Vagabonds

by Kyle Olson

  Rays of light peeked through the holes. Not a single round had landed in the center of the 25-yard target, and only two had been inside the innermost ring. Worse yet, there were 19 holes all together. The ten-yarder had been better, in a raw comparison, but considering the distances, might’ve been worse.

  “Yeah, this is pretty fucking terrible,” Tess agreed, looking through Sophia via a bullet hole in the paper, then bunched it up and tossed it away, “But considering you have new eyes, a new body, and you were dead, could be worse. I bet you’ve noticed some things are sloppier, like, say, your handwriting.”

  “…Kind of. Or yeah. I guess.”

  “Try it relaxed.”

  “Huh? Relaxed?”

  “Yes, relaxed. So long as you don’t venture too far out, no one will be able to see you.”

  “Oh, that,” Sophia said, shifting away from the house to peer around a tree towards any possible lurkers in the surroundings, “I guess if you think it’s safe enough. It’s cold, though.”

  “We can throw a quilt over you.”

  She harrumphed at the idea; she’d had enough of wearing bedding, thank you very much. But, maybe it was worth a try. Shooting relaxed, that was, not wearing a quilt.

  “…And you’re sure it’ll help?”

  “No,” Tess said, one brow raised, “but I do know compacting yourself into another form requires continual effort, even if you don’t realize it.”

  “Fine, whatever,” Sophia said, slipping inside so as to slip out of her pants. Moments later, where a human had entered, a sphinx exited. Fur all along her spine and tail bristled the moment the cold air washed across her, the sensation much like goosebumps.

  “How can it be so cold when I have fur? And the concrete! I need boots or something, it’s like my feet are being stabbed by ice!”

  At that remark Tess snirked, which grew and came back with a family of snorts, and then invited their extended family of rolling gakakas. All the while Sophia glared. “What the fuck’s so funny?”

  “I, kakaka, was, kaka, just, oh, imagining you wearing those little booties you see people dress their dogs and cats up in.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Come on, don’t be like that! Gakaka! Let’s hit up the pet store, I’m sure they have the latest trends!”

  “Eat my ass!”

  “Kaka! Careful what you wish for,” said Tess, a long, inhuman tongue escaping her lips to hang idly below her chin for a moment before snapping back inside her mouth like a frightened creature.

  Sophia’s face wrinkled up, “That’s gross.”

  “Life is gross when you think about it. May as well embrace it.”

  “…I’m fine with missing out on some things.”

  Tess let loose an exasperated, exaggerated sigh, “Kids these days.”

  “Can we please move on to whatever you wanted me to be a sphinx for?”

  “Fine, fine. Not much to it, just go through your usual motions as you are. Though if your paws are bothering you that much, you’re probably going to be worse. Let me see…”

  Tess ventured inside, secretly wishing for a respite from the cold herself, and set about procuring something suitable. She hadn’t measured Sophia’s feet, but she had it on good authority that standard human socks wouldn’t fit so well. So, a few layers of towels and blankets it was. She returned, tossed the bundles to Sophia, and told her to set them down wherever she’d be walking about.

  “Still chilly,” Sophia complained, “But it does take the edge off, at least.”

  “Great! Now get to it.”

  And so the new-born sphinx did. Reloaded her magazines and squeezed off another 24 rounds in two-shot bursts over 30 seconds or so. Right arm, left arm, right, left, her leonine body shuffling this way and that to accommodate her shooting stance, which meant it swung out and around like an unlatched gate in a storm. That could be fixed later. Probably.

  Perforated targets were fetched. Sophia’s steps had a certain bound to them they didn’t have on the way out.

  “See?” said Tess, once the papers had been laid out on the table, “Groupings are much tighter, though looks like everything is pulling to one side.”

  “Maybe the sights are off?” said Sophia, with a certain tone that underlined her question with the answer: “It can’t be because my aim is off.”

  “Perhaps,” Tess said, sighting down one of the pistols, “Go put up a fresh one.”

