“Possible,” Fajir said, but her tone was doubtful.
“Did he say who the intruders are?”
“Only that we must stay here.”
“And you took exception to that?” Lydia asked. “You sounded angry, and he backed down quick.”
“I warned him not to speak to you disrespectfully, and when he rolled his eyes, I asked if he needed a lesson in courtesy.”
It was all Lydia could do not to jump on her. When had the threat of violence become a turn-on? Lydia restrained herself to kissing her cheek. “So, we overpower him and run into the night?”
Fajir gave her a slightly condescending smile. “There are more widows waiting, and I…” Her face turned down as if she was embarrassed.
“You don’t want to hurt them or risk killing anyone, no matter your threats.” Lydia took her hand and wanted to jump on her again. “I don’t want you to do that either.”
Tears hovered in Fajir’s eyes as she cupped Lydia’s face. “Because you care about people and don’t want to see anyone get hurt,” she said, quoting Lydia’s earlier words to the Sun-Moon. “Another reason I call you Nemesis.”
“There’s more to you than violence,” Lydia said, leaning into Fajir’s touch. “And I’ll admit that I found your threat to teach Nico some manners gave me…warm feelings.”
Fajir’s brows lifted again, but before she could say anything, Lydia kissed her soundly, then sat back before the kiss could deepen. No matter how she felt, she was not going to have sex with Nico standing right outside.
“What’s the plan?” Lydia asked.
Fajir sat back, and her sigh was so frustrated, Lydia nearly laughed. “The front of the tent is guarded. They’ll watch the back as well, in case we make a bolt hole. We must wait.”
That was the hardest part, especially when they heard the occasional noise, and tingles passed over Lydia’s skull. Someone was using a lot of power. She also heard a muted crack that she remembered from the boggin invasion of Gale: a gunshot. Paladins.
Fajir demanded updates from Nico, but he kept repeating that he knew nothing. He said it in a very respectful tone, though.
It felt as if they were stuck in the tent for hours, but it couldn’t have been that long before Nico called, and Fajir hurried out, Lydia with her. He eyed both of them, and Lydia could have sworn that a wave of jealousy passed over his face. After a few curt words, he strode away.
“We are to pack the tent and blankets,” Fajir said with a frown. “The camp moves tonight.”
“In the dark?”
Fajir shrugged. “Someone will bring our ossors, and we’re to load them.”
Lydia blinked, struggling to understand. “I heard a gunshot. That means paladins, not yafanai, and unless a group of soldiers has taken to worshiping the Storm Lord again, it has to be Captain Ross and the drushka.” She clutched Fajir’s arm. “The people we’ve been trying to find were here, and now the Sun-Moon are taking us away from them!”
“I know, Lydia, I know, but think.” She grabbed Lydia’s shoulders. “A ride through the dark with all we need for survival. What better time to slip away?”
Lydia nodded and fought down her own frustration as she packed. When the army set out, it was slow going, their path carefully picked out by lanterns until they reached the foothills, and the sky lightened with the coming dawn. Lydia tried to watch for the opportunity to escape, but even that prospect couldn’t keep her from nodding off in the saddle again and again. Each time she looked, Fajir was awake, eyes scanning the surrounding party, but if she saw an opportunity, she didn’t say. The Sun-Moon had them thoroughly guarded.
As dawn broke, the army halted. Lydia stretched and wondered if they were finally going to get some sleep. Maybe Fajir could sneak the two of them away while everyone slumbered.
Lydia stifled a yawn. At this rate, Fajir would have to carry her.
A ripple of murmurs passed through the army, and everyone turned to face south. Lydia spotted the Sun-Moon’s geaver plodding in that direction until it reached the army’s rear. Everyone paused, waiting. When Fajir barked a question at Nico, his quick answer only made her frown.
Lydia’s stomach clenched, and her power rose inside her again. She could simply skip ahead, find out what was coming, though it couldn’t be anything good, and after she saw it, she’d have to watch it happen in real time.
Still, her power argued, she could be prepared.
She clenched her fists, resisting the urge, though her breathing sped, and her sense of doom reached such heights that she wanted to scream.
