Oh, there we go! Another jerk who’s happy for me to use my power as long as it benefits him.” She threw a pebble at the opposite wall. “Forget it.”

  Interesting. Maybe if he kept goading her, she’d elaborate. “I have been a therapist, but is now the time to talk about your problems?”

  Her glare increased, and the Storm Lord shifted as if he might attack, but Patricia put a hand on his arm, and he stilled, thoroughly controlled.

  One more nugget of information to be tucked away.

  “Where is Jon?”

  “If it’ll shut you up, he’s there.” She nodded down the tunnel, and Horace spotted a shadow that could have been a person on the floor. “I’m keeping him unconscious.”

  Horace’s anger bubbled again. Of course they were keeping Jon unconscious. He was the paladin, the dangerous one. What could Horace do besides shut someone down with his power or send out a telepathic signal that would bring Simon and Cordelia and the drushka? He opened his mouth, then shut it, remembering Jon’s lessons about not telegraphing one’s attacks. Patricia was doing worse than that by underestimating him. He couldn’t let her know about her mistake.

  Horace breathed deep, trying to determine the extent of his injuries. Something had rammed into his side; he remembered the dull ache. But it hadn’t broken the skin. His leg had a bandage around it that was stained with blood, but it was dry. He wiggled a bit, trying not to think of every action before he did it, even though Patricia didn’t seem to be reading his mind.

  If forced, he could execute some of the maneuvers Jon and Cordelia had taught him. But the Storm Lord was watching, and he’d been a soldier before he’d been a god.

  “Can I go see Jon?” Horace asked softly, trying to think of Patricia as someone who’d been wounded. The injured could be irrational and dangerous even as they wanted to be soothed.

  “He’s fine.”

  He took a deep breath. “I believe you, but he’s still my friend. Please?”

  With a wary look, she stood, the Storm Lord with her. “Follow me.”

  The Storm Lord kept himself between them as she led the way down the tunnel. This was going to be tricky. Taking on this many opponents required powers. To get his own back, he needed Patricia to loosen her grip. To do that, he needed to get her away from her meat shield. Horace supposed he should be grateful the Storm Lord wasn’t throwing lightning around. Maybe he was the one with brain damage.

  At a bend in the rocky tunnel, Jon lay on the floor. They’d stripped his armor, but his chest rose and fell. Horace knelt at his side and took his hand. He seemed uninjured, but it had been a long time since Horace had to look for injuries with only his eyes.

  Patricia leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “I thought you were with Simon Lazlo. Is this guy your secret lover, or are the three of you…” She waved a hand as if inviting him to fill in the gap.

  He wanted to retort about the differences between friendly and sexual touching, but he needed to be smart, calculating. He’d already pissed her off, and he had to undo that damage if he was going to get out of here. Even Cordelia could playact when she needed to.

  He’d just have to find out what appealed to her. She hadn’t seemed talkative in Gale; her puppet Liam spoke for her most of the time. When Naos attacked with the meteor, she’d gone bloodlessly pale, terrified, but they were all scared of Naos. He thought of the first thing she’d done when free in her new body: taken over a mine and invited trouble. And she’d somehow resurrected the Storm Lord, another source of trouble if she lost control of him.

  So, she wanted a home, wanted power, wanted a helpmate, possibly a lover.

  She coveted.

  “Haven’t you ever wanted something you couldn’t have?” he asked, stroking Jon’s face and hoping to be forgiven for all this touching. He heard a rustle of fabric as Patricia sat, closer than before, but the Storm Lord was still in the way.

  “Hasn’t everyone?” she asked.

  “Probably.”

  She snorted. “Some people won’t admit it, but there’s always that better job or boyfriend or piece of jewelry.” She sighed. “Or an entire life.”

  Horace licked his lips; his head started to ache from the strain of thinking fast without thinking “loudly.” “Why did you come here? Originally.” When she frowned and tilted her head, he added, “Simon came to this planet to get away from Earth, but I never knew what the rest of you were looking for.” He glanced away as if embarrassed. “If that’s not too personal.”

  “No, it’s just been a while since I thought about it.” Her gaze went far away. “There’s no great mystery. I was the copilot. It was just a flight for me. I was never going to be a colonist.” She shut her eyes. “And then I was her.”

  Horace didn’t want her to go there, not if they were going to be friends. “Was being a copilot all you wanted? Or did you want to work your way up the chain of command?”

  She barked a laugh. “I had visi
ons of being a fleet admiral one day, running missions behind the scenes. I liked the numbers a hell of a lot more than I liked the people.”

