Divine Born

by O. J. Lowe

  Monster. Evil. Cruel. Uncaring. Vile.

  All of it and more, she knew to be true. She’d been a nice girl, a good girl, one hint of adversity and she’d sold her soul to the first one to offer her anything for it. That she should end up in this predicament was not only fair but something she should have expected. Life throws obstacles at you and how you react to them determines where you end up.

  She also wanted to live more than anything, any price to pay for a few more gasps of precious air into unbroken lungs, to walk on restored limbs, to taste and to see and to hear anything beyond the silence.

  She bit down, felt the bitter taste flood through her mouth, couldn’t muster the strength to swallow. It ran down her tongue, hit the back of her throat and she felt the burn, fought the urge to cough. If she choked to death, that’d be just about the topping on the truly shitty day she’d had.

  They’d hit a stadium, Nick could see the crowds entering it from a distance and he remembered that the professional leagues had resumed under the command of Adam Evans, he’d proclaimed that Coppinger wouldn’t intimidate the sport into silence. They would go again, and the competition would be fiercer than ever it had been before. Strong words, he was trying to distance himself from the weakness Ritellia had frequently shown when it came to make important decisions that didn’t directly affect his pockets. Nick lowered his speed to almost a crawl, not letting the engines die away but neither moving to tear away. He could have slowed down miles back, he wasn’t worried about more Coppinger forces. Not after they’d routed them.

  There wasn’t another way of putting it. So many of them and they’d been kicked back by him, Frewster and Helga in record time. Frewster was unscathed, Nick himself had come out of it with nothing beyond a few scratches. Helga though…

  Not good. She’d gone pale, her skin grey and clammy, he could hear the shallow breaths rippling out of her. She was struggling, she needed medical attention. Frewster had clamped his jacket to her, trying to keep her warm. He’d closed the windows, turned the heating up to max but he could hear her teeth chattering together as she shivered.

  “It’s okay, Helga,” Frewster said. “You’ll be fine. We’ll get to a hospital, we’ll get you patched up and you’ll be better than new. A new woman.” He didn’t sound confident. Nick couldn’t entirely blame him. A bad situation, to be sure. “Because nothing but the best for my favourite.” At least he was convincing, he’d give him that. The words were strong, laced with compassion as he lay an arm around her shoulders. “You’re my favourite, you know? Always were. People came, and they went. You were always the best, you always stayed.”

  She laughed, it came out as a cough. Blood ran down her lips. “Where else would I go, huh?” Another laugh, this time they turned into wet hacks, her breathing little more than choked gasps.

  “She’s not going to make it,” Nick said, glancing back. “The time we get to the nearest hospital, it’ll be too late.” He looked out front through the windshield, towards the stadium, mentally running through his options. Most stadiums had excellent, if rudimentary medical facilities. Given the right sort of attention, she might at least be stabilised, give them a chance for an emergency response team to get to them. As classic as Frewster’s speeder might be, it didn’t live up to the name. It was a more sedate ride for a calmer time.

  “She’ll make it,” Frewster said. “She’s a fighter.”

  “Can’t fight death, Brennan,” Helga said. “Nobody’s ever won that fight. Everything dies in the end.”

  He pushed her hair out of her eyes, smiled at her like a father surveying a child. “Doesn’t mean you can’t hold it off though. Damnit, Helga, just hold the hells on. We will get you out of here. You’ll be up and about again soon. How am I going to last the rest of my life without my best gal?”

  Bitterness laced her laugh. “Your life expectancy and mine might not be that different right now, Bren. We’re both running out of it.”

  At least she wasn’t losing a flair for the dramatic in her suffering, Nick thought. He made his choice, swung into the parking area for the stadium. Two pairs of eyes moved to him, he tried to ignore them. They weren’t important. “What are you doing?!” Frewster demanded. “The hospital…”

  “Is too damn far away,” Nick said. “We get her in here, we get her stabilised, try and find a doctor. There’s got to be one in the crowd. He can keep her alive until we get a better solution.”