An insect buzzed past her nose. She froze. She’d seen that before.
Sure, she tried to tell herself. She’d seen hundreds of insects in her lifetime, thousands. Some had to have buzzed right by her face.
No, she’d seen that very one with the blue cast to its wings and the long white body.
Lydia gripped Fajir’s arm. “It’s happening.”
Fajir peered at her with concern. “You’ve gone pale.”
“This is it.” Lydia heard her voice from far away as if in a dream.
Or a nightmare.
Or a vision.
Fajir frowned before realization seemed to dawn, and she looked at her Lords with her mouth open.
The Sun-Moon put their hands to their heads as if concentrating, and a hot, acrid breeze blew past, ruffling Lydia’s hair and filling her nostrils with the scent of char.
“No,” she whispered. But she’d seen it, and it couldn’t be stopped.
An orange-white flash erupted on the plains below, causing more than one person to cry out. Lydia couldn’t do more than gasp as a wall of fire burst to life on the plains, separating the Sun-Moon army and the mountains from the rest of the world.
Including, in the distance, the great drushkan tree.
“Nemesis,” Fajir breathed. The flames reflected in her wide eyes, just as they had in Lydia’s vision.
And Lydia felt like a nemesis now: the ultimate adversary who’d put Fajir’s feet on the path to killing her gods.
* * *
Cordelia came awake with a start just as Nettle jerked upright beside her. “What’s going on?” Cordelia asked with a slur. They were together in one of Pool’s cubbies, and Cordelia could have sworn she’d just dropped off to sleep after their long night.
Nettle practically leapt outside and ran into a morning that seemed pretty under-baked to Cordelia’s eye. She tried to blink the sleep from her brain and followed. She sensed Pool’s alarm but couldn’t pinpoint the source. After she’d stumbled outside and stretched, she got a hazy answer.
Fire.
Aboard the tree? But no one was running around like she’d expect with a fire. Indeed, she didn’t see any drushka. She followed the murmur of human voices to the north side of the tree, then realized they were moving, the long roots undulating over the ground far beneath them.
She joined Simon and Samira and gawked at a wall of fire in the north. Even though it seemed far away, lighting the horizon with an orange glow, she could feel the heat with every gust of wind. “What in the Storm Lord’s name?” she whispered, forgetting in her wonder that he wasn’t her god anymore.
“We’ll be lucky if it doesn’t consume every inch of the plains,” Simon said.
And Gale.
And the world.
As they watched, the fire calmed some, though it still burned brightly; now it had the look of a normal fire rather than one as tall as a dust storm. “What the fuck happened?” Cordelia asked.
“It’s Lydia’s vision,” Samira said; the words had hatred behind them. “It’s come true, and I’m not there to help her like I said I’d be.” She didn’t turn her glare on Cordelia, even though there was no doubt who the words were for.
Cordelia couldn’t acknowledge her anger, couldn’t stop watching the flames. Maybe she hadn’t woken up, and this was a nightmare. Simon was certainly paler than usual. He kept muttering about Horace. Cordelia took a deep breath and tried
to calm her racing heart.
“Patricia or Naos has him,” Cordelia said quietly, hoping it was true. “If anyone can defend against a raging inferno, it’s those two.”
Simon’s breathing stayed shallow, but he wiped his lips and said, “Especially if they started it. Though I’m certain if we sought out the Sun-Moon again, we’d find them on the opposite side of that inferno.”
The power of the Sun. Well, Cordelia knew he and the Moon weren’t done being pains in her ass. Now they’d managed to put everyone in danger as well as block the path to the mountains unless they swung way to the west.
Where the wind was blowing from, pushing the blaze eastward.
“Pool!” Samira shouted. Cordelia jumped. Simon rocked forward at the noise, and Cordelia grabbed his elbow, hoping to cover her own nerves. “You have to put me and my scouts down!”
The tree didn’t stop, and no drushka appeared, not even Nettle or Reach. Cordelia was getting vague impressions from Pool. All the drushka were clustered around their queen, leery of fire, their greatest enemy.
