by Clayton Wood
A bolt of fear shot through him.
“Vi?”
Hunter slapped her face again, but she didn’t respond.
“Come on, Vi,” he urged, slapping harder. He shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. “No Vi, no,” he pleaded. “Don’t do this to me!”
It was only then that he saw the large dent in her skull, covered by the glowing gel.
“Oh god,” he mumbled, tears flowing down his cheeks. “Oh god no. Not you too, Vi. Not you!”
He put a hand on her cheek, feeling the warmth there. Surprisingly warm; she must have just passed.
“Come on Vi,” he pleaded, shaking his head. “I need you.”
He stared at her, wiping the tears from his eyes, waiting. Hoping beyond hope that she would come back to him. That everything would be okay.
She lay there, unmoving in the grass. Gone.
He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her, but it was no use. He stared down at her, at those exotic eyes. At her lips, so often curled into a smirk, but now set in a straight line, parted slightly.
Dead.
At length he sighed, leaning forward and kissing her forehead.
“I love you,” he whispered.
And it was true. In the vacuum left when his mother left so many years ago, he’d dreamed of what it would be like to have her back. To have a mother again. And in the brief time that he’d been with her, Vi had been that for him. A mother, a sister…his best friend. He’d never allowed himself to care about anyone like he’d cared about her. Not his father, not even his friends. He’d never seen the point, after all…not after Mom had died. Never wanted to care about someone enough for them to hurt him when they inevitably left him.
And now she, and his real mother, were dead.
He closed his eyes, lowering his forehead to hers, not caring as the warm gel covering it touched his skin.
A flash of light appeared in his mind’s eye, and a bolt of anger and fear. Pain in his left arm, in his belly…and an image of a man standing above him, smirking at him.
Traven.
He saw a hammer swinging toward his head, and then felt a flash of excruciating pain…and then darkness.
Hunter jerked his head away, staring at Vi’s lifeless body.
How the hell?
He hesitated, then lowered his forehead to hers again, closing his eyes. Again he saw Traven’s face in his mind’s eye, knew that the Seeker was going to kill him. No, not him…her. She knew too much, after all. The Seekers had been wanting to kill her ever since…
Hunter pulled away, feeling a chill run down his spine. He recalled the day after Vi had saved him, when they’d gone back to the broken-down carriage. How he’d touched one of its wheels, feeling the fear it had absorbed. And how he’d imagined himself sitting in the carriage when it was attacked, hurtling sidelong into the door as the carriage tipped over.
I wasn’t imagining it, he realized. It’d been someone’s memory, absorbed by the carriage. He remembered Vi’s lessons, what she’d said about absorbing traits.
A few people in the past could even absorb memories.
He closed his eyes, seeing Traven standing over him. Over Vi. He felt her fear as if it was his own, the terror as that horrible hammer swung down toward her head.
Traven!
He stood then, turning around to where he’d seen Traven standing in his vision, spotting footprints there. He tracked them, just as Vi had taught him, seeing them extending off across the shore, toward the tree line. He recalled the anger he’d felt as Traven had attacked, the sense of betrayal.
Traven killed her!
Rage burned within him, and he broke out into a run, following the footprints toward the tree line. He reached the trees, weaving around them, his eyes on the ground, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew without a doubt that the Seekers had ordered her death, although how he knew this, he had no idea.
The footprints went deeper into the forest, and he followed them quickly, feeling something trickling down his forehead. He wiped it, seeing glowing fluid on his hand. He wiped it off on his pants, jogging ever forward. Minutes passed, then what felt like an hour, but he didn’t slow, even as his legs started to burn. The image of Traven’s smirking face, the feeling of fear and anger as the man’s hammer descended…
His grit his teeth, going faster.
Eventually he saw the King’s Road in the distance through the trees, maybe a half-mile away…and two men walking toward it. A tall man and a shorter man, warhammers on their backs. Hunter picked up his pace, grabbing his bow from his back and an arrow from his quiver. He slowed, then stopped, aiming carefully, then firing.
The arrow whizzed through the air, passing just over Traven’s left shoulder.
Damn!
