Shield and Crocus

by Michael R. Underwood

  That had elicited a smile from me. She’s starting to get it. I just hope she lives long enough to come into her full potential.

  By the time the night was over, the building was in ruins, the cages shattered into a surreal jungle-gym several stories tall. Thousands of Freithin had broken into smaller groups, heading out to safehouses and the homes of Shield-bearers. We’d spent months preparing the space but it’d be months more before we could get them settled into homes in other districts, outside of Medai’s domain.

  We hoped that the other tyrants would rejoice at Medai’s loss and refuse to help him reclaim the errant Freithin. Leaving them free would mean more heads for them to tax and cheap (but not free) labor for their industry. In this city, one thing you could always count on was the tyrants’ greed.

  Three thousand more taxpayers were out in the city now, and hopefully, some fraction of them would become Shield-bearers, maybe even a Shield or two. The city was one step closer to being free.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  First Sentinel

  For several moments, the steady rhythm of turning wheels was the only sound in the train. Nevri regarded the Shields with an inscrutable smile. First Sentinel was very aware of the four Freithin looming tall in the train-car.

  Let’s see if we can’t get some more information before I rid the city of the woman responsible for its fall.

  According to Ghost Hands, Sapphire and Blurred Fists stood ready in the car behind them. Ghost Hands herself and Sabreslate were waiting at the checkpoint ahead. We’re as prepared as we can be. It’s time to see who has the better contingency plan.

  First Sentinel started in on the gangster, trying to moderate his tone. He failed. “I think you forgot to mention something about the explosive you gave us. A Soulburner?”

  Her face didn’t so much as twitch. “Oh, that. You’re welcome. After all, it was the only thing guaranteed to destroy the Rebirth engine. And according to my records, that neighborhood gives your group a lot of trouble. Highest rate of Spark-storms, highest incidence of Spark-touched converted to the Smiling King’s army. Consider it a bonus for services rendered.”

  Leaning forward his seat, First Sentinel gave her the same look that had broken the resolve of a thousand criminals. “Your ‘bonus’ cost hundreds of lives.”

  Nevri leaned back—only a finger’s span—but for First Sentinel, every bit of it was delicious. He saw flecks of yellow fear appear in the coppery-red thread tying her heart to his own. I’m getting to her. he restrained the urge to recite the names of his dead friends, shove the names of the dead in her face. But he had to wait just a little longer. The checkpoint was coming soon. It would have been impossible to secret all six of them into the train at once. But this way, they’d all be there to see Nevri’s end.

  Nevri lifted a briefcase to her lap. “Despite your refusal to follow the schedule, I intend to hold up my end of the bargain,” she said, changing the subject. First Sentinel suspected that the money might be booby-trapped, but didn’t care. His eyes never left the Plutocrat.

  First Sentinel leaned forward, going through the motions to take the briefcase at her feet. Not long, now.

  She held up the suitcase, her hands full and her attention down on the lock.

  They weren’t to the checkpoint yet. Another minute.

  It has to be now. There may never be a better moment.

  First Sentinel leapt across the gap and closed his hands around her throat. His face went wild, eyes burning with fury as he squeezed her windpipe closed with his shock gloves. Aegis intercepted two of the guards as they closed on the pair. First Sentinel’s bracelet glowed with alarm and he heard the rear door break open. That’ll be Sapphire. his backup would be in here in an instant, and then it would be four Shields against four Freithin thugs and one helpless tyrant.

  First Sentinel growled, “You won’t get away this time. Not like you got away with your gang’s crime sprees, not like you got away with buying yourself a Senate seat, not like you got away with burning the Senate house down and seizing the city and inviting monsters into my home.

  “Not. This. Time.”

  And then, a dozen illusions dropped at once. The train-car filled with bodyguards of all races.

  Still not enough. City Mother, give me the strength to destroy the woman who corrupted your legacy. Let me avenge you, even if it be the last thing I do.

