Forgotten Ages (The Complete Series)

by Lindsay Buroker

  Tikaya grimaced in sympathy. Like her, Parkonis had not been perfect, but he had always been faithful. “How’d you end up together to start with?”

  “I was twenty, she was pretty, and our parents thought it would be a good idea.” Rias laughed ruefully. “But mostly I was twenty and she was pretty.” He waved away further discussion. “I’ll get that book.”

  “Be careful.”

  He waved an acknowledgment on his way out, and Tikaya shifted uneasily, as worried for him as for herself. Agarik had walked out, and she had not seen him since. Rias was only going to search this building, she told herself, and settled into work.

  A few moments later, Tikaya had three chalkboards lined up, all full. She listed the translations for the atoms she recognized. Also, she listed runes she remembered from the rubbings, those displaying what she now recognized as molecular structures. The elements came up surprisingly often in what she had assumed was normal writing. Perhaps the subject was always science. Or maybe these people—this race?—had a language specifically for scientific matters. The Herdoctans had a different written language for religion, so why not?

  A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped, dropping her chalk.

  “Sorry.” Rias held a book with his finger marking a page.

  “No, don’t apologize. My fault for not paying attention.” Tikaya picked up the chalk and accepted the book. She glanced at the cover. “Torture and Interrogation Methods Technical Manual?”

  Rias cleared his throat. “Yes, ah, just stick to the chapter on chemical applications.”

  “Oh, I will. I don’t want to chance upon any Turgonian brutality secrets.” Or pictures more gruesome than the bodies on the floor.

  He surveyed the chalkboards with bemusement and scraped at dried blood on the corner of one. “You know, some women wouldn’t be willing to work in a room full of corpses.”

  She had already started writing and almost missed the comment. “What?”

  Rias chuckled. “Nothing. Continue your work. I’ll stand guard.”

  • • • • •

  Tikaya straightened, wincing at the ache in her lower back. She stretched her arms toward the ceiling and shook out a cramp in her hand. Midnight had to be near, maybe past. Her stomach growled. Fatigue numbed her brain, and her mouth battled unsuccessfully against yawns. Even if the lighting had been better, her notes and the symbols on the device would have blurred and swam before her bleary eyes.

  Rias stood guard by the door, checking the hallway from time to time, but mostly staying silent and letting her work.

  A scream raced down the street below the hill. What if she translated the writing too late? After the entire team killed each other? She eyed the bodies in the corner. Rias had dragged them out of the way, muttering something about funeral pyres in the morning, but she worried about getting to morning. If enough people attacked at once, she and Rias could end up like that before dawn.

  No, she decided, watching him standing with his ear cocked. Despite the hour, he was alert, rifle across his arms, hand on the stock, finger near the trigger. Not tense but relaxed and ready. She imagined he could fight off superior odds for a long time, but he would not want to do so. He’d be shooting his own people, the very men they were supposed to help later on.

  Rias saw her watching him and lifted his eyebrows.

  Tikaya felt silly to have been caught gazing at him. “I was wondering if you could get my mind off this for a moment.”

  Rias joined her. He set the rifle butt on the floor and rested his forearms across the muzzle. He surveyed her, and she felt a self-conscious twinge. No doubt she had strands of hair sticking out in all directions and dark smudges assailing her eyes. And her baggy Turgonian uniform and parka did not flatter her form under any circumstances.

  “A question.” Rias’s gaze rested on a chalkboard, though he did not seem to focus on anything. “If someone from Kyatt were to decide to marry a Turgonian, would they be allowed to live on your island?”

  Tikaya was not sure what she had expected him to ask, but that was not it. “That wasn’t a marriage proposal, was it?”

  He coughed. “No, no, just hypothetical. If it were a proposal…” He offered his half smile. “There’d be soft music, excellent food, romantic ambiance…” He tilted his head toward the corner. “Fewer corpses.”

  “Ah, I wasn’t sure how they did it in the empire. Given your people’s reputation, I thought bloodshed and mangled bodies might be standard at social gatherings.”