He grabbed another arrow, seeing Traven turn, then look backward. Traven’s eyes widened, and he and Edgar broke out into a run. Hunter aimed, letting fly with another arrow. It arced through the air toward Traven, even as Hunter started running forward again.
Traven fell, slamming face-first into the ground.
The man cried out, and Edgar slowed, glancing back at his fallen comrade. Then he continued forward, sprinting toward the King’s Road in the distance.
“Son of a…!” Traven shouted, scrambling to his feet and limping after Edgar. Hunter pumped his legs hard, grabbing another arrow, then stopping to fire at Edgar’s retreating form. The arrow struck the man in the shoulder, nearly toppling him. But Edgar kept his balance somehow, running toward the ladder rising up the side of the King’s Road, leading to the carriage waiting twenty feet above.
Hunter aimed again, shooting another arrow at the man. But it went too low, slamming into the ground a few feet from him. Edgar reached the ladder, climbing upward frantically.
“You bastard!” Hunter shouted, reaching for another arrow. But there were none left…he’d shot the last one. Edgar reached the top of the ladder, vanishing into the carriage.
Damn it!
“Hey!” Traven yelled after the carriage as it rolled away, waving his arms wildly. “Hey!”
Hunter stared at the departing carriage, then saw Traven – about fifty feet away – turn to face him. He put his bow away, unsheathing his sword. Cold fury burned within him.
“Hey asshole,” he greeted, striding toward the man. Traven turned to face him, his eyes widening. The Seeker drew his own sword, leaning his weight on his good leg.
“Vi said you were dead,” Traven accused, pointing his sword at Hunter. “Wouldn’t want to make a liar out of her.”
Hunter lunged at Traven, thrusting his sword at the man’s chest. Traven dodged to the side, batting Hunter’s sword away and countering with a slash at his face. Hunter barely dodged in time, backpedaling rapidly.
“Careful boy,” Traven sneered. “You’re fighting a real Seeker now.”
Traven lunged forward, slashing at Hunter’s neck. Hunter blocked the blow, but Traven attacked again, thrusting at his chest. Hunter leapt to the side, the blade barely missing him. He slashed back at the Seeker, but Traven blocked his attack easily, ducking down and swinging at Hunter’s legs. Hunter backed away, but too late; he felt a sharp sting as the man’s blade sliced his thigh.
“You’re slow,” Traven observed, lowering his sword and smirking at him. “That bitch didn’t teach you much, did she?”
“Shut up,” Hunter growled, backing away. He glanced down at his thigh; there was a cut in his pants. Blood poured down his leg from a small, gaping wound there.
“Why don’t you try shutting me up?” Traven retorted. “Come on, show me what you got boy.” But he lunged forward right as he finished speaking, attacking again with another series of blows. Hunter backpedaled, barely blocking the flurry of attacks. Then he felt a sharp pain in his injured thigh as Traven’s blade nicked it again.
“Damn it!” Hunter swore, limping backward. There was another gaping wound in his thigh, right below the first one. Traven smirked, shaking his head.
“Damn boy, you just take it,” he observed, leaning his weight on his good leg. “Just like Vi did before I finished her off.” He grinned then. “I don’t wanna get into details, but if you ask me, I think she liked it.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Hunter retorted.
“Guess you could say I pounded her twice,” Traven quipped, his grin widening.
“Shut up!” Hunter shouted, lunging at him. He slashed furiously at Traven, but the man blocked, their swords ringing as they clashed. Hunter swung again, and Traven dodged out of the way, kicking Hunter in the thigh.
His injured thigh.
Hunter howled, falling to his knees on the ground, pain shooting through his leg. He stumbled to his feet, backing away from Traven.
“Hell, you even moan like her,” Traven said. Hunter glared at him, limping backward, his leg throbbing. He wanted nothing more than to smash the man’s face in, but he suppressed the urge, realizing that Traven was baiting him…just as Vi had done during their sparring matches.
Emotion is temporary. Action is forever.
He grit his teeth, forcing himself to calm down. He studied Traven, noting how the man was leaning on his good leg. If Hunter could injure Traven’s good leg…
“What’s the matter boy?” Traven asked. “Scared?”