  A thick hand grabbed First Sentinel’s arm, ripping him away from Nevri. First Sentinel lashed out with his foot, aiming for his assailant’s knee. The kneecap shattered, and First Sentinel reasserted his hold, pressing harder. The gangster tore at his grip, but she’d never been a physical contender. She had people for that.

  First Sentinel rocked forward into a head butt, ramming his forehead into Nevri’s nose. Dazed, her pawing stopped for a moment. He glanced side to side to read the scene.

  A Qava raised a hand toward him. First Sentinel pulled the stunned Nevri off her seat and they dropped to the floor. He felt her still breathing, but barely.

  The telekinetic blast went over his head, ripping the train-car door off its hinges. There was a cry of pain from outside, and then the door disappeared to one side as Sapphire finished squeezing her way into the car. Air rushed in, pulling at his coat.

  Sapphire grabbed the kneecapped attacker and threw him head-first through the rear wall of the train-car. She was a whirlwind of destruction let loose on the subway. First Sentinel crawled toward the Freithin, still holding his grip on the gangster-tyrant, who had started fighting again, kicking out at him with stiletto heels. He crawled to Sapphire’s feet as she jumped over him, tackling two of Nevri’s Freithin bodyguards. Aegis was being buried beneath a pile of bodyguards, but he kept them off of First Sentinel and his objective.

  Just a little longer, he pleaded. He could feel Sabreslate and Ghost Hands with them, too, and Blurred Fists’ hands hammering away somewhere behind him. They were all here, all witness to her end.

  Sapphire caught a sprinting Pronai across the neck with a clothesline, sending him spinning up and into a vertical pole. She hit a Qava over the head with an elbow, and First Sentinel heard something crack.

  Blurred Fists had already snuck his way in, dodging between the bodies until he was intercepted by two other Pronai. They chased one another around the train-car through the tiny amounts of space not occupied by fighting bodies. The train-car went red from spattered blood and blurred motion.

  First Sentinel took several stray shots, to the head, ribs, and hips, several incidental and one heavy. One of Nevri’s guards stomped down on his right heel and he felt the ligaments tear and snap as his foot hyper-extended.

  He screamed the name of dead friends, letting out the rage and the pain. He curled his foot up instinctively, but kept squeezing, continuing his litany, all the lives Nevri had snuffed out to get to him.

  Nevri was out, but not gone.

  Hold on, old man. Don’t stop now.

  Another shot to the head and his vision exploded. But he didn’t have to see, just feel. He didn’t need to see to know his knuckles had gone white. They twitched, the muscles spasming and threatening to give way, quit before the job was done.

  A dull blow to the shoulder sent him end over end and the two slammed into the base of a seat. But First Sentinel didn’t let go, not until someone kicked him in the solar plexus with a steel-tipped boot.

  He sprawled, gasping. Damnable. Weak old man, can’t even do this one thing. Through strained eyes, First Sentinel saw a blue fist incoming. Decades-trained reflexes pulled him to the side and the fist glanced off his temple. First Sentinel raised his arms to defend, keeping his hip braced against Nevri for reference. He tried to sit up, but pain in his hip dropped him to the ground.

  First Sentinel was two men at once as he fought. One was Wonlar Gonyu Pacsa: the beaten and broken old man, barely able to move; the other was First Sentinel: the veteran hero, acting on trained reflexes and refined instinct. The part of him that was First Senti
nel kept old Man Wonlar alive and he continued fighting. End this now.

  First Sentinel grabbed the boot as it came down again, and twisted, pulling the attacker off their feet. The booted attacker and the Shield were a jumble, scrambling on the train-car floor. First Sentinel held one hand up with a shock glove to defend while the other slipped into a leather pouch.

  His voice called out, “white on one!” First Sentinel popped the flash-stone a moment later, hoping his team had reacted fast enough. He closed his eyes, but was still blinded by the point-blank visual overload.