  “Bloodshed perhaps.”

  Rias watched her, waiting for an answer to his question, she realized.

  “The Kyatt Islands are major trade ports and learning centers, and we have numerous foreigners living there, either temporarily or permanently,” Tikaya said. “I can think of numerous Turgonians who studied at the Polytechnic over the years. And there have been cases of foreigners marrying natives and staying on the islands.”

  “Turgonian foreigners?”

  “Well, you would have been more welcome before your people tried to take over the islands.” She smiled, but no humor lightened his expression. “The president might ask you to leave if he found out you were among those sinking our ships and slinging cannon balls at our harbor, but if you said you didn’t take part in the war, I’m sure you’d be allowed to stay.”

  “So.” Rias laid the rifle across his shoulders and draped his forearms over the ends, reminiscent of a man in a pillory. “Refuge, if one was willing to lie for the rest of one’s life.”

  “Or just dodge questions about one’s name and one’s past. You’re good at that.”

  She had not meant the statement to sound accusatory, but he flinched.

  “Listen,” Tikaya said, “I don’t mean to insult you, but whatever you did, or whoever you are to those marines, you’re probably less important than you think to the rest of the world. Chances are my people have never heard of you.”

  “Oh?” Leave it to the Turgonians: he looked faintly offended.

  “You could tell me your name—” Tikaya wriggled her eyebrows suggestively, “—and then I could let you know whether or not you’d be welcome on my island.”

  She thought he might remind her that his original question had been hypothetical and that he was not asking about his own future, just some imaginary person’s. He did not. He took a deep breath. “You’re right. I don’t know if we’re going to survive the next couple weeks and, even if we do, I’m guessing Bocrest has orders to make me disappear afterward, but either way it’s not honorable of me to keep truths from you. I—”

  Glass shattered.

  Tikaya whirled, grabbing the heavy book as if she could use it as a shield. A shadow moved at the window. Something long and small slid between the boards and rolled onto the floor. Flame spit and hissed on the end of a string. Not a string, a fuse.

  Rias yanked her off her feet. The furniture blurred past as Rias leaped over it, arm clenched around her waist. He landed in the dark hallway, and shadows swallowed them.

  He sprinted but only made it three steps before the explosion tore away the darkness. A great boom roared, and a concussion pounded Tikaya’s back, ripping her away from Rias.

  The wall filled her vision. She tried to bring her arms up to protect her head, but she crashed first. Something popped in her shoulder and agony seared her body. The book dropped from her hands. She landed on the floor, which sent a second jolt of pain rocking through her. She gasped, trying to stifle cries, not sure who might be nearby.

  A door at the end of the hall opened, and lights swam in the darkness. Tears blurred Tikaya’s vision. She gritted her teeth and blinked them away. Half a dozen men raced into the hall, lanterns swinging, swords and pistols waving.

  The door at the opposite end flung open. They were surrounded.

  Tikaya staggered to her feet. Her shoulder flamed with pain. She gasped and braced herself against the wall. Next to her, a shot cracked with a flash of orange flaring from Rias’s ri
fle.

  “There she is!” someone shouted, voice ragged and rough, almost inhuman. “Give us the woman!”

  “This way,” Rias whispered.

  She grabbed the book and ran into a room after him. A return shot echoed through the hall behind them.

  “Don’t shoot us, you idgeets!” came a cry from the opposite end.

  Rias shut the door. A hint of starlight came through the window, but darkness reigned inside.

  “They sound drunk,” Tikaya said, words broken as she gritted her teeth through the pain.

  “Where are you hurt?” Rias snapped the lock, and furniture scraped as he shoved something in front of the door.

  An image of the dead men in the other office invaded Tikaya’s mind. They had been trapped in a room, and this was exactly what they had done. It had not worked.

  “Dislocated shoulder,” she said.

  “Let me see—feel—it.”

  “Don’t worry…about me. I’ll—”

  But he was already sliding her parka off. She clenched her teeth, trying not to whimper.