  “I like it,” Helga said.

  “I don’t,” Frewster said, more than a little obstinate. He glanced back and forth. “Too many people.”

  “That’s good,” Nick said. “We’ll stand out less.”

  “There’s also more chance of collateral damage,” Frewster said. “Plus, Agent Roper, I don’t see how we can fail to stand out. You’re recognisable, I’m recognisable and we’re carrying a badly bleeding woman between us. Inconspicuousness isn’t something we are going to manage, I’m afraid to say.”

  Nick said nothing. He knew Frewster had a point there. All it took was one person with a summoner to get a picture or some video of them and it’d be out there. If Coppinger forces were still out to get them, which he had no reason to doubt they weren’t, it’d be a short escape. They’d be down in force. The collateral damage could be immense.

  Helga would die if he didn’t. A tough choice, he knew that. Frewster cared for her, but by telling him to move along, he’d already made that choice. The least he could do was respect it. People were always the same when it came down to it, he should have learned that a long time ago. No matter how much he might profess to care for Helga, she was still his servant and he doubtless relished his own life too much to throw it away for her.

  People were like that. They didn’t change too much. You came into the world alone and you left it that way. Self-reliance did you a mass of favours in Nick’s experience. Frewster had survived this long, he clearly was an expert at it. Sucked for Helga but she wasn’t the purpose of the mission here, Frewster was the important one. It was all about him. Screw Helga. Screw the people who cared about her. There had to be someone. Anyone. Someone who would miss her when she died in service of a man who’d been too scared of what might happen to himself to lift a finger to help her. She’d taken a blast meant for him. The least he could do was make sure she had the best chance.

  That made his choice for him. He fired up the engines, headed for the stadium, the main entrance looming above them. He’d seen caverns that were more welcoming, people shifted ou the way to let them past. He saw more than a few disgruntled faces, anger in the expression of everyone they passed. He’d have smashed his foot straight to the ground if they weren’t here, hit that entrance and had her out of the speeder in no time.

  “You’re making a mistake, Roper.” Frewster’s voice had lost most of its charm, rough with patient agitation. “You’re painting a big bullseye on this stadium.”

  “That was always going to happen anyway,” Nick said. He didn’t try to look the older man in the eyes as he said it. “They’ll already know we’re here. They’re probably already on their way.” He leaned back in his seat, kept one hand on the controls. “Probably been tracking us ever since we left Withdean.”

  He didn’t add what truly troubled him, the notion that the attack had been immediate and without warning. There’d been no hint of any sort of trouble directed towards Frewster, even the information he proclaimed to have was, in his own words ‘not entirely related to that dreadful Coppinger woman, but it could be useful for you.” He’d heard half the story, wasn’t entirely convinced that there was any sort of point to it just yet. He’d guess that if it was going to come from anywhere, it’d be in the second part of it. When that tale got told would be anyone’s guess. It was certainly the furthest thing from important right now.

  “You can’t know that for sure.”

  “I can suspect the worst. That would be one of the possible situations we might have to deal with going forward. This’s already gon
e on long enough to prove that underestimating them is a dumb thing to do.”

  Frewster gave him a look, resigned and smug, the face of a beaten man not caring. “You’re the one who has to live with the consequences of your mistakes, young man.”

  He bit back the retort, cleared his throat. “I need you to find a doctor, Brennan.” He pointed to the door. “Get out there, rustle on up and we’ll get her patched up. We can spare fifteen minutes, surely?”

  “I admire your optimism,” Frewster said, opening his door. “Okay. I’ll do that. Good luck, Nicholas. Get her there! I’ll meet you in the medical room.”

  They’d tried to stop him parking, he’d pulled his ID and almost squashed it against the face of the guard, giving him his absolute best ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ face, the glare and the badge combining to force him back. Nick paid him no other attention, pulled the rear door open and scooped Helga up into his arms. She wasn’t a big woman, she felt waif-like and tiny in his arms, fresh blood bubbling from her as he cradled her close to him. Her eyes fluttered open, she fixated on him.