  Once Sophia’d ventured back from her task, the bound in her step dead, Tess assumed a peculiar stance with her right arm stuck out and the left pressed across her chest, in effect aiming both weapons at once. It was the sort of thing she’d instructed Sophia to never attempt, mostly because the hot gasses erupting right next to one’s skin was a less than pleasant experience.

  In three, possibly four seconds if it took one a while to click ‘stop’ on a timer, both weapons were empty and the inner mark of the target had been obliterated.

  “Sights seem fine to me,” said Tess, setting the pistols down, “I suspect your finger isn’t centered when you’re pulling the trigger.”

  Sophia wasn’t surprised, as such, but there was something about that level of inhuman marksmanship that would be impressive no matter how many times one saw it.

  “You have a few hundred rounds to burn,” Tess said, and Sophia took it to mean two things: One, that she’d be able to shoot for hours, which meant number two, that she’d get to skip the day’s chores.

  Until sun-down they shot, which was a source of immense irritation to Yf, who had her early afternoon, afternoon, mid-afternoon and late-post-afternoon naps interrupted. Tarkit watched for a bit, but declined to join in. Sophia worked on her aim, worked on her movement and dodging about and some of the more unorthodox methods and maneuvers Tess instructed her in. Sophia quite liked those—though they did run into some newfound issues, such as the fact that Tess had little idea how to adapt some things to a four-legged shape. Sophia’d be on her own for those.

  While Sophia worked on her form and shot through a few boxes of ammunition, Tess plinked away with a rifle in various positions, plucking wispy limbs off trees from almost a mile out, or at least when the ammo was agreeable. That was the tricky part with store-bought rounds, since even the high-end stuff had little variances to it. Scope could be better, too. Or, it’d just be better to have her usual rifle. And her black sports car. And, well, everything she was used to. It was fine enough out here, but the novelty had worn off.

  Still, everything out here gave her something focus on, something to keep certain parts of her mind occupied, allowing other voices to whisper now that the more vocal ones weren’t prattling on.

  Especially now that she had a rifle in her hands. She couldn’t say why she loved firearms so much, the silly human tools, but she wouldn’t be the first god enamored with the random things humans had come up with. Maybe it was because they were such human things, symbols of their growing strength. It was fun to think about.

  Other things, not so much.

  The decision she’d been so sure of back in the forest, that felt so right and just, was no longer so.

  Doubt had crept in. Just when she thought she’d conquered it, when it mattered most, it weaseled its way back in.

  An empty birdnest exploded in a mess of twigs. She let out a grunt of satisfaction.

  She’d agreed to rekindle the alliance with Sejit, and they’d been having scintillating conversations since then. Quite a many interesting thing was in the works. The war was a nice touch, one she’d helped set in motion. It was like their sort-of-rift had never happened at all. All with the power of one word from Sejit, which got a similar response from Tess, and then away it went.

  But, maintaining that alliance would mean throwing away her decision. It’d been a long while she Tess had felt that sure about something.

  The branches in the distance, which had been swaying in a particular way, began to sway another way as the winds changed. Locks of black hair wrapped
around her cheeks. She adjusted accordingly. The shot zipped to one side of the mark and struck a tree. Too much to explain it away on the ammo. An overcorrection.

  She cursed under her breath.

  How many mortals look up to me, envy me, long to have me, worship me? Covet what I have accomplished? I have shaped economies, altered the world without a shred of hesitation.

  Yet here I am.

  A flurry of rounds startled Sophia, the remaining four rounds in the box magazine whistling down the hill into the trees before the first spent casing had hit the ground.

  With a practiced calm, she reloaded.

  To remain here is to stagnate. I’ve been hiding, haven’t I? All these years.

  Her mind wandered over a few of the topics of discussion between herself and Sejit.

  No more. I know what I need to do, to put things right. It was right there, all along.

  “Sophia,” Tess said, in an almost off-hand way.