Hunter ignored him, remembering what Vi had told him. He had to pay attention to what Traven was doing instead of focusing on what he wanted to do. He hesitated, then feinted, thrusting at Traven, then pulling back. Traven swung up and to the right to deflect the blow. A full swing; he didn’t pull it back.
Interesting.
Hunter tried again, feinting with the same thrust. Again, Traven swung up and to the right.
“You are scared,” Traven observed.
Hunter kept out of range, his eyes on Traven’s. Seekers trained by absorbing traits, not by practicing like Vi. That meant everything they did was a reflex…no strategy. He either had to figure out what those reflexes were and take advantage of them, or he had to do something unique…something Traven couldn’t have developed a reflex to.
Or maybe…
He glanced down, spotting dirt and leaf litter all around him. He hesitated, then feinted again, pretending to trip as he stepped backward. He fell onto his left hand, grabbing a clump of dirt and twigs. Traven took the bait, lunging forward to attack. Hunter blocked Traven’s thrust one-handed, throwing the dirt right into the man’s eyes.
Traven swore, lurching backward, his sword hand automatically rising to cover his face.
Hunter gripped his blade in the half-swording technique Vi had taught him, then lunged forward, thrusting the tip of his blade right at Traven’s chest!
The blade bounced off harmlessly, shoving Traven backward.
Hunter backpedaled, staring at his sword, then at Traven’s chest. Traven wiped the dirt from his eyes, looking down at the small hole Hunter’s sword had made in the leather armor covering his chest. Then he reached under the neck of his shirt, pulling out a silver medallion. There was a small dent in its surface.
“Well well,” Traven stated, giving a rueful grin. “It was a nice try, I’ll give you that.” He gripped his sword two-handed, his smile fading. “Too bad. I was hoping to play with you a bit more. Now I’m just gonna have to kill-”
He lunged forward, slashing at Hunter!
Hunter blocked just in time, the force of the blow knocking his sword back, nearly throwing him off his feet. Traven attacked again, bringing his sword up high, then chopping down at Hunter’s head. Hunter barely managed to get his sword up to block it, but the blow knocked his blade out of his hands, sending it flying backward. Hunter swore, dodging out of the way of yet another strike, then turning to run. But his injured leg nearly gave out on him, and he stumbled, grimacing as pain shot through his thigh. He heard footsteps behind him.
“Time to die,” Traven growled.
Hunter spotted his sword lying in the grass next to a nearby tree, and went for it. He heard Traven curse, turned just in time to see the man limping toward him. Traven swung his sword just as Hunter reached the tree, and Hunter ducked at the last minute, feeling the wind of the blade whipping through his hair. He heard a thunk as Traven’s blade struck the tree, burying itself into the bark.
Hunter spun around, seeing Traven standing over him, his medallion hanging from his neck. The Seeker yanked at his sword, pulling it free.
Hunter grabbed Traven’s medallion with both hands, yanking backward.
Traven’s head lurched forward, his forehead slamming into the tree trunk.
Hunter lunged for his sword, grabbing it and spinning around to face Traven. The Seeker stumbled backward, a dazed look on his face.
Hunter thrust his sword right into Traven’s gut.
The blade sank into Traven’s flesh with startling ease, and the man’s eyes widened, his sword dropping from his hands. He stumbled, then fell onto his back on the forest floor, Hunter’s sword slipping out of his belly. Hunter limped forward to stand over him, glaring down at the man.
“Lucky little fucker,” Traven spat, trying to get to his feet. Hunter planted one boot on the Seeker’s wounded belly.
Traven howled.
“You murdered my friend,” Hunter accused, pointing his sword at him. “You murdered her!”
Traven grimaced, clutching at Hunter’s boot. An expanding red circle stained his leather armor.
“She was dead anyway,” he retorted, sneering at him. “I just put her out of her misery.”
Hunter ground his heel into the man’s belly. Traven cried out, then swore, shoving Hunter’s boot away.
“You’re full of shit,” Hunter shot back. “You Seekers wanted her dead all along!”
Traven glared at him.