  Probably why she controlled people rather than led them. She’d relaxed, drawing up one leg and resting her arm along her knee. Now, if he could only get the Storm Lord to loosen up.

  Before he could try, a voice called for Patricia down the tunnel. Horace tensed, looking to see if the Storm Lord turned at the sound, too, but all he did was stare at Horace as if he’d been given one job to do and was going to do it better than anyone had thought to do it before. Horace could have screamed at him.

  “Here,” Patricia called.

  Liam walked out of the dark, looking glum. When he caught Horace’s eye, he frowned harder. “I thought our guests were sleeping.”

  “I wanted to make sure he was all right,” she said, a bit of rebellious anger in her voice.

  Liam’s smile was brittle. “A few injuries will make him less likely to run away.”

  At once, Horace’s face tingled before it hurt less, and the throb in his side and leg faded to nothing. Healing as argument: he could get behind that.

  “I wanted to make sure his brain wasn’t damaged,” she said with a smile as fake as his.

  He sighed, and Horace wondered what was going on here. Was she controlling him yet still fighting with him? Was Liam trying to reassert himself? Or maybe she wasn’t as good at mind control as Naos.

  Horace cleared his throat. “Jon and I are alive, so nothing’s been done that can’t be undone. Clearly, I wasn’t supposed to find out about him.” He nodded at the Storm Lord. “But you wouldn’t have been able to keep him a secret forever. Cordelia and Simon are never going to let him join the alliance, but Jon and I, and you, Liam, should go back. Or did Naos stop being a problem while I was unconscious?”

  Liam barked a laugh, a hollow sound. “We’re not going back.”

  Was that him speaking or Patricia? If she wasn’t controlling him completely, maybe she’d promised him something too wonderful to refuse even if it meant abandoning his friends and allying with the man who killed his mother.

  “Simon will keep looking for me.”

  Liam sneered. “Because he loves you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t count on that,” Liam said, crossing his arms. “One day, he’ll stop without warning and leave you in the shit.”

  Horace sat back on his heels. “What?”

  “Enough,” Patricia said. “Horace, you and your friend are going to be our guests for a little longer, and that’s that.” She stood and brushed off her trousers. “And judging by your face,” she said to Liam, “I’ve got more tunnel to dig.” She stood on her tiptoes and had a word in the Storm Lord’s ear before kissing his cheek. She strode down the tunnel, leaving the Storm Lord glaring down at Horace and Liam glaring in her wake.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cordelia wondered how many times she’d look at her life and think everything was fucked. She didn’t know what she’d do if she woke up to a morning with no problems. Probably get nervous and punch someone.

  When she’d returned to her body on the plains, she’d felt as stretched as a mound of dough. Nettle had returned to lean over her, a worried look on her face. “If Naos is going to chase me every time I leave my body, astral scouting is out,” Cordelia said.

  “I will not mourn.” Nettle helped her to her feet and provided a shoulder to lean on as Cordelia learned to walk again. They started through the long grass toward Pool’s tree. “Simon has calmed some yafanai who started a fight in the tree while you were gone. The queen reports that some of the mothers are near birth.”

  “Great.” It was only half sarcastic. “Maybe labor will distract them. Was Pool hurt? The tree? How are you?” She cupped Nettle’s face, lamenting that she was still wearing her armor. They both could have used a hug.

  “I am well, Sa, but the queen still suffers. The yafanai tore a large hole in her branches. Perhaps they were aided by Naos or Patricia. The wounds to the tree are being sealed.”

  “Fucking gods! Is there anything I can do?”

  Nettle wrinkled her narrow nose and kissed Cordelia soundly. “Simply be as you are. If you wish to offer the queen comfort, I am certain she would not object.”

  “Okay,” Cordelia said as they continued toward the tree. “But I’m not kissing her.”

  Nettle chuckled. “No? But through our connection, she is aware of all your kisses.”

  Cordelia snorted a laugh. Kiss one drushka, you kissed them all, she supposed. Liam would have made a joke about orgies.

  Liam. She’d nearly forgotten him. She told Nettle her suspicions, confirmed by the lightning that had struck her: the Storm Lord was sharing Liam’s body. Pool absorbed this knowledge through Nettle, and by the time Cordelia saw her speaking with Simon, everyone had shared it.

  “I felt his attack,” Simon said. Just beyond him, some expectant mothers milled around, denied their power. Miriam stood guard over them, and the look on her face said no Storm Lord worshiper was getting past her watch.