  “Why you help?” she groaned out, her voice sounding like she hadn’t drunk for weeks. “You can’t win. Bren is right, you know. Everyone dies.”

  “Not today,” he said. “I don’t know you, but I’m not giving up, I’m not letting anyone else die because of Coppinger if I can help it.”

  “Dear boy,” she smiled, sounded all too like Frewster as the words slipped her. “Sometimes you can’t help it. Thought you would have worked that out…”

  She tailed off, lapsed into unconsciousness. Her head fell into the crook in his neck and he picked up his speed, darted through the open door and picked up his pace. Running while carrying someone was a dumb idea at the best of times, he needed to resist the temptation. They both tripped, it’d do neither of them any good.

  The medical room wasn’t unlocked, he hit it with his shoulder and the door burst open, he laid Helga down on the bed and unfolded a blanket, laying it over her. “You’ll be okay, Ms Carlow,” he said. “Lay your weary head to rest right now.”

  She didn’t respond. Barely even moved. He tucked the blanket over her, made sure she was wrapped up warm. Now, he just needed Frewster to show up with someone more capable of helping her than he was.

  Every footstep hurt. Her breathing was back to normal, but the memories of pain hadn’t left her just yet. Her limbs had repaired, her skin had regrown and her vision had returned but none of it felt right. None of it felt like it was her. Not truly. Two separate beings, who she was before and who she was now. Neither of them was who she wanted to be. Not really. She’d always been better than this. Risen above her emotions, no matter how much she might want to do otherwise. One little outburst and her life had changed forever and not necessarily for the better.

  Her gaze dropped to her hands. They’d stopped shaking now. That had been the main thing she’d noticed when the serum had taken its full effect and she’d sat up for the first time since the explosion had set her on fire. Her entire body hadn’t been able to stop trembling, given the damage to her nerve endings, it perhaps wasn’t a surprise. She’d still felt the twinges of fear when she’d shook so hard that she thought her remaining teeth were going to crack from the efforts of chattering against each other.

  Weronika Saarth. She said the name over and over in her head as she looked in the mirror. Her face had healed but her hair and eyebrows hadn’t grown back. Her glasses had been lost somewhere. She’d gotten so used to seeing herself with them that they were more of a debilitating factor in her failing to recognise herself than the lack of hair. Not that she felt like she needed them. She just missed the hearts around her eyes. They framed her face, made sure that she caught the eye. Without them, she might as well not be there. She’d always tried to turn negatives into positives. That had been the sort of girl she’d been, the sort of woman she’d become. Yes, her eyes were bad. Yes, she wasn’t the sort of person people tended to notice straightaway. Enter the glasses. They were distinctive, a double advantage.

  “My name is Weronika Saarth,” she said. Her voice sounded different, lower, harsher. Her throat might have been damaged by the smoke. The serum might have fixed her body, but not entirely it would appear. “My name IS Weronika Saarth.” She raised the section of her face where her eyebrow has once been. “Saarth. Weronika Saarth. Ronnie?” A smile. Her mouth hurt. “Ronnie Saarth.”

  Her clothes had burned. Her weapons lost. Her summoner destroyed. Her container crystals were about the only thing she’d had left. The speeder had pulled over for her, she’d seen the looks of concern and she’d smiled. If they’d had any sense, they would have put their foot to the floor and sped off right there, leaving her behind. Some people were too dumb to be allowed to keep nice things. The man she’d taken out first, smashed his head into the door and flipped him out, drove her toes into his throat. He wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, if ever. The woman with him had started to scream and scream, the shrill cries hurting her ears and she’d flung herself at her. Up on the seat next to her, the screams had silenced as if she expected death to come.

  “Your clothes,” she’d growled. “Give them to me.”

  She still had a mission to fulfil. She didn’t want to let the Mistress down. The memory of her radiance flooded through her mind, the snarl was replaced with a smile that felt dopey even as she saw the fear intensity on the woman’s face. This might work. She’d already run the numbers. They were about the same height, she’d guess. Didn’t look a scrap alike, especially not now. Maybe she was a little bigger about the chest, but she could live with that.

