by Taven Moore
Jinn swallowed, completely at a loss. How could she know of the Mark on his forehead? He had never shown it to her—never would have, no more than he would have disrobed in her presence. Her entreaty that he help her shot straight to his heart. What had he done?
Her eyes flitted around the room like terrified birds, here sliding past the cell door, there pausing to stare intently at a featureless wall. Finally, they lit upon Jinn again, though they did not focus on his face, instead staring through him in a way that sent gooseflesh racing down his spine.
“Arcblade. Teslasword.” Her eyes never wavered, never blinked, and her lips moved as if she were reciting pages from an encyclopedia. “Only a Shinra’ere can use it, only a Shinra’ere with the Mark, the energy, the broken soul.” Her eyes swam, and she whispered, “I don’t want to see any more.”
“Remora Windgates Price!” Jinn barked, as he might to an agoge child who was misbehaving.
Those golden eyes snapped to his face and her lips stopped moving. Jinn fought back a flinch.
“Remora, I need you to focus. Can you understand me?”
“So many pieces to the brain,” she whispered. “So complex, so intricate. A puzzle. A working broken puzzle.”
She was aware of her surroundings, but she was not herself. Surely this was temporary. Jinn lifted a hand and snapped his fingers in front of her face, forgetting for a moment about his extended claws.
The metallic tips hissed together, sparking a red, sizzling energy arc between his thumb and middle finger.
Jinn was so surprised that he stopped and stared at the hand as if it belonged to someone else. What in the name of Starbirth had that been?
Jinn snapped his fingers again, and again the red spark leaped from one claw to the next before dying.
Remora giggled as if he’d performed a party trick.
Fascinated, Jinn clapped his hands together. The resulting flash briefly lit up their small cell with red light. When the brightness subsided, a line of energy passed between his palms like a crimson spider web, restless filaments leaping between his claw tips and climbing down his fingers.
“You are an arcblade,” whispered Remora, as if it were the most wondrous thing in the world.
Please, let this be temporary, Jinn thought.
4. White Night
Jinn stared, first at the curved talons of his sparktouched claws, then to the metal door of the cell. Eyes narrowed, he walked to the door and touched the tips of his claws to the surface, dragging his hand lengthwise. Red sparks leapt hissing from the point of contact and an ear-splitting shriek filled the room.
Cringing, Jinn drew back his hand. Behind him, Remora cried out and clutched her hands to the side of her face. “Make it stop make it stop!” she cried. Snow’s furred ears pinned flat against her head as she smoothed Remora’s hair.
Jinn looked to the door. Thick gashes bit into the metal where his claws had been. He looked at his hand. The copper-dipped tips of his claws remained whole and undamaged.
His arcblade could not cut through a flat surface. An arc needed both an origination and a contact. The C-shaped blade was necessary, so that the arc could spring from one end of the C and land on the other. There was no way to apply the blade to something like a door or a wall. His sparktouched claws, it seemed, had no such limitation. Their energy originated from his fingers and dissipated into the air, wasted.
He had no idea how long his sparktouched state would last. If they were going to escape, they must make use of every moment.
He looked again at the door, frowning. Doors were made to hold things in or out—true even more so of a cell door. The metal would be reinforced, possibly even with vibranium boning. He might spend an hour cutting through the door only to learn that he could not finish the task.
Walls, on the other hand, were rarely as well constructed as doors. Vibranium wasn’t cheap. A reinforced door would be expensive. Reinforced walls would be prohibitively so, and this was a Swan-class airship, not a prisoner transport like a Buzzard. Cutting through the metal wall would not be easy, but it would be faster than the door.
Mouth set in a grim line, Jinn marched to the wall and applied his claws. The metal shrieked at the abuse, echoed by a shrill cry of pain from Remora. Jinn did not slow. He would spare her the pain if he could have. Barring that, he resolved to work quickly, thus keeping the shrillness as brief as possible.
A hand fell upon his shoulder. Pausing, he turned to see Snow gesture to Remora.
The human stared at him with horror-filled eyes, hands clapped to her ears and tears streaming down her face. A thin line of blood trickled from her nose.