“You’re next,” he growled. “Duke Dominus wants you dead,” he added. “Just like he wanted Vi dead. Who do you think she was working for, huh?” He smirked at Hunter. “You’re a dead man.”
“You first,” Hunter retorted, aiming the tip of his sword at the man’s heart. He paused, then flipped the sword around, gripping it by the blade with both hands. He raised it high over his head, then swung down with all of his might, aiming right for Traven’s skull.
Chapter 37
Dominus sat at his desk, shifting his weight in his wheelchair. A humiliating necessity now that his leg had failed him. It’d been comfortable enough at first, but after hours of sitting he found himself wanting nothing more than to get out of it. A symbol of his body’s failure, the rot consuming him from within. He could no longer hide his body’s betrayal, its weakness.
He sighed, staring down at the paper on his desk, a quill pen in his hand.
“Last Will & Testament,” it read.
Dominus’s gaze fell to the bottom of the page, his pen hovering over the place where he was to sign. He pressed the tip of the quill against the parchment, watching as a circle of ink appeared there. He’d chosen an heir from within the family, a man of modest talent, patriotic and of reasonably strong will. Nothing compared to Axio, but serviceable. The man would be a mediocre Duke, a placeholder for the next generation.
Dominus sighed again, then penned his signature in brisk, precise strokes. He dropped the pen in a bottle of water, then grabbed a pinch of sand from a nearby bowl, scattering it on the paper to soak up the excess ink. Then his hand began to shake.
He frowned, willing his hand to stop, but the tremors grew stronger, traveling up his arm. His whole body began to shake then, his teeth chattering, the wheelchair creaking beneath him. He grit his teeth, knowing it was futile to resist this. That it was impossible to control.
Slowly, after a few minutes, the shaking subsided.
He sat there, wiping his forehead with his hand, feeling the tremendous heat radiating from his skin. The infection was spreading, he knew. Slowly but surely, it was taking over his body.
The doctor had insisted on surgery, of course. All doctors were possessed of the idiotic compulsion to intervene, to do
something, even when there was nothing left to be done. He was dying, he knew. No doctor could save him.
It wouldn’t be long now.
He called out for Farkus, watching as his old, trusty servant walked into his study. The man bowed.
“My Duke?”
“Take me out to my gardens,” Dominus ordered.
“But of course, your Grace.”
Farkus got behind him, pulling Dominus out from behind his desk, then pushing him out of the room. Dominus was glad that it was Farkus who was pushing him; he wouldn’t have tolerated anyone else seeing him so helpless. They made their way out of the castle and into his gardens. The sun shone brightly in the sky, the warm beams feeling marvelous on Dominus’s skin. A slight breeze danced over him, bringing the sweet smell of flowers and grass. He closed his eyes, treasuring the sensation.
“I want to die out here, Farkus,” he decided. “Even if I’m no longer in my right mind. Will you do this for me?”
“I will do anything for you, your Grace.”
Dominus smiled, his eyes still closed.
“I know you will.”
He felt the wheelchair stop, and opened his eyes, spotting his beehives in the distance. He pointed at them.
“Bring me to my hives.”
Farkus wheeled him dutifully forward, until they were only a meter away from the boxes standing on their wooden platforms. The servant hesitated.
“Shall I retrieve your beekeeper uniform?” he inquired.
“No,” Dominus answered. He was no longer concerned about getting stung. The meager discomfort would pale in comparison to the pain in his leg, to the infection coursing through his blood. And he would hardly suffer any stings for long; if he didn’t die tonight, it would certainly be tomorrow. He would lose his mind eventually, succumbing to merciful delirium before the end. Even now, he felt distractible. Scattered.
He felt his arms shaking again, and grit his teeth, feeling another wave of tremors come over him. Violent, awful tremors, wracking his body. He waited for the spell to pass, sweat dripping down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He wiped it away with one hand, shaking his head. To Farkus’s credit, the servant did not ask if Dominus needed help, did not hurry away to summon a doctor. He knew Dominus too well for that. Indeed, there was likely no other man who knew Dominus the way that Farkus did. Decades of allowing the servant near him, years of having absorbed Dominus’s superior will, had made Farkus so much like his master that they understood each other implicitly.