  Footsteps thundered down the hall, and light slipped under the crack in the door.

  “Which room?” someone barked.

  Rias unbuttoned her uniform jacket and probed her shoulder. “Bite down,” he whispered, putting something wooden in her mouth. Knife handle, she guessed. It was smooth and hard. He gripped her arm and shoulder, then jerked with one powerful motion.

  Agony erupted. Tikaya clenched her teeth on the handle, panting to keep from crying out. Blackness encroached on her vision, and her legs gave way. Rias caught her and held her gently.

  “You hear something?” someone asked.

  “That room.”

  “No, that one!”

  “It’s whichever one’s locked, you halfwits.”

  “Sorry,” Rias whispered, cupping the back of her head. He leaned his forehead against hers, and even in the darkness she sensed his distress over hurting her.

  “Not your fault,” she said.

  Someone rattled the doorknob.

  Tikaya found the strength to stand again. Already the pain was fading to a manageable ache.

  “I’m ready,” she whispered.

  “Strong lady.” Rias squeezed her good arm before pressing a pistol into her hand. “Back corner. Find something to crouch behind, but stay where you can aim at the door. If they get past me, shoot them. Here, take this too.” He loaded her up with the second pistol, a powder flask, and an ammo pouch.

  “Shoot to kill?”

  He hesitated. “Do what you have to do to stay alive.”

  She nodded, then, realizing he would not see it, added, “I understand.”

  Someone pounded on their door. “They’re in here!”

  Tikaya set the book on a chair and slid behind a cabinet where she could see the window and the entrance. She gripped the pistol. At least the wall had been considerate enough to mangle her left shoulder instead of her right. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, the blasting stick will have destroyed the device, and everyone will return to normal any second.”

  “Maybe.” Rias’s tone made the possibility sound unlikely, and Tikaya wondered if he had seen explosives used on the strange technology before.

  More pounding—louder pounding—hammered the wood, and something snapped. A crack of light appeared, but the desk kept the door from opening wide. Rias waited in the wall’s shadows.

  She glanced toward the window, wondering if they could escape that way. Lantern light danced past—men were out there, too, perhaps counting rooms to figure out which office she and Rias occupied.

  The door opened wider, and the slash of light broadened, illuminating the corner of the desk and a coatrack.

  A rifle barrel slid through the gap.

  Tikaya tensed, expecting Rias to shoot first. Despite the chill, sweat dampened her hands.

  The rifle slid in farther, and Rias burst into motion. He grabbed the barrel, yanked it into the room, and slashed upward with his cutlass. The attacker yelped in surprise and pain, releasing the weapon. Rias planted a foot, thrust the other man back, and slammed the door shut.

  “One man disarmed, seven to go.” He shoved the desk against the frame again.

  Muffled voices came through the door—the sound of people plotting. The next attack would not be so easy to thwart.

  “There are men milling around outside too,” Tikaya said.

  “You think I don’t know that?” Rias snapped.

  She stared at him, startled. He had never so much as looked crossly at her. Then she remembered: “I guess the protection from whatever the artifact is putting out was limited to that room.”

  After a silent beat, Rias said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It’s like before; something’s making it hard to keep my equanimity.”

  “Your breakdown is a lot less disturbing than that of most of your countrymen.”

  He grunted.

  “I feel it too,” Tikaya said. “It’s nothing you can see, nothing you smell or feel. Maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way. Like a, well, like a philologist. But maybe I don’t need to translate the writing on the bottom in order to cut the device off. If we can guess what its purpose is, maybe we can switch it to another purpose, something less troublesome. It has all those options you can put in—doesn’t that imply you ought to be able to get more than one thing out?”

  “What could it be putting out that would affect us mentally? It’s nothing we’ve seen or heard or smelled.”

  “An odorless gas?” Tikaya guessed.

  “Ah, being disseminated through that pipe, perhaps?”