Why would she bleed? It was only sound, was it not? Stricken, Jinn pulled his claws from the wall and knelt next to her. “Remora. Remora, I have stopped.”
“It hurts,” she whispered.
Jinn clenched his jaw. What was he to do? He could not simply wish them from their cell. “It is not safe here. I can cut through the walls and we can leave, but I cannot help the noise.”
Her forehead furrowed. “It hurts,” she repeated with the simple, uncomprehending logic of a hurt child.
“I am sorry,” he said, heart twisting at the shift from Remora’s normally self-assured demeanor. “The wall is the weakest place to cut.”
“No it isn’t,” Remora said.
Jinn turned his attention back to her. “What?”
“The wall is not the weakest place,” she said, rubbing her hands across her cheeks absently. Her eerie golden eyes flicked to the door. “The door is bad. Many parts. Heavy metals. Vibranium, a little.”
Jinn looked at the door. All he could see was flat metal, scored once by his claws. How could she possibly know what it was made of?
“The walls are thick. Very thick. Heavy metals some more, and then rock and then I can’t see.”
Rock? She might mean cement, or some other building stone. Jinn looked at the hollow he’d cut into the wall. How much thicker could the walls be? Could his claws even cut through rock?
Remora stood and walked to the back of the cell, caressing the metal panel of the wall as if it were a pet. “Rooms and rooms, back to back, like chocolates in a box.”
She cocked her head to the side and crouched down. “Space, so much space. Air. Nothing but air.” She shook her head, then looked at Jinn with wide eyes. “The floor is a bad idea,” she said gravely.
Jinn swallowed with difficulty. She could not possibly know those things. “Seraph,” he whispered, the word reverent on his tongue.
Remora either did not hear or chose not to. Her attention was captured by something overhead. She looked at the low ceiling and smiled. “Nobody ever looks up,” she whispered. “Everyone looks down or away, but never up. We could fly away, Jinn. Like birds.”
Jinn glanced up as well, realizing that, at least in one fashion, she was right. He had not looked up, not once since entering the room. Copper metal panels, the same as lined the walls and floors of the room, met his eyes. “It looks no different than the rest of the room, Remora.”
“It’s a trick.” She giggled. “Leaves over a pit trap. Now you see it, now you don’t. A trick, a clever trick, but not clever enough!” She looked again to the ceiling and laughed aloud. “I can see you! I am smarter than your trick, ceiling!”
Snow moved to Remora, folding the smaller girl easily into her furred embrace. “I am smarter than the ceiling,” she whispered to the dresl woman, who nodded in easy agreement. This seemed to satisfy the girl, who quieted, closing her eyes. “Too much,” she murmured into the dresl’s white fur. “I see too much.”
Jinn reached up. With effort, he could place the palms of his hands on the ceiling. Even with the near-magic of starshard cogsmithing lifting the ship, space was a premium. No soaring ceilings graced these cells.
Remora was mad, but that did not mean she was wrong. If she were right, this may be their best chance at escape.
Jinn snapped his fingers, igniting a fury of red spark
s, then applied his claws to the seam in the metal, just where Remora’s eyes had been fixed.
The claws bit into the metal just as they had the wall, and for a moment he feared setting off another episode for Remora. Mercifully, his claws sank into something just behind metal as easily as a knife into warm butter. Jinn curled his fingers and pulled. The metal peeled back like the skin of an orange. Behind it, empty space opening up into light from the upper floor.
“Thank you, Remora,” he whispered.
“Can we go now?” she replied without opening her eyes. “I don’t like this place.”
Jinn smiled, his new fangs biting into his lips at the gesture. “Yes, Remora. We can go now.”
Only a few moments later, the hole was large enough for him to hoist Snow through, then gently pass her Remora’s light frame. The girl weighed so very little. Her personality filled a room with such weight that it was easy to forget just how frail she was.
Once the others were clear, Jinn pulled himself through.
They found themselves in a long, empty hall. Jinn peered both directions, but saw neither maps nor identifying features. At any moment, they could be discovered. He was more than willing to fight, but he worried at the delay. There was a chance Remora needed medical attention.