  “I thought Dillon was hiding nearby in his own body, but in Liam?” Simon asked. “Holy shit.”

  “How is it possible, shawness?” Pool asked. “The old Shi once forced the younger queens to do her bidding, but to live inside them?” She frowned as if she’d eaten something sour.

  “Must be a trick Patricia learned from Naos,” Simon said. “We can’t figure it out until we get him back, and even then, we’ll need a skilled telepath, so…” He spread his hands drushkan fashion. “We need to get Horace.”

  Pool spread her hands, too. “I cannot move the tree, shawness, not with so great a hole in the branches. Many still suffer from the shock.”

  Simon’s stare seemed desperate, even crazed. “Can’t some of the drushka—”

  “No one will leave the queen while she is wounded.” Nettle put a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Wait but a little while.”

  He shrugged out from under her grasp. “I’ve already waited! Cordelia?”

  She didn’t want to leave the drushka either, but the tunnel wasn’t far. “We could start digging, but it’d be safer to wait.” She kept her voice as calm as possible. Simon had freaked when he’d seen blood in the ravine, but the attackers wouldn’t have bothered to cart dead bodies away. “Horace and Jon are alive, so Naos or Patricia or the Storm Lord or whoever probably plans to use them for—”

  “I’m not going to let Horace be used by the crew of the Atlas!” Simon yelled. “I know exactly how that feels.”

  He stomped up and down the branch, and Cordelia remembered his fiery threats. She kept her hands down, her posture relaxed. She did not want to give him the impression that he needed to power his way out of there.

  But she also didn’t want him to abandon them. He was the linchpin of their whole anti-Naos plan. “Okay,” she said calmly, “you stay here with the moms, and we’ll start digging.”

  When he stopped to stare, he seemed slightly less manic, and she wished they had the power to soothe him as he did for everyone else. Her heart went out to him even as he was making her very nervous. They’d had too many unstable power users around lately.

  “We’ll find him,” she said quietly. “As fast as we can, then you and I will kill the Storm Lord, get Liam back, punch Patricia in the face, and put Naos on her ass.”

  He smiled, but for a moment, he looked all of his nearly three hundred years. She wondered when he’d last slept for real and not because of his power.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll enjoy all that and the drinks afterward.”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  As he turned toward the moms, Cordelia went back the way she’d come, Pool and Nettle with her.

  “Maybe you better have Reach keep him company,” Cordelia said.

  “Ahya,” Pool said. “She is among the mothers already. She will comfort him.”

  And watch him, but Cordelia didn’t say that. Pool would pick up on her an
xiety through their connection.

  “I will help in the digging,” Nettle said. “And some others as well since it is not far, but most will remain with the tree.”

  “Understood,” Cordelia said. “I’m going to leave some paladins here, too, since I know you’ll be distracted, Pool.”

  Pool ran the outside of her hand down Cordelia’s cheek. “Sa, you are dear to me.”

  Cordelia knew she meant dear in more of a family way than as a lover, but Nettle’s words about kissing echoed in her mind. To her horror, she had to fight a blush.

  By the teasing glance Nettle and Pool exchanged, Cordelia knew that embarrassing conversation had already been shared. She fought both a harder blush and the urge to wipe her cheek. Flirting with people—drushka included—wouldn’t normally bother her, but this was Pool.

  “Better get digging!” she said loudly. She strode away, Nettle with her. “I know you helped her tease me, and you better believe I’m going to have my revenge.”

  Nettle brushed her short, deep red locks off her forehead. “Ahya, Sa, I have no doubt you shall try.”

  * * *

  Lydia wondered what Mamet was up to at that moment. Her people lived north of Celeste, almost where the plains met the sea, and the rockier terrain this close to the mountains made Lydia nostalgic.

  Not that there had been many days before Fajir came and turned her world upside down.

  And now, marching toward the unknown, there was little to think about besides the past…or Fajir.

  Something had happened between them; some corner had been turned. Lydia tried to pinpoint exactly when she knew Fajir wouldn’t kill her; she couldn’t remember. She was still a little scared of Fajir’s unpredictability, though.

  Who built a relationship on such unsteady ground? If a friend had asked Lydia’s advice about starting a relationship with someone like Fajir, Lydia would have told them to run away fast.

  Still, Fajir had said she wouldn’t strike, and that meant…something. Lydia rolled her eyes as she walked, skirting a boulder and watching her feet for loose stones. Yes, that was healthy.