Hope Betrayed: The Silent Tempest, Book 2

by E. J. Godwin

  A wide grin spread across Herwan’s face, and he reached out.

  “Wait!” Caleb barked. “You’ll lose your hand, if you’re not careful.” He anticipated Herwan’s wrath, but the man only wrinkled his brow in puzzlement.

  “What’s the harm in just touching them?”

  “Because they’re protected,” he said, and pointed again.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Caleb chose his words carefully. “It would harm you in the same manner as my weapons,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

  He reached inside his pocket. The next instant the flat of Moula’s blade slapped against his neck, and Caleb stopped cold.

  “Well, Falling Man? Is there a reason for Moula to finish his stroke?”

  Caleb shook his head emphatically. “A harmless demonstration, nothing more.” Slowly, keeping rock-still against the blade, Caleb drew out a gold coin: the Idi that Joásen had given him in Udan. Moula relaxed at the sight and drew back his sword.

  Herwan’s eyes widened in recognition. Then he laughed heartily. “Sure didn’t bring you much luck, did it? But get on with your little demonstration,” he said, suddenly grim. “The fun in Eastgate won’t last forever.”

  Caleb had forgotten all about Joásen’s gift. It was a valuable thing, perhaps, but paled in comparison to Warren and Telai—not to mention the whole of Ada. And in a fit of perverse revenge he realized Herwan was right: it was fitting to destroy something that had so completely failed to bring any luck into their lives.

  In one motion, he flicked the Idi into the cabinet and covered his face with his arms.

  The electric eye detected the invasion and sent a sheet of energy across the opening. It cut through wood, plastic, human flesh with ease, but when it tore through the coin it erupted in a searing, blue-white flash. In a split-second the entire room lost all features, all contrast and color in a homogeneous brilliance. Herwan and Moula shouted hoarsely and staggered back, throwing their arms up to cover their eyes. A smoldering stench arose from the fur of their coats. But Caleb’s foreknowledge had saved him, and when the flash died he lowered his scorched hands.

  His victims writhed against the wall, screaming. They were blinded for life. But there was no time for pity, for Caleb had only seconds before the other Hodyn entered the room. He jabbed frantically at the keypad near the closet, fumbling the combination on the first try. After the second attempt the electric eye darkened, and he seized one of the pistols.

  It was useless without one of the power packs, locked below in a separate cabinet. Footsteps clamored in the hallway. Moula groped across the floor for his blade, Herwan for Caleb. Fighting for dexterity, Caleb fumbled through another combination on the keypad. He finally gained access, and tore the nearest power pack from its hold just as the first Hodyn soldier charged into the room.

  He shoved the power pack into its slot. The soldier’s blade sang through the air.

  The deadly edge sliced through the sleeve of Caleb’s coat, and clanked as it struck the bones of his right arm near the wrist. He bellowed in agony. The laser slid from his limp hand and clattered over the floor.

  The room swam, and a surge of nausea rose to his throat. Yet instincts went deeper than pain, and he dived as the Hodyn reared back for the final blow. The blade missed his foot by inches. Channeling all his strength and determination, he stretched out his left arm, grabbed the laser, and closed contact even before he aimed the muzzle.

  The blade swung. Caleb rolled onto his back and swept the beam across the room. A yell, a metallic clang. Caleb fought his blurring vision to see the man’s bloodied arm, sword still clasped in its hand, sliding to the floor against the opposite wall.

  It wasn’t over. Four more soldiers charged into the room in quick succession, crying out their rage. Caleb could spare no time for merciful deaths. There was only the instinct to survive, and his wavering shots had gruesome consequences. One man split from his shoulder to his groin. Caleb quailed at the spectacle, but he was powerless to stop it. It was as if some animal from deep inside had awakened at last to butcher all these men—and only because he had dug a coin out of the dirt.

  It’s the Medallion that should have been destroyed, not the Idi, he thought, as if that would have undone all his misfortunes. He saw the flame of his fate clearly now, one lit long before in Udan and raging out of control.