Which way? Precious seconds ticked by. Jinn’s gaze fell on Remora, hands pressed over her eyes as if she were hiding from something.
“Remora,” Jinn said gently. “Remora, I need you to tell me which way leads to the escape pods on this ship.”
“I don’t wanna,” she answered, palms still firmly pressed against her eyelids. “I’m tired of seeing. It hurts.”
“Remora, we need your help. This is important.”
“Hurts!” she repeated, more loudly.
Jinn took a deep breath. The urge to shake her came and passed. She was not herself. To expect rationality from her was foolish.
Perhaps, then, he should appeal to her foolishness. “That is a shame, Remora. You may have been smarter than the ceiling, but I suppose you are not smarter than this hallway.”
Remora gasped in outrage, hands falling from her eyes. “I am smarter than this hallway!” she cried.
Jinn leaned back and feigned a look of sadness. “I do not believe so. If you were, you would be able to show us where the escape pods are. As a matter of fact, you could lead us right to them.”
“I can! I can show you. Just you wait. I will show you and when we get there, you will say I am smarter than this hallway.” Fiercely, Remora scanned the hallway, as if daring it to defy her.
Jinn held his breath.
“This way!” she said finally, gathering her skirts into her hands and darting down the hallway. Snow followed and Jinn took the rear, watching for any sign of guards. In a ship this size, it was unlikely they could post guards along every corridor, but it would only take a single watchman to spoil their escape. He would not be caught unawares again.
As they slipped through the shadowed corridors, Remora muttered to herself. Scattered fragments of her speech reached Jinn. “Inconceivable! No breadcrumbs, no footprints. Impossible.”
“Remora? What are you saying? Are we being followed?” Jinn glanced behind them, but saw no one.
“Not us, it’s them. The tiny sparrow, scolding the heavy Swan.” Remora looked back at him as if he were daft. “Can’t you hear it?”
“Hear what?” asked Jinn. He could hear nothing.
“Not what. Who. Ebin. Mack. Here, I can show you.”
Remora stopped at a service panel, opened the door and, without pause, reached into a dizzying array of wires and tubes. “Who designed this? Idiots.” With a spark and a sizzle, she laughed delightedly. “Ha! There. Yes.”
The speaking horns, spaced regularly throughout the corridors for emergency warnings, blared to life. As they continued toward the escape pods, Ebin’s calm voice filled the hallway. “The ship following us is not itself a threat, but it is too small to be this distance from land by itself.”
Mack’s voice, low and gravelly, replied. “A possible threat then. Part of a larger fleet, no doubt. A scout ship? No matter, it is easily handled. Prepare to fire.”
Ebin, frustrated. “With all due respect, sir, I request that we wait. If we kill them, we won’t learn anything from them. Why are they here? Who are they with? What do they hope to gain?”
“Advisement noted and rejected. This is my ship, and it is my duty to get that Shinra’ere to Bespin. All possible and perceived threats are to be neutralized.”
The ship rocked, sending Jinn, Remora, and Snow tumbling into the wall. They regained their footing just as Mack growled out, “What do you mean, we can be heard over the emergency broadcast system? Someone handle that, immediately.”
Abruptly, the voices fell silent.
They rounded the final corner, which ended in a long bay of escape pods, lined up neatly along the side of the hull. Each pod was large enough for five men—more than enough for the three of them.
Unfortunately, they were not alone.
Leaning casually against the nearest pod, the golden leopard dresl Remora had named Notch gave them a lazy smile. The dresl’s torn ear flicked in their direction and he adjusted his suspenders casually.
Jinn’s eyes narrowed, remembering the merry chase this dresl had led him on in Helion. A chase that began with the knife wound and Remora’s capture, and ended with Jinn locked in an empty warehouse. The cat would not find him such an easy foe now that he was not weakened by hunger.
Jinn’s new claws scraped against his palms, and he smiled. If the situation came down to blows, he might have one or two surprises to bring to the fight.
