Inheritors of Chaos

by Barbara Ann Wright

  So, they were still up, though Simon seemed to have spoiled their aim.

  “Can you take them out?” she called as she put her sidearm with its three remaining bullets away and took out her blade. She parried a strike from the worshipers who stumbled through the tents to get at them.

  “I’m suppressing their outer telepathic power,” he said, the words sounding as if they were coming through his teeth. “That’s hard enough!”

  “You did it before!”

  “They were exhausted and wounded before!”

  “No time for arguing,” Samira said as she flung some worshipers into the night. “We have to find Lydia. Come on.”

  She led them deeper into the camp. Cordelia supposed she had to commit, but if they stayed too long, they were going to be overwhelmed.

  As if in answer to her thoughts, one of the plains dwellers was cut down fast, his neck laid open. Nettle’s fast blades barely saved another from the same fate. An arrow rang off Cordelia’s armor, and she saw the archer drawing back for another shot, aiming for Reach. Cordelia grabbed her and spun, taking the shot in the back on her armor. She winced at the bruising force. She wouldn’t be fast enough to take every arrow. One of the paladins shot the archer, but there would be more.

  “Do you know where Lydia is?” Cordelia asked between breaths as she continued the fight.

  “I…think…”

  “You do not know!” Nettle said.

  “She can’t be far,” Samira yelled. “I didn’t see her on my way in, and if you didn’t either—”

  “We did not search the tents.” Reach ducked under a swing and gouged her attacker with a claw. He stumbled away, clutching the wound and gurgling under the fast-acting poison.

  “I know she’s here!” Samira shouted.

  “They’re coming, the Sun-Moon.” Simon’s eyes were unfocused as if holding the Sun-Moon was taking all he had. When another plains dweller was wounded, it took Simon a few moments to heal him where it would have been instantaneous before.

  To the side, a swath of tents and people blew away as if the Sun-Moon were firing randomly.

  “We have to get out of here.” Cordelia spun to count how many attackers they still had, but the worshipers were fading into the night. Getting ready for a big push, or had the Sun-Moon found them?

  “Dr. Lazlo,” the Sun-Moon called, “Naos has been searching for us, and without the telepathic shield, she will find us. We don’t want to fight on two fronts; do you?”

  He looked to Cordelia. She shrugged. She certainly did not want two fights, but the Sun-Moon might be lying. “Let’s end this if we can,” she whispered. “It’s too big of a fight.”

  “You’re near the edge of the camp,” the Sun-Moon said, still out of sight. “Go now, and there will be no more death.”

  Samira turned, mouth open as if she was about to tell the Sun-Moon to fuck off.

  Cordelia hit her once, a sharp jab to the chin. As Samira fell, unconscious, Nettle grabbed her and hauled her over one shoulder.

  “Captain’s prerogative,” she said to the others’ shocked faces. “Anyone else?”

  They shook their heads hurriedly, and Cordelia grabbed hold of Simon with one hand. “We’re leaving,” she called. “The doc will let your power go once we’re clear. Don’t come after us. We’ve got an army of our own.”

  “Understood.”

  Reach’s nose guided them toward fresher air, and Cordelia kept her guard up, knowing their escape couldn’t be this easy, not after blood had been shed, but that had happened on both sides, and maybe the Sun-Moon really had enough.

  They made it out without challenge and were hurrying back toward the tree when Simon sighed. “I let their power go.”

  Cordelia looked back, wondering if the shit would fall now, but she couldn’t see the camp anymore now that the shield had gone back up. And the only tingles she felt were from Simon’s power, healing and bolstering.

  “Think they meant it?” she asked Simon. “They’ll leave us alone?”

  He shrugged. “Only time will tell. We can take comfort in the fact that their telepathy can never affect the drushka.” He glanced at Samira’s limp form. “She is not going to be happy.”

  “I’ll leave her to you.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “Thanks ever so much.”

  Cordelia kept glancing back as they walked, her worry not over despite what she said aloud. From her memories of the Sun-Moon, they weren’t keen to accept an insult, never mind an attack on their camp.