  ♦

  A cry of utter fury and despair tore from Warren’s throat. Breathless, he spent precious moments in unbearable impasse, the tragedy of Soren’s death stark in his young eyes.

  “Warren, now!” Telai screamed. The boy spun his horse about and fled.

  Already exhausted, their horses lumbered away from the ship, instinctively following their own path through the drifts. Telai turned once in the saddle. There was no sign of pursuit, but the light was quickly failing, and her sight was blurred by tears. Though Soren’s furious attack had briefly diverted their attention, she knew there was little chance of escaping once the Hodyn spotted them.

  They had no choice but to hide in the woods they had passed before. After what seemed an eternal ride, they wasted no time finding shelter deep within its densely packed pines.

  Telai knelt in the snow, holding Warren tightly in her arms. Their horses hung their heads in the gloom nearby, their breathing harsh from the desperate run. The boy wept quietly, his head bent against her chest. Telai had shed her grief for the moment. All her mind was given to listening.

  In time the horses’ breathing slowed, and the woods grew quiet. Suddenly Warren lurched, followed by a gasp. At first she paid no attention. But only a minute passed before he lurched again, stronger this time, and she whispered in his ears.

  “Be still, Warren.”

  There was no response. For a short time he seemed to recover from whatever had ailed him; then he cried out, a bizarre sound, loud enough to scatter fowl roosting in the trees.

  Telai’s heart constricted, and she clamped a hand over his mouth. “Quiet!” she hissed.

  “No!” he yelled, flinging her off with astonishing strength. “I’m still in command! I’m heading for that cursed ship!” He jumped up and scrambled over logs and fallen limbs, toward the fading light between the trees.

  For an instant she sat in amazement—not only from his actions, but also from his flawless use of her language. Then she leaped after him.

  She caught up with him just inside the edge of the pines. Abandoning all restraint, she locked her arms around him and hauled him to the ground. Again he fought her, this time with a ferocity she wouldn’t have thought possible for a boy so small for his age. Blows landed on her chest and stomach, knocking the wind out of her, and she fell on her back with a grunt. By the time she recovered and regained her feet, Warren was beyond the trees, fleeing like a shadow across the snow.

  ♦

  Five Hodyn lay near the door of the supply room. No more came. Herwan and Moula lay against the wall, dead from clean shots through their foreheads. That, at least, he could manage at close range.

  Were there any more? Caleb heard nothing. Soren had counted a dozen at least. Perhaps the others had fled, or else Soren had slain them before his death. The idea entered Caleb’s head to get up and peek around the corner, but he hesitated, afraid he might collapse.

  He struggled to a stand. The effort sent waves of agony down the entire side of his body. His right arm dangled like a torn branch; blood dripped from his fingers. The walls spun around him, but somehow he managed to keep from passing out. He steadied himself against the wall with his uninjured hand, the pistol clasped in his trembling fingers.

  He took a step, then lost his footing on the slick floor and slammed down hard, crying out. Everything was blood, a sea of it, with entrails spattered here and there like gruesome little islands. The stench of it filled his nostrils.

  His stomach emptied in a violent heave. Again he forced himself to his feet, tears streaming. He approached the door with slow, deliberate steps. A glance t
old him his laser was set at maximum range; a broken mosaic of hairline cuts covered the walls and the hull beyond the door.

  Caleb peered around the corner, ready to fire at the first sign of movement. The hall was empty, the ship quiet. He nearly stumbled over the last Hodyn who had fallen near the door. Then he reached drier footing and staggered toward the hatch, bracing himself on the wall with his left arm while his other hung limp and throbbing at his side.

  Cold air blew down the passage from the open hatch and struck his sweat-drenched face, helping to delay the inevitable collapse. He stopped a few feet short of the entrance and forced himself to listen. At last he swung into full view, laser held ready. He saw nothing, heard nothing but the keen whistle of wind against the hatch. Caleb nearly fainted in a surge of relief. He was alone.