No, this was more than wariness. She couldn’t get a coherent thought at all.
“She has to put us down!” Samira said. “We have to ride hard and warn the other plains dwellers. Simon, the Engali are to the east, and if the fire catches them unaware…”
The fire was gusting that way. Cordelia wasn’t as close to Mamet and her people as Samira was, but Cordelia didn’t want them to be wiped out.
“Stay here.” Cordelia’s continued queries to Pool went unanswered, so she climbed. Pool’s bark provided plenty of hand and footholds. She supposed it was too much to ask for the wind to change direction, to come from the south and blow the fire back at the Sun-Moon and Naos. They could have batted it between them and left everyone else the fuck alone.
With a grunt, Cordelia hauled herself onto a branch amid a host of drushka. No one reached to help. They stood as still as statues, eyes locked on the blaze. Cordelia stepped carefully between them, only knowing they were alive by the gentle movement of their chests.
Pool stood in the middle, head and shoulders above the rest. Strange to see her steer the tree without riding in her cupola of bark, and she almost always faced whatever direction the tree was traveling in. Like the rest of the drushka, she watched the fire, barely moving, not blinking, like a human in shock. Even Nettle, who stood by Pool’s side, didn’t acknowledge Cordelia’s arrival, though her hands twitched as if aching to be held.
Cordelia took one of her hands, gave it a squeeze, then turned to Pool. “Pool?” It was hard not to whisper amongst the silent company. “Pool?”
Pool’s head tilted. Cordelia looked down her body to see that she carried a human infant in her large hands. Where had that come from? She suddenly recalled that Pool had killed one of the pregnant yafanai in a horrific show of strength. Was this that child?
Now, like then, Pool seemed too alien, far beyond understanding.
Cordelia took a deep breath and tried to hang on to another memory: Pool saying how dear Cordelia was to her. “Pool, Samira needs to go. She has to warn the plains dwellers.”
When Pool didn’t respond, Cordelia reached to take the baby. If the drushka were stuck like this, Cordelia couldn’t leave the child here.
Pool’s eyes focused on her so quickly, Cordelia jumped again. “So much destruction, Sa,” Pool said, her voice hollow. “So much death and cruelty.”
Cordelia swallowed. “I know.”
“They must be stopped.”
That was more like it. “They will be, but—”
“They must be stopped,” the drushka said together, even those who didn’t speak Galean, all united by Pool’s horror. Cordelia’s skin crawled; it was too much like something Naos would do.
“Pool.” Cordelia put a hand over Pool’s long fingers and kept the other underneath to catch the child if Pool dropped it. “You need to stop.”
Pool shuddered, and Cordelia froze, worried Pool would fling her away or have the tree remove her from the drushkan communion, but Pool blinked. “Ahya.” The drushka around her began to move independently. “Ahya, Sa.” She lifted the infant and held it tighter.
“We’ll stop it, Pool,” Cordelia said, relieved beyond words to feel Nettle take her hand.
“We will stop them, Sa,” Pool said. “Someone must pay for this with their life.”
“Okay,” Cordelia said quietly, happy they were talking. Nettle squeezed her hand tighter, and Cordelia glanced at her sorrowful face.
“You journeyed with me to fight the Shi inside the drushkan homeland,” Pool said, “and now I shall do the same for you, but the tree?” She stared at the fire again. “The tree shall return to the swamp.”
As if comforted by her words, the tree slowed to a stop.
Cordelia thought that a good idea, but Pool was as important as the tree. “Pool, you can’t—”
“Go, Sa. Gather your people and prepare.”
A branch lifted her, brooking no argument, and took her back to Simon and Samira. More of the humans had joined them, paladins, yafanai, and the plains dweller scouts. Cordelia glanced through the branches at the surrounding landscape. The tree hadn’t gone due south but had strayed southwest, closer to the swamp. The tree had been running, covering a lot a ground.
After gathering everyone, Cordelia explained what had happened, then lost herself in barking orders. There’d be time enough to speak with Pool again and convince her to stay behind.