  * * *

  Shiv halted at the edge of the large trees. They had grown ever sparser the farther north she had come, and the ground became firmer, though a thin film of water covered everything. Ahead, the trees disappeared, leaving ribbons of water running like roots over a plain of green. The mountains began not far distant, and while daylight had remained, she had spotted trees here and there along the slopes. They were not the behemoths she was used to; the green blobs of their leaves covered them from base to crown.

  Night had fallen now, and Lyshus slept in her arms. Shiv kept her eyes on the mountains, darker shapes in a dark world. Tomorrow, she would seek the unknown.

  Enka stirred below in the branches. Shiv had kept her there, not wanting her to see Lyshus. Shiv could feel her every breath, it seemed. And since she was not of Shiv’s tribe, it was easy to think of her as an intruder, one of the fleas found on the rocky plains.

  “Have you eaten, Queen?” Enka called from below. “Shall I hunt?”

  Now that Lyshus slept, Shiv left him in a cubby of bark and climbed down. “There is no need.” She lowered a catch she’d made earlier that day, one of the joora birds that waded through the shallow water. She let herself be smug; she could take care of her tribe and her visitor with no help.

  Enka offered neither surprise nor praise as she took the bird. “Do you prefer raw or cooked meat?” Without waiting for an answer, she began to strip the feathers, a necessary task either way.

  Shiv considered. The drushka did not venture this far north, and Shiv had seen more birds than large predators. “Cooked, I think.” She commanded her tree to lower them to the ground, then she started a fire on a small patch of dry ground while Enka prepared the bird and set it to cook.

  All day long, Enka had been silent, and Shiv had not ventured down to speak with her. Shiv thought to ask for stories many times, but Lyshus’s presence and her own fear had stopped her before the words escaped. As much as she yearned to hear tales of people like herself, the likelihood of bad endings doused that fire. She supposed it was better to hear them now on the edge of this treeless, friendless wasteland. The words could simply float into the nothingness and disappear.

  “I have heard tales of queens who bore their own children,” Shiv said. “And how all those children were daughters, and those daughters came to bad ends. Are there any tales of those daughters becoming queens?”

  Enka sat back and studied the flames, her head tilted as if thinking. After many moments passed, Shiv almost barked at her to answer, but Enka was old, just under one hundred summers, and she had no doubt heard many stories.

  The firelight glinted off her long, silver braids and sparkled in her yellow eyes. She tapped one claw against her drawn-up knees. The clothing she wore was nearly the same dusky gray as her skin. Among the trees, she disappeared. No wonder she had lived so long.

  “I recall one tale.” Closing her eyes, Enka began to sing, her voice low and soothing, rising and falling with the words. “The world was young, the great tree not long broken, the plants and animals new, the drushka running among them.”

  Shiv settled in to listen, but impatience gnawed at her. Too many tales took place when the world was young. It must have been a busy time.

  “The world was young,” Enka sang, “with the drushka even younger. The first Shi took her tree and tribe into the swamp to partake of its bounty. The swamp was young and plentiful, and the drushka were happy.”

  And then came mor
e drushka and more until one reached the point of the story. Shiv wondered if Enka could be hurried, maybe as one herded a fat hoshpi.

  “The swamp was young and the drushka happy, but loneliness took root in the young queen, and she could not know joy in life or limb with no other queen to share it.”

  Shiv dropped the blade of grass she had been fidgeting with. This was new.

  “The first queen was young and tried to make a queen of the others’ children, but none had the knack, not born to be a queen. She took a mate and bore a child, and the swamp rejoiced in the way of all things young.

  “The world aged, as did swamp and drushka and queen and child until the queen made a tree for her daughter.”

  Shiv licked her lips. The other tales never got this far. Usually, queens’ daughters developed a mind sickness and killed other drushka or ran into the swamp, never to return.

  “The daughter was young but eager. She became a queen and felt the lack of a tribe all her own, for a queen must have a tribe above all things.”