  She paused her routine mid-step. “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “I forgot to mention this earlier, but pack your shit. We’re returning to Yosel.”

  “Uh. When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “That’s… short notice, isn’t it? How long were you putting off telling me? And I was just starting to get used to it here.”

  “Long enough,” Tess said, sighting down her scope. In the far distance, a lynx cub was playing in the snow under the watch of its mother. Overhead, a winter-plumed falcon circled overhead. No doubt it’d spotted the cub and was planning to make a meal of it.

  The right thing is always the hardest thing to do, isn’t it?

  I’m glad you understand.

  Tess fired one round. The report echoed across the landscape like a ghost with no one to haunt.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Yosel, and Sioun especially, had made considerable progress in tearing down the derelict reminders of war, healing scars, and cleaning streets. In the short time since Marshal Reith’s election, the pace of rejuvenation went from an easy canter to a full-on gallop. Crime was down, morale was up, and the economy was poised to boom—especially once the various lands and peoples of the newly annexed areas were brought up to speed.

  With insurgency at a remarkable low for conquered lands, they’d come up to that speed, well, quickly.

  But, no matter how much money was sunk, or how much it was stressed, people could, and did, fall through the cracks. While roving bands of street urchins were on the endangered species list, one could still spot them in the wilds if one knew where to look. One such group fancied the museum, or more specifically, the tight alleyway created between one of its lengths and another business. A tiny enough gap for a child, or at least someone diminutive, led into a suitable hideaway for a small cluster of youths that’d been filled with boxes (stolen), bedrolls (stolen), and sundries (stolen).

  Weeks ago, the small gang had welcomed a new member into their fold. Like any good street gang, a test was required to gain admittance. They had their cool slang no one could understand, including the gang members themselves sometimes, they even had a secret handshake. Though, unlike gangs comprised of older individuals, who squabbled over things like territory, they were more concerned with the basic requirement of existence. As getting caught by the police meant winding up in an orphanage—a death sentence, far as they were concerned—tact was required. They’d often work in packs, one or two members distracting a tourist or some other clueless mark, while another seized upon the chance to rummage through the mark’s pockets. Similar tactics were employed at stores, though they had to be careful as being remembered was just as bad as being caught.

  All in all, advanced concepts for a group headed up by a boy of 13 years, but life on the streets had an interesting way of weeding out those without the aptitude for it.

  The newcomer, a thin boy of ten years, or so they’d estimated, had done well. So well, in fact, he had to unload his overstuffed jacket and pants before he could squeeze through the opening. Enough food to last the group a few days, and even a bottle of liquor. Whereas a group of world-experienced adults may have taken the bounty as reason for suspicion, the youths were more than happy to forget their doubts with a full belly.

  He said he’d come from the neighboring city, and that was well enough. Made sense why he asked so many questions about everything. A group whose combined ages didn’t come close to the three-digit mark didn’t know much about a lot of things, but what they did know, what might pass for common, unimportant knowledge, were the frayed ends of threads.

  Threads that, if followed, lead to a wealth of information.

  That evening, the newcomer stared up the tall walls of the museum to the windows above, light spilling through curtains. A lighthouse, of sorts, opposing that of the capitol building several blocks away.

  “Been a while,” said Tess, taking in the stately Office, furnished in the same dark woods as Sejit’s residence. The walls, however, were a boring white and the floor was covered in dark blue carpet, for whatever reason.

  “Indeed,” said Sejit, rising for the occasion, “I am glad you have returned.”

  No handshakes, no hugs, but Sejit did allow her stern facade to fall away, revealing hints of weariness and irritation. Tess responded in kind, her cocky smirk showcasing, rather than hiding, something troubling in its depths.

  “I’ll bet. Seems there’s been some excitement while I was gone. Security at the airport was a lot tighter than I remember. The bitch who “randomly” selected me for additional screening got a little frisky during the frisking.”

  “It is hard to find good staff for low positions,” Sejit said, sighing.