  While she’d stripped off, Saarth had dropped out the cab and retrieved the summoner from the man she’d maimed, taking the belt as well. His crystals she tipped out into a pile across his back. He wouldn’t be needing them right now.

  She let the woman keep her underwear. She wasn’t feeling completely heartless, allowing her to keep her modesty for when someone eventually picked them up. A small gesture. After all, who would associate the psychotic-looking bald girl with former Quin-C contender Weronika Saarth? It was about the only reason she’d left the woman alive.

  Alive but not comfortable. She’d kicked her legs out from underneath her, driven her face into the side of the speeder and heard her nose break. Blood spurted out, stained the door with claret. She’d dressed in her clothes, sweater and jeans and leather jacket. Badass, she had to admit. Very badass. If she was ready to prove a point, she was dressed for it. She tied the belt around her waist, plucked up the summoner and started to scroll through the CallerNet. There had to be something out there for her to see, some sighting of them. Some pages existed solely to track spirit callers on their journey, some did the same for celebrities. If anyone had seen Frewster and Roper together, it’d show up sooner rather than later.

  All she needed was to ignore the pain. Soon she could rest. For now, she had one last task. She started to dial a number on the summoner. One last task for the Mistress and then she’d close her eyes.

  Frewster had returned and with him, he’d found a doctor, a young fellow with balding brown hair he’d swept back with gel. He didn’t look like a doctor, he looked like someone on their day off and for that Nick couldn’t be surprised. He hadn’t come here expecting to have to do this. Still, they’d made an oath they couldn’t deny, just like he had when he’d become a fully-fledged Unisco agent. Shit happened.

  “Doctor Aaron Ramsey,” Frewster said by way of introduction. “Best I could find.” He folded his arms, hugged himself as he did. “Nothing but the best for Helga, I think.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Nick said. “I’m sure she’s in good hands.”

  “The best,” Ramsey said. “Trust me on that. Dear Divines, what have they done to you, my dear?”

  Nick left him to it, gestured for Frewster to follow him. They made their way out the room, stood in the corridor. Above them, they could hear the stadium coming to life, people making their way to t
heir seats, pre-match entertainment stoking the atmosphere. Too many had missed out on spirit calling for too long and they were ready to see it start again.

  “We need to leave,” he said. “Call her some evacuation and get the hells out of here. You saw how many summoners were out there recording our appearance. We’re probably all over the CallerNet right now.”

  Frewster shrugged. “You’re probably right. We’re running out of time.” He would have turned to leave had Nick not grabbed his arm.

  “Why do they want you, Frewster? Talk to me. If I know, it helps.” He meant it as well, not that he was entirely surprised as Frewster wagged his finger at him.

  “Not a chance I’m telling you, dear boy. I do, you’ll cut and run. I might be doing you a disservice, but I can’t allow myself to take that chance. I’ve not lived this long by taking unnecessary risks with my life and I’m not starting now.”

  He could appreciate that. He didn’t like it, but he could appreciate where Frewster was coming from. If he had a card to play, he might well have found himself in the same position of keeping it as close to his chest for as long as possible.

  “Does it tie into your story?”

  “I was getting there,” Frewster said. “Before we were so rudely interrupted.”

  “You could have just gotten to the point faster.”

  “I think you’ll find that you need context to fully understand everything I wished to tell you. Without it, I’m just wasting my time answering your questions afterwards.” He’d never quite heard so much arrogance laced into one sentence.

  “Must be one hells of a story for something that happened fifty years ago to lead to them trying to capture you today.”

  “Sure is, Agent Roper. I think you’ll find it is well worth the wait.”

  “I want to hear it the minute we’re out of danger.” He did his best to keep the bitterness out of his voice. As days went, this felt like it had been a bust. Fighting for your life gave you that impression, especially when it had supposed to have been an easy mission.