  “Above all things,” Shiv whispered.

  “The daughter was young and too impatient, and she became as impulsive as her mother. She took from her mother’s tree too quickly, and the minds of her tribe melded into one, their own minds lost to chaos.”

  No.

  “And the young queen and her young tribe were chaos, and they roved the swamp, madness their weapon, and killed what they saw, drushka or not, and the swamp mourned.”

  Shiv clenched her fists. No, no, no.

  “And the queen mourned with the swamp, and she knew—”

  Shiv stood. “She knew her daughter had to die, and she was very sad, and it was for the good of the drushka!” She kicked a stray stick. “Useless! That is not what happens!”

  Enka opened her eyes and stared.

  “This is what happens!” Shiv commanded her tree to lower Lyshus. He blinked sleepily before his gaze locked on the cooking food, and Shiv held his shoulders to keep him from the fire.

  Enka leaned forward, her eyes wide as she studied Lyshus. “Is…he is…”

  “A queen,” Shiv said. “I am a queen’s daughter with her own tree, and every tribemate I seek to take becomes a queen or dies, and the swamp does not care!” She sucked her teeth, frustrated and confused. “There must be another story that tells what really happens.”

  Enka took a deep breath. “All tales have a heart root of truth. Every child like you has been killed.” She gestured to Lyshus. “This…he is likely why, though no one like him is mentioned in the tales. Perhaps we remember the outcome but not the reason, so we use…”

  “Madness,” Shiv whispered. She sat again and held Lyshus close. “But I will not let us be killed, young or aged.” She jerked her head back at the trees. “We leave the swamp tomorrow. You may go back to your tribe. If we return here, Lyshus will no longer be a queen, or perhaps I will not, but either way, our troubles will be settled, and we will not be a tale to teach others.”

  Enka was silent a long time, and Shiv wished she would frown or fidget, but when not shocked into expression, she was as still as a tree. “How?” she finally asked.

  “Human power. Simon Lazlo can change other humans. Perhaps in time, he could have changed us, but we could not stay with him.” She would not say why, that Lyshus could and would attack other queens’ trees. She did not know what Enka would do with such information.

  And she could not bring herself to say it aloud.

  “So,” Shiv said, “I go toward a greater power than even Simon Lazlo’s. She lives in the mountains now, and she will help us.”

  “The fire in the sky? Did this human cause it?”

  “She flew in what the humans call a ship.”

  Enka frowned. “You trust her?”

  Shiv laughed. Sa would have laughed, too. “Ahwa, no! Not with the way humans lie. But she has need of us somehow, so I will bargain with her. And I will have surprises ready in case of attack.” She was a little unsure about what those surprises would be, but she could dream some up.

  Enka frowned harder. “Queen…”

  Shiv wanted to prompt her, but she waited. Someone with nearly one hundred summers had to have something interesting to say.

  Enka’s mouth opened and closed several times as if she kept weighing her words and finding them uneven. “Allow me to come with you,” she said at last. “I know you can care for yourself, but you are a queen.” She swallowed and nodded at Lyshus. “And so is he, and I would protect you. Let me be one of your surprises.”

  Shiv’s core warmed, and she ached to ask Enka into her branches, but she fought the urge, knowing it would mean death. Still, she had to lean around the fire and take Enka’s hand, gratitude and affection bright inside her. Simon Lazlo would say that Enka was simply responding to drushkan instinct, but Shiv did not care. No other drushka had said as much.

  Enka returned Shiv’s smile and squeezed her hand. “You will allow it?”

  “Ahya,” Shiv said, feeling another pang that they could not communicate mind-to-mind without the aid of Enka’s queen. Enka would never feel her gratitude. It hurt to have to treat her like a human, but there was one difference: humans could lie.

  So, Shiv would have to show her gratitude. She allowed Enka first pick of the meat, then allowed her to touch Lyshus when he moved to sit on her knee. At least he could feel what Shiv felt, and she was certain they would have more to be thankful for in the future. Someone so old had to know a few surprises for potential enemies.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lydia hadn’t known what to say as she and Fajir went back to their tent. Her temper was up, and she had to keep biting her tongue to stop a flow of recriminations, both about Fajir’s gods and Fajir herself.