  “Oh, I didn’t mind, but I must say, I was disappointed when I told her that I wasn’t going to be satisfied by a few clumsy grabs and she shrank away. What’s a woman to do?”

  “…Yes,” said Sejit, flatly, “I am experiencing much the same in this world of politics. The scavengers move in, expecting an easy meal, but retreat the moment I confront them. It is not even as if they emerge from their holes to try the same thing when I turn my back, either. They set upon a different course altogether that makes them difficult to predict. They are such a cowardly lot. At least Eventh is in possession of a spine.”

  “Now, I could’ve told you that. In fact, I think I have…” Tess trailed off, interest homing in on one particular piece of furniture. Sejit’s gaze followed along.

  The Marshal’s Office lacked several things she was used to from her penthouse, chief among them was a well-stocked liquor and wine cellar. While, yes, there was a decent-sized refrigerated cabinet stocked with fine refreshments in her Office, they lacked the touch of someone who knew what they were doing. Wophin may have been loath to leave the house, but with some encouragement, he could probably be persuaded to work in the government. He’d have to grow some as well, lest all manner of torrid rumor spread about Jasmine and the boy.

  Considering the time, ten in the morning—which meant Sejit had been in the Office for almost two hours—she was due for a refreshment.

  Options limited as such, Sejit plucked a crisp white from its perch in the cabinet and poured herself a bountiful glass.

  “Care for a drink?” Sejit asked, almost as an afterthought.

  “Yeah, but none of that wine shit,” Tess said, perusing the contents alongside Sejit. Her fingertip glanced over labels until she came to a stop on a bottle of Somin—a regional specialty. A liquor made from the distillation of not one, not two, but three types of grain and a starchy tuber, then combined with the distillation of the Yumgle Berry. The drink’s clear and fragrant nature belied its teeth.

  Tess did not bother with the arduous task of using a glass, opting to cut out the middle man and imbibe direct.

  “You are not some drunk, stumbling through the streets,” Sejit said, mouth hanging open in dismay.

  “You’re one to talk!” Tess said, coughing several times, “Forgot the kick this shit has. It’s great!”r />
  Two great goddesses together. So great, in fact, that should they have decided to, they had a solid chance of conquering the world. Provided, of course, other gods did not oppose them and no nuclear weapons became involved. It might even be said that they each possessed the power of a nation.

  And those immortal giants were drowning themselves in mortal drink. This was not lost on Sejit.

  Subjugation wouldn’t do, not on global scale. At a certain point the government was ruled by its territory, rather than the other way around. This was going to be a complicated puzzle to work out.

  Sejit was going to change the world. Shape the world. Craft it into a place of… what, exactly? The plan, as she could remember it from back when the fires of conviction burned bright, was to do what every villain aspired.

  Difference was, in her world, she would set up people who were capable. Encourage loyalty through trust and admiration rather than fear—though that wasn’t to say she would handle them with a gentle hand. She’d guide them along, ensure they didn’t blow themselves up, and straighten out a few issues along the way. Once the mortals had the wisdom and strength to become the masters of their destiny, she’d just up and vanish and leave them to it.

  Or, another way of putting it would be to craft a world her son could live in, be proud of.

  Was it possible to accomplish that goal before his time ran out? A hundred years had gone and it felt like she’d taken scant few steps from the starting line. She had always told herself, soon, the time is not right, the pieces still needed to be arranged. Soon.

  Soon, soon itself, was too late.

  Dreams had turned into dreamt.

  Content was about to turn the corner to resent.

  What was it that kept her going in all this? Could she keep going if he was no longer here?

  She swirled her glass.

  There I went. Again. It is right to consider who we were, who we are, but to dwell… To dwell is to be forgotten by the future.

  Speaking of the future.

  “How is Sophia?”

  Tess had placed the bottle upon the desk, gazing upon it like some sort of hostile thing, a creature ready to strike out if provoked. Or unprovoked. “She’s Sophia.”