  Satisfied that the flash-stone would incapacitate the booted guard, First Sentinel flipped around on his side, lading on his bad hip and screaming as he searched for Nevri’s neck. Seat, wall, shoulder, there. his hands found purchase, but didn’t feel a pulse. Nothing. He held his hands in place for another half-minute, continuing pressure, but there was no pulse against his hand.

  It’s done. The first tyrant to rise is the first to fall and it’s all worth it. he could die now and go happily to the arms of the City Mother.

  First Sentinel’s sight returned. Nevri’s lifeless body slumped in the corner of the train-car as the train rolled on somewhere south of collar’s corner. Before he could stand, he took another shot to the ribs and pain broke his reverie. The veteran part of him kept fighting, lashing out with his good foot and pushing the assailant back.

  “Fade!” First Sentinel croaked, giving the order to retreat. The train-car emptied in an instant. Blurred Fists was gone as soon as he spoke. Sapphire grabbed two Freithin guards, kicked open a door and dragged the three of them out of the train-car into the open air above the city.

  First Sentinel pulled himself to the open doorway, looking to the skyline outside. He had strength enough left to bring up the grappling gun and land a line. Then Aegis was with him, wrapping his arms around the old Shield. The two of them rolled off the side of the narrow platform between the train-cars and dropped to the end of the rope as gracefully as a toddler falling on his face.

  First Sentinel wrestled with his son to be on the bottom, and his legs dragged on the street as they landed, tearing his pants and painting the streets with streaks of orange blood.

  He recalled the grappling line and rolled a dozen times across the street, losing hold of Aegis.

  Pain swallowed him as he stopped; overwhelming the push adrenaline had given him. He laid on the street a broken pile of bone and muscle. The gray sky darkened to black and he felt the end coming on.

  It was worth it. City Mother, watch over my son, and he will watch over You.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Interlude—The Madman

  It was dark in his room, the way he liked it during daytime, when he slept and plotted and played. There was one red-tinted light in the corner, by the door, where they came and told him things, where they brought the new playthings and took them away when he was done with them, bored, or satisfied.

  The Smiling King looked over to the bed, where the new playthings were struggling against their bonds. He had them bring two after the beautiful machine was destroyed.

  Those monsters, inhuman, foolish, and near-sighted, why didn’t they understand what he was trying to do? To free them all from the limitations of the flesh, let their spirits erupt from their bodies and dance with the beautiful storms.

  The storms. He wanted a storm, yearned for it, to feel the change lick at his skin like the tides, caressed like a lover. Before the beautiful machine, the storms came to him so rarely, so few chances to add to the family. And now they’ve taken it from me, those monsters! he’d string them up in his tapestry; make them eager participants in his art.

  They squirmed again. The playthings, not the criminals. They were not playthings yet, not this kind, just the playmates that sometimes cheated and broke the rules and broke his heart and left him to cry for days and days in the room, when he sent them all away, and the playthings, too.

  But today, today he wouldn’t let them ruin his joy, his art. These two were beautiful, a brother and sister, plucked from a brothel. The boy’s wide eyes were like caramel, his skin like a blooming flower, soft but supple, struggling in the ropes like they were a summer wind. And she was like a little doll, sharp features and ravendark hair. Clumps of that gorgeous hair were spread across the bed, the scissors from his last game set on the bedside table. She was crying, they were both crying, their mouths bound.

  They’re so close, almost ready. Ready for Rebirth. “now, my dears, it’s time for another game. The winner will be the first to be Reborn. A new life and new joys, a part of my grand cast of players.”

  He strolled over to the bed, jumped on top and bounced before reaching over to their gags. The boy turned his head. He’s shy, the poor thing. Not for much longer.

  The Smiling King removed the cloth from the girl, tapped her button nose with his finger, and then turned to caress the boy’s beautiful jawline while he twitched. Still shy. he removed the boy’s gag, and the plaything started to plead.

  “Just let us go, please let us go, we didn’t do anything wrong.”