Notch ignored him, instead choosing to toss a crude gesture to Snow—the sort of request one might make to a streetwalker. Snow rebuffed him with a lifted chin and averted eyes, though her tail puffed out as if he’d stricken her. She was a Companion, not a streetwalker. Notch had no more chance with her than he did with a Seraph.
Notch pushed his whiskers forward in a laugh, then turned his attention to Remora, who stared wide-eyed from the protective circle of Snow’s arms. The leopard dresl knelt down, making certain the human was watching him, then carefully traced the claws of his right hand down the side of his cheek, mirroring the scabbed scratches on Remora’s face.
Jinn flushed, his ears turning a darker gray. So it had been Notch who had scored his mistress? Remora-his-employer and Remora-the-Seraph blurred in his mind and his anger flared. Any chance that this conflict might end peacefully fled his mind. He owed a debt to this cat, and he would see it paid.
“We are leaving, Notch. Step aside, or be removed by force.” Jinn said, flexing his claws.
Notch’s hands fluttered, sending a colorful combination of gestures at him.
“That is not even physically possible,” said Jinn, pleased to have gotten such an easy rise out of the cat. “I am willing, however, to kill you now.”
As he had expected, Notch laughed.
Jinn took a breath and pushed his fury aside. Battles fought in anger were lost even before they were begun.
Smoothly, the Shinra dropped into a low fighting stance. Without giving the dresl time to react, he leapt, right arm outstretched and claws wickedly curved.
Surprise crossed the cat’s face as he danced back—just as Jinn had hoped he would. Jinn smiled. Notch expected him to be as slow as he had been the last time they crossed, when he was still weak with hunger.
The lines of the battlefield had been drawn. Jinn stood squarely between the cat and the women. This fight was between the two of them, and no others.
Notch circled, trying to draw Jinn to attack. The Shinra flexed his new claws and waited. Let Notch’s patience be the first to break.
As expected, Notch snarled in frustration, then darted in for several swift blows, all of which Jinn blocked easily with his forearms. The dresl’s claws tore at his bindings, but never deep enough to draw blood.
Jinn followed the next blo
ck with an unexpected shoulder throw, sending Notch retreating back.
Instead of waiting for another attack, Jinn followed the retreat and led with his left hand, fingers held flat so that his claws formed a blade’s edge. Notch sidestepped the obvious blow, taking the opening to attack Jinn’s chest, shredding away the last of the wrappings there—precisely as Jinn had intended.
Jinn allowed Notch’s claws to dig shallow furrows into his own chest. Rather than block the blow, he swung his own arms overhead, clapping his hands together to spark a massive arc connection, just as he had done in the cell. In one smooth motion, he brought his hands down, separating them just enough to show an angry web of red energy flowing between each hand. The web sliced through the dresl’s outstretched right arm, halfway between his elbow and wrist, immediately severing the hand and cauterizing the wound.
Notch yowled, a primal sound filled with both pain and surprise. Grabbing the stub of his arm, he backed away, panting heavily. A few fat caterpillars of red energy swarmed over the aborted stump of his arm, sizzling in the dresl’s fur.
Jinn allowed the dresl his retreat, savoring the shock on the cat’s face. He drew his own claw-tipped finger down his cheek, just as Notch had done when staring at Remora earlier. “You’ll not scar anyone with that hand again, Notch,” Jinn said, his voice low and dangerous.
The dresl’s panting breath hissed as hatred filled his yellow eyes. Before, he had merely been playing. Now, Jinn could tell, the dresl would not hesitate to kill. Good. They were finally playing by the same rules.
Jinn’s fingers gave an unexpected twitch, the gesture accompanied by a dull pain. Jinn’s satisfied smile faded to a frown as his hands jerked again, then spasmed with a jolt of sharp pain from claw-tip to elbow.
Notch chose that moment to attack, darting forward and slashing with his good hand. Distracted, Jinn caught the full force of dresl claws across his chest. The slate gray of his skin puckered with a second row of furrows.
Reflexively, Jinn slashed out with his own claws. The tips barely caught on Notch’s sleeve. No damage was done to the cat, but even that brief contact sent a jolt of sharp pain up Jinn’s arms. Something was wrong.