Under Cordelia’s orders, the humans scrambled to get equipment and provisions together. Cordelia put off all the questions she could. The yafanai who hadn’t yet given birth would stay aboard the tree, as would those with newborns. The non-pregnant yafanai would continue the journey north. Miriam and Victoria wanted to go as well, leaving their children with Mila and the drushka who’d remain with the tree.
Cordelia looked them up and down, but they returned her stare calmly as they reported for duty. “Why?” she asked, letting their answer determine her final decision.
“It’s only temporary,” Miriam said, her tone indicating that of course she would succeed in vanquishing her enemies. Failure was not on the agenda; Cordelia could admire that.
“Someone needs to kick the Storm Lord’s ass on behalf of all the women and children he left behind,” Victoria said.
Cordelia chuckled even as her stomach was still in knots. “Good. We can use all the vengeance we can get.”
Chapter Twenty
Horace had never been so bored. He’d only been in the tunnel for part of a day and a night, but it felt as if he’d been there for years, sitting, checking on an unconscious Jon, and looking for a way out.
But the Storm Lord hadn’t taken his eyes off Horace. Even when Horace woke up through the night, the sharp stones of the tunnel digging into his back, the Storm Lord sat there watching him like a pissy statue.
Patricia had done more than make him uncommunicative; she’d taken away his need to sleep, maybe even to eat. Sickening. Both the Storm Lord and Patricia liked to tinker with what should have been left alone: him with boggins and yafanai and her with regular people.
They deserved each other.
And he would have gladly left them to each other, but they seemed determined to involve him in their plans.
After only sleeping for a few hours, they meandered down the tunnel, carrying Jon’s body with them. It was the slightly less boring part of the journey. Horace had been able to figure out that most of Patricia’s guards were miners, with two others being from one of the human clans in the hills. Another tidbit of information Horace intended to pass on if he ever escaped.
Up ahead, Patricia gasped so loudly, it echoed. Horace left off ruminating and trying to keep his footing on the uneven ground. He stood on tiptoe, trying to see around Liam, who kept well back from his ally whenever she made a strange noise.
In the lantern light, Patricia leaned on her knees, breathing hard. She straightened and turned a slow circle, ey
es bulging as if the tunnel walls held a scene she couldn’t believe.
“They couldn’t…” she said. “They…” She gasped as if hyperventilating.
Horace could aid her if she’d let him. And if she let his power go…
“Let me help you,” Horace said around Liam. The Storm Lord breathed down on him, no doubt ready to pull him back in line.
Patricia muttered something like, “No one can help this.” She looked back with horror on her face. “We have to run.”
She tottered a few steps down the tunnel, picking up speed as she went. Liam gawked after her until the Storm Lord’s meaty hand gave him a push.
Liam turned with a glare that could have melted glass. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”
The hair on Horace’s arms stood up, and the tunnel filled with the scent of ozone, harbingers of the Storm Lord’s power.
“Maybe we should go,” Horace said. “I can feel his power.”
“His power?” Liam said with a sneer. “For fuck’s sake.” He rolled his eyes and began to jog after Patricia.
Horace started to run, then yelped as the Storm Lord picked him up. The world went sideways as he flopped across the Storm Lord’s shoulders.
“Put me down, you asshole!” Horace cried, forgetting his caution about power. Every running step drove the Storm Lord’s shoulders into Horace’s ribs and pelvis, and his head bounced around, guaranteeing a horrid neckache to come. He had to shut his eyes to block the nauseating scene of the lanterns bobbing ahead.
“Liam!” Horace cried out of desperation. “Please tell him to put me down!”
“Don’t want to tackle that power, sorry.”
What he had to be grouchy about, Horace didn’t know, but now was not the time to ask. “Patricia, I can run on my own!”
Either she was too far away or she didn’t care, but Horace had to endure the painful, undignified mode of travel for what seemed like an eternity. When they finally stopped and the Storm Lord dumped him on the ground, every inch of him hurt. His legs had gone numb, and he had to fight to get to his feet. He turned to yell at Patricia, at the Storm Lord, at Liam and everyone else, but the scent of fresh air stopped him in his tracks.
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