  The Smiling King dug his fingers into the boy, strong but supple flesh yielding to his touch. “We have a winner.” he felt the change ripple through him, tickling him up and down. The Smiling King squirmed and laughed, letting the change flow out into his new friend. The boy’s skin darkened from yellow to dark, dark blue, midnight blue like bonnets in the nighttime, friends of the moon with its silver light and his eyes turned silver too, little moons wide.

  He’s still afraid, poor thing. “don’t be scared. Let yourself be Reborn.” The boy’s skin hardened, then cracked, patterns spreading across his skin like the dirt of a desert thirsty for rain. His bonds broke with his newfound strength, and the boy fell forward into the Smiling King’s embrace.

  He held the boy close, cooed to him and stoked his hair as the Rebirth continued. The boy’s nose ballooned and popped, revealing a bare nasal cavity. His sister was screaming too, a discordant harmony between them separated by octaves and the Smiling King reminded himself to keep them together. They make such wondrous music together. The boy’s screams modulated, shifted in pitch and tone, from fear and horror to exultation.

  The Smiling King burst with excitement. “Yes, yes, yes! That’s it! Embrace it!” The boy’s skin shifted color again, turned white by the ivory sheets, yellow by the Smiling King’s skin. The boy wasn’t resisting anymore, his hands clutched to the Smiling King like a needy baby. He was Reborn into his new life, a blank canvas waiting to be turned into a part of the great tapestry. The Smiling King smothered the boy with a sloppy kiss, and then whispered in his ear.

  “Welcome to my family.” he left his newborn child squirming with joy on the bed, and turned to the girl, her face stained with tears, screaming her brother’s old name.

  “Please don’t, let me go, I don’t want to change.”

  The Smiling King brought a finger to her lips, silencing her screams. He reached inside himself and brought up the rush of the change, reaching out with both hands for her pretty doll face.

  “Hush. It’s your turn now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Aegis

  They waited in the safehouse for two days. Two days of surgery and pacing and hushed talking. Two days of uproar and chaos on the streets. Aegis was nowhere to be found in the city during the chaos, because Selweh spent every waking moment at his father’s side.

  He’d studied every inch of the safehouse’s four walls over the hours, committed it to memory alongside blueprints of warehouses and the indelible memory of his old home.

  The safehouse was somewhere between the size of a large closet and a small apartment. It had one room and a beaten old bed that had smelled like a grandmother, and had started to smell like near-dead Ikanollo, stained with sweat and blood and fading hope. There were no windows, no decorations but the bare wooden walls that splintered every few inches.

  He stood in the same place he’d stood for t
he majority of two days, at the foot of the bed, looking at the sleeping form of his bandaged and beaten father.

  Wake up, Dad. You’re not done here. I need you , he repeated for the thousandth time, willing his father to recover, to wake up and lead the fight.

  He kept hoping that Wonlar would wake up, emerge from the sleep that scared Selweh more each hour. He whispered the hundredth prayer of the day and then started changing his father’s bandages, starting from the broken ankle and working his way up to the probable concussion. Finally, Selweh wrapped another length of gauze around his father’s shaved head.

  Don’t you leave me. Not now, not ever.

  There was a knock at the door, and Selweh perked up, his hand finding the club he’d stuck into his belt. Then the knock finished—three quick raps and then one hollow pound. It’s Rova.

  Selweh set down the club, laid his father’s head on the soaked pillow, and walked to the door. Remember to get ask Mehgi for another pillow, or at least a clean set of sheets. The apartment was hers, since she was the Shield-bearer nearest to the street where they’d crashed after the fight in the train-car.

  They were lucky she had a spare room set aside for emergencies. His father had lost a lot of blood, and they’d been able to get Dr. Acci over within half an hour. Father’s web of contingency plans comes through again.

  Selweh saw Rova only as a silhouette, backlit by the naked bulb hanging from the hall ceiling. But the shining jade thread winding hopefully towards him couldn’t be mistaken. The constant reminder of her feelings, the feelings he couldn’t return, not yet. The mission needed all of his attention if the city was to be free in time to save his father from a bloody grave.