  “It’d have to be something invisible but heavy enough to float down and blanket the town. Something designed to irritate people, to outright anger them, even make—”

  A shot fired.

  Tikaya jerked her head up in time to see Rias slam the door shut again. The scent of black powder tainted the air.

  “Only two in the hallway now,” Rias said. “They’ve either lost interest or they’re going to try another way in.”

  “We have to get back to the device,” Tikaya said. “If we punch in another gas, maybe it’ll change the output. Something innocuous that won’t hurt anyone.”

  Thumps continued at the door, probably more for the purpose of distracting Tikaya and Rias than getting in. The lanterns previously visible through the window had disappeared, which made her think the marines had stopped planning and were now engaged in that plan. She shifted her stance, readying herself to fire toward the window if necessary. The last thing she wanted was to dodge another blasting stick.

  “Innocuous gases,” Rias said. “Oxygen? Hydrogen?”

  “We tried those, albeit on accident. And you pressed in water, which should be deliverable as a vapor. Except the device didn’t like any of those.” Tikaya groaned. “Maybe my guess is completely wrong.”

  “Or maybe the machine is only designed to create synthetic or organic compounds,” Rias said. “Though I don’t know any molecular structures that might qualify. Do you?”

  “No, but maybe there’s something in your book.” She tapped it with the pistol butt.

  “There aren’t many innocuous somethings in that book.”

  “I know it’s a long shot, but—wait, no. When your people captured me, they knocked me out with something sweet-smelling in a rag. When I breathed in, I passed out. Do you know what that was? Would it be in there?”

  Rias shifted away from the door. “Chloroform. Yes.”

  The thuds stopped.

  “Let’s try it.” Tikaya had a feeling it would be better to find a light and check the book in a different room. “Can we get down the hall?”

  Rias cracked the door. A rifle fired, and the ball smashed into the frame, hurling wood splinters. He closed the door.

  “Not at this time.”

  Tikaya snorted. She pressed her nose to the icy glass window panes. At the edge of her view, shadows and lanter
ns moved.

  “Not this way either,” she said. “Unless we can—oh!”

  “What?”

  “Maybe nothing, but Agarik and I had to shove our way into the room with the artifact. The window was boarded, the door barricaded, so whoever killed all those men must have come in through—”

  “Attic,” Rias said. “There must be space to move around up there. Watch the door.” He hopped onto the desk and thumped the ceiling. Wood scraped against wood. “Here.”

  Outside, the lanterns headed toward their window.

  “I need help up.” Annoyed to be a burden, Tikaya stuffed the pistol in her pants and joined him, book clutched against her chest. “I don’t think I can lift my arm over—”

  Still standing on the desk, Rias caught her by the waist and lifted her over his head as if she weighed nothing. Blackness waited above, though an icy draft touched her cheek. That meant a way out. She hoped.

  “Hurry,” Rias said, giving her a final boost.

  Tikaya scrambled into the dark attic. Even with his help, she came down on her shoulder and had to stifle a curse. When she tried to stand, she bumped her head on a beam.

  Below, glass shattered.

  “Rias?” She started to lean over to check on him.

  He jumped through and a thud sounded—his head hitting the ceiling—but he did not pause to acknowledge it.

  “Go, go!” he barked, pushing her ahead of him.

  Half running, half bear-crawling, Tikaya maneuvered past beams and supports.

  Light flashed and an explosion rippled through the floorboards beneath her. The force sent her crashing into Rias, and they went down in a tumble.

  “Ooph,” he grunted, voice sounding odd.

  Then her mind caught up to the situation. Rias had been behind her, not in front of her.

  Tikaya tried to jump back, but the man grabbed her. She dropped the book. His grip kept her from reaching for the pistol. He unshuttered a lantern, illuminating beams, trusses, and his snarling face. One of the marines.

  “Got her!” he yelled.

  Rias charged past Tikaya and tackled the man. The lantern flew free. In a lucky lunge, she caught it before it hit the floor and went out. Though her shoulder protested, she held it with her left hand and yanked the pistol free with her right.