  She knew she shouldn’t be hasty. Fajir had gone through a lot of changes in a short amount of time. It was unreasonable to expect her to stand up to her gods, but she’d already admitted that they’d abandoned her in her hour of need. How much harder was it to tell them to leave her alone?

  And she hadn’t stood up for Lydia, either.

  After their fiery kissing session, no less.

  “You’re angry,” Fajir said when they reached the tent. The camp was calming down a little, the night noises returning to normal.

  Lydia ducked inside without answering and fought the urge to cross her arms and face the wall. She straightened the blankets instead, separating them into two very distinct piles. It would be best if she could get some sleep. She’d be less angry in the morning.

  Maybe.

  Fajir followed her. “If you’re angry because we didn’t escape, there wasn’t time with—”

  “Why didn’t you stick up for me?” Lydia blurted. “They didn’t believe me when I said I had nothing to do with those yafanai, and you didn’t say anything when the Sun-Moon scrambled their brains.” She shivered at the memory but repressed it quickly. Anger would serve her better now. “And before, you let them threaten me with whatever they want to do with my power.” She took a deep breath so she wouldn’t yell and tell the whole camp their business. “And you didn’t argue when they called you their Fajir.” Those words had given her the same acidy stomach as when Fajir had redonned a widow’s robe.

  Fajir stared, expression neutral. Lydia worried that she might have overtaxed Fajir’s newfound sense of introspection, but at last, she sighed.

  “You do not know the Lords, Nem…Lydia. They can’t be lied to. They take the answer from your mind when they’re not using their power in other ways. And Nem…Lydia—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, just call me Nemesis if you have to!”

  Fajir began to smile, then ducked her head as if she feared the expression would piss Lydia off more. “Lydia,” she said firmly, “outright rebellion would not serve us here. We must be cautious and take advantage of the Lords’ distraction in order to escape, not argue with them and make them watch us closer.” She took Lydia’s hand. “You know my feelings better than they. Am I their Fa
jir?”

  “No,” Lydia said softly, her anger melting.

  “Do you fear I will become so?”

  Lydia’s cheeks burned as she met Fajir’s soft, determined gaze. “I can’t read minds.”

  “You don’t have to,” Fajir said. “I’m terrible at disguising my feelings, especially from you.”

  Lydia chuckled. “You can go pretty blank when you want to.”

  Fajir tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged. “Most of those times, I’m not feeling anything.”

  “Yes, you are,” Lydia said, scooting closer. “That’s your ‘I’m confused about what to do and am covering it up for pride’s sake’ face.”

  Fajir grinned as she leaned close. “See? You know my thoughts better than anyone, even the Lords with all their power.” The last words were barely spoken, a whisper of breath across Lydia’s lips.

  Maybe there was time for a little more kissing after all.

  Voices outside the tent interrupted them again. Lydia ground her teeth and thought the Sun-Moon must be spying in order to ruin the possibility of sex.

  The voices were quieter this time, and Fajir only had to poke her head out to ask what was going on. When Lydia heard Nico’s voice, and Fajir’s response was an angry growl, Lydia looked out, too.

  Nico turned a glare on her, and his lip curled into a sneer. “Back inside,” he said in the plains language, his accent heavier than Fajir’s.

  Fajir made a retort in the Sun-Moon language. Nico’s sneer increased, and he rolled his eyes. Fajir’s brows lifted, and she said something else, the tone slightly disbelieving but also low, dangerous. Nico swallowed and said something else, including “Seren,” which Lydia knew meant captain or leader, Fajir’s old title.

  Fajir ducked back in the tent, pulling Lydia with her.

  “What’s going on?” Lydia whispered.

  “More intruders. Nico said his orders were to keep us in the tent.”

  Lydia sighed. “They know we want to escape.”