  He shambled down the hall to the bridge. The cold, padded seat sent up a faint cloud of dust as he dropped into it. Controls glowed in his face. He raised his blurring vision to the cracked window, and saw only a smooth, gray wall of drifted snow.

  Caleb laid the gun in his lap, and tapped a few controls. A holographic screen flashed into life. The security cams relayed a bleak, frost-blurred landscape: a long, snow-filled trench gouged by the keel ran past the stern, while to the left, drifts were already gathering against several dark forms lying near the hatch.

  His breathing deepened to sobs, and he switched to the cam at the bow, zooming in on the horizon. There was a faint suggestion of movement. A quick jab at the controls switched the cam to infrared, and revealed two bright silhouettes of men on horseback racing away from the ship.

  He shivered, each passing minute colder than the one before. With the last of his wits he knew that if he did not staunch the flow he would soon bleed to death. The torn sleeve of his coat was soaked dark, and thick, red drops fell faster and faster from his useless fingers.

  Caleb rose. A wave of dizziness surged through his head. The pain faded. Was it his imagination? But his flesh had conquered the strength of his mind at last, and he slumped to the floor in a heap.

  12

  An Empty Pyre

  Love without deeds is but a future regret.

  - Etrenga, 1st Supreme Raén and 1st Overseer of Ada

  CALEB’S FIRST sensation was throbbing pain—a pain that told him he was alive. He became dimly aware of his surroundings: diffused light through his eyelids, the faint hum of the air recycling system, nondescript voices from down the hall. He was still inside the ship, lying on a bed, with his right forearm wrapped in something tight. The pain of his wound slowly sharpened but remained tolerable, never reaching the level it had before.

  He opened his eyes, squinting at the harsh ceiling light. He lolled his head toward the open doorway, his lips moving, but the result was only a murmur.

  An anxious voice echoed from the hallway. “Caleb?”

  He struggled to prop himself up in bed, desperation lending strength to his limbs. “Telai, Telai!”

  A sound of scurrying, and Telai raced across the room to fall on her knees beside him. She clung to him for a moment, then retreated at his brief gasp of pain. “Sorry,” she whispered, and adopted a more cautious embrace.

  He caressed her back with his left hand, basking in her affection. When she finally drew away, he was struck by the contrast of this sincere, beautiful woman of Ada against the backdrop of alien technology.

  “Warren? Is he here?” Caleb asked, a moment before his son appeared in the doorway.

  “I’m here. Glad to see you.”

  Warren’s flat response took Caleb’s breath away, and Telai paled, trembling. “What happened?” he asked. “I thought you two escaped.”

  “We did,” she said, settling on the bed beside him. “We hid in the trees, but two of the Hodyn rode after us.”

  “Then how—”

  “They turned about and rode the other way, past the ship. All the others were dead. Caleb, I was so terrified of what I would find here. When I saw you lying in—”

  She shook her head, unable to finish, and Caleb gripped her hand. He looked down, and shivered; for an instant he thought the deathly pale fingers sticking out of the bandage on his other arm belonged to someone else.

  “We had to cauterize it,” she explained. “We didn’t have a choice.”

  “Don’t fret about it.”

  “But we need to get you to a doctor as soon as possible. You’ve lost a lot of color in that hand.”

  Caleb knew she spoke of the danger of gangrene setting in. “How much blood did I lose?”

  “Enough,” she replied. “You’ve been out for a day and a half. Your color is much better now, though.” He propped himself on one elbow, and she grasped his shoulders. “No, Caleb! You need rest.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine—especially once I’ve had a little food.” He sat up slowly, his head swimming a little despite his boast. “What about the Hodyn—the ones in the ship?”

  Telai didn’t answer at once. “I dragged them out the back door, then cleaned … ” Her lower lip tightened as she fought to keep her stomach down.

  “Back door … you mean the cargo hold?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry. That must have been—” he began, but her eyes shut fast, silencing him. He turned to Warren. “We should protect the ship from any more Hodyn. Do you think you could set up a perimeter alert? I’m a bit shaky right now.”

  “I already did. Maximum range.”

  “Good thinking,” Caleb said. “And the lasers?”

  An inexplicable disappointment etched the boy’s face. “The barrier comes alive again by itself. I don’t know the right number sequence, anyway.”

  Caleb nodded, vaguely curious about his son’s odd choice of words. Then it dawned on him: Warren had been speaking all along in perfect Adan.

  “No matter,” Caleb said, trying to quell the tremor in his voice. “I’ll get them later. I’ve got one for now, anyway.”

  A long silence followed. Caleb exchanged glances with Telai, struggling to speak that one name, to open the door to his sorrow and guilt.

  “Soren, is he—?”

  Telai’s face turned to stone. A glistening drop formed on her lashes, and her brave visage slowly faded. Caleb drew closer, and she bowed her head against him.

  His own grief was like a knife in his chest, a naked shame, inescapable. Where had he gone wrong? His noble quest had soured to an obsession, blinding him to whatever mistakes had led to this tragedy. Telai shook with sorrow, wetting his skin with her tears, and he caressed her, the first deed in a long journey of absolution.

  The boy stood quietly, his young face void of expression. A small bundle of cloth wrapped in leather thongs lay in his hands. He untied it, and bent his tousled head at the broken halves of the Lor’yentré as if reading a hidden message.

  “Warren, where did you get that?” Caleb asked. “I thought I—”

  “I’m sorry!” he blurted. “It fell out of your coat when we undressed you. Your clothes were soaked with blood.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But what?” Warren shot. “At first you let me keep it. What are you afraid of now?”

  Caleb gripped Telai’s hand, and she sat up, wiping her swollen eyes. “Why did you want it back so much, Warren?” she asked gently.

  He wrapped the device and stowed it away. “I just wanted it, I guess,” he said, shrugging. “Anyway it’s useless, broken like it is.”

  A chill ran through Caleb’s body. “A damned good thing, too. Who knows what harm—”

  “It brought healing,” Telai said, “and let’s be happy with that. I suppose you can keep it a while, Warren, if it’s important to you.”

  “Telai—” Caleb began, but she pressed his hand to stop him.

  “But remember, the Loremasters will need to study it,” she added.

  Warren remained silent, his head still bowed in thought. Then he turned and walked out of the room.

  Caleb waited unti
l he was sure the boy was out of earshot. “Telai, what are you doing?” he hissed.

  “This has been hard on him, too. It’ll only make matters worse if he thinks we don’t trust him.”

  “It’s too late for that. He already knows we don’t trust him, not with the Lor’yentré at least. And he’s not going to be able to work this out for himself.”

  “But Caleb—there’s something you should know.” She quickly described the incident in the woods. “There’s a lot going on here we don’t understand,” she concluded. “We need to be careful.”

  It took a moment for Caleb to speak. “Telai,” he said, voice shaking, “I’m not sure I can wait that long.” He felt like he did at Udan—falling and falling while the room spun around him.

  She held him again, and touched her lips to his. “I’ll do whatever I can to help, Caleb.”

  “You’ve done so much already, Telai. But I think you’re the only one who can get through to him.”

  She straightened. “Why?”

  “He hates me. By great Hendra I wish it wasn’t so. But I’ve got to stop fooling myself.”

  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting? Remember, you’re the only available target for his anger right now.”

  “Telai, you’re mincing words. That’s not like you.”

  She sighed, then squeezed his hand. “I’ll try.”

  ♦

  Telai gave Caleb something to eat, and a long drink from her water skin to wash it down. Afterward she insisted he get some rest. She waited long enough for his breathing to take on the rhythm of sleep, then donned her coat and boots and made her way to the hatch.

  As usual it took her a moment to recall Warren’s instructions. She jabbed at the controls, her jaw clenched tight. She hated this ship; the moment she entered it felt like she was leaving her world behind. It was a constant reminder to her that the man she loved was born in a very different place, that there were elements in his past so strange she would never understand them—or feared to.