by Kyle Olson
Shades of red stained her fur to the accompaniment of raucous cracks followed by soft paffs. She hissed but pressed on.
Somewhere in the din, a pistol went off.
Those who could run, ran. Running and firing, applying tactics meant for use against other men, soldiers, as best as they could.
Tarkit shimmied forward, dragging himself along with his elbows and shoulders, lest he make himself a bigger target. Bullets whizzed overhead. Hydon had leapt over him more than once. On one fly-over, blood spattered across his neck and back.
In their haste to eliminate the threats, both Hydon and Yf had missed the most important one. Hafferson was back on his feet. And Tarkit, in his haste to find cover, had assumed the man out of the fight. He looked up to greet the business end of a rifle.
Their eyes met.
Hafferson’s finger curled. Time slowed, and Tarkit closed his eyes, ready to meet the great beyond.
A retreating soldier bumped into the colonel, throwing his aim.
The round ripped through Tarkit’s back rather than his head. His mouth stretched open in a silent scream.
There was no follow-up shot, no killing blow as Hafferson’s weapon swung up to counter a threat bearing down on him.
More roars, more screams, more gunfire. But they’d lost their edge, their sharpness. Sound muddied, like he was underwater. Couldn’t feel the ground, just burn of a bullet through his back. He gasped, blood bubbled up from the back of his throat. Pain immobilized, stole what breath remained. His mind went wild with panic and fear, memories flashed by, feeding his terror.
“Medic!” Tarkit struggled to scream, but for all his strength he couldn’t manage more than a whimpering cry.
“Medic, medic,” he pleaded.
He’d been so lucky in the war. A bit of shrapnel had got him on the shoulder once, left a little mark. That’d been the extent of his injuries.
He’d seen so much more. Held men as they died. Watched others as they bled out in the dirt, alone. The fortunate ones had gone quickly, quietly.
The unlucky ones languished. Few are afraid as a young man who knows he’s dying, can see his comrades just out of reach, how they aren’t helping him. How they’re leaving him.
Spots flashed in his vision, some dark, others so bright it hurt.
Everything became so quiet he couldn’t even hear his own voice. Was he still shouting? He didn’t know, but had to try. Had to try. Sometimes medics would swoop in like angels, pulling men free from death’s grasp.
How much time had passed? Seconds, maybe minutes. Longer, less? Cold gnawed his bones.
There were less bright flashes, now. Less everything. More nothing. Tired, cold, terrified. Reality settled in on him, the few parts still present.
And then, something changed. The ground fell away. Or was it that he was falling up? Carried to the heavens by an angel? But there was no holy light.
No, not like this! I still have so much… so much… to…
He commanded an arm to reach out. A prickling on his fingertips. Solid reality. He pulled, dragging himself forward an inch. His other arm did the same.
Bit by bit, he found his grounding, dragging himself forward.
Yes, that’s it, I’m still here, still here. I can’t go yet, not yet, still, I still need let her know…
The barrage from above was over, for now. Aside from a small circle around Tess and Sejit, the ground was covered in a thick, craggy layer of ice chunks. She’d lost track of Ifon and Daontys, but they were still around, somewhere. Had to be. In her four-legged form, the cough wasn’t nearly as bad, despite how much her chest heaved.
Tess’ head snapped round. Barely audible above the ringing, but unmistakable: Gunfire. From down the road.
Who would—No. They wouldn’t.
Fuck.
They would.
A low groan from Sejit. She sat up, testing at the wound on her chest with a massive paw. It came away drenched in blood, but the injury itself had mended.
Another burst of gunshots got her attention, now that she was alert.
“Who is fighting down there?” Sejit asked, massaging a temple with the heel of her hand-paw. Her ears swiveled, and her big, pink nose sniffed.
“Yf, probably. No one else around.”
“But they should be—”
Another clatter of gunfire, no different than any of the others. To Tess, that is.
Sejit’s eyes went wide and she sprang to her feet.
“Tarkit!” Her voice was a whisper, yet rattled the ice around them, even made Tess flinch.
By the time Tess had opened her mouth to utter a response, before the first syllable had come out, Sejit was gone. She’d dropped to all fours and scrambled across the treacherous landscape, her massive paws and bulk fracturing and shattering remains as she tore off, sending the hunks flying in a rooster tail of ice.
Tess shut her mouth. Instead, she took a moment to inspect the bleak landscape with all her senses. Nothing from sight or hearing, but scent—scent picked up their lingering aroma, but it was indistinct, unclear. They could be nowhere, or anywhere.
Not wanting to risk them by herself, Tess scampered after Sejit.
Then again, motherly instincts warned her that it might be safer to chase after Ifon and Daontys alone.
Horror lanced Sejit’s heart. Great bounding strides carried her to Tarkit. Bodies lay everywhere. Her son was propped up against a splintered tree trunk, blood trickling down his chin. Sweat beaded across face and neck despite the chill, skin pale as the driven snow.
In the corner of her thoughts she acknowledged Sophia and Yf were hobbling about.
“Tarkit!” Sejit dropped down next to him, hand-paws racing across his body in search of the wounds.
“Ma,” he wheezed, “I might’ve messed up,” he continued, each word punctuated by a shallow breath.
“Where?”
“In the back, if you can believe it,” he tried to laugh, but it came out with the same noise of a deflating ball. He leaned forward, away from the tree.
One large hole in his jacket, drenched and blackened with blood.
“Hold on,” she said, gentle as her hybrid throat could manage. Sejit cut away his jacket with a claw, along with his shirt. Blood spilled from the wound as the cloth sticking it to was pulled away. She balled up the shirt and jammed it against his back. It was a miracle he was still alive, but who knew how much longer that’d be.
Yf came alongside her, dragging a battered rear leg. She’d taken a hit to the hip. Blood soaked the white fur of her face, but it didn’t smell like hers.
“Yf. Penthouse.”
“Yeah, wow, I’m doing great,” she muttered, but at the same time didn’t waste a moment in conjuring the portal, a black disc suspended in the air—far larger than the usual ones.
Tess had finally caught up with Sophia in tow. Before either of them could say a word, Sejit stripped her son bare, claws expertly tearing his clothing apart without risk to the flesh underneath. He couldn’t even shiver against the cold. With a gentleness unbecoming the war goddess, she scooped him up and bounded through the portal.
Footpaws squeaked on the hardwood floors in the hallways, leaving behind smeared red prints.
She rushed past a stunned Wophin, barking: “Ambulance!”
Reaching her room, she kicked the door open—right off its hinges—and placed Tarkit upon her bed, on his good side. Claws sliced sheets into ribbons, creating ad hoc bandages. A folded wad was pressed to his wound with the rest wrapped tight around him.
The white cotton was soaking through red.
Tarkit gasped, grabbing hold of his mother’s arm, “I, I know you wanted to show me, make it a gift to me…”
Her temples pounded in time with her heart, she held her son close. “Don’t talk. Save your strength. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”
“Haaa… listen to you… Don’t worry, I know, know you’ll save this world even if…”
“Wophin!”
Sejit bellowed, then turned back to her son, “Yeah, listen to me…”
The small god appeared in the doorway, “They’re on their way. I instructed them of the importance of the matter. Fortunately…”
In the distance, sirens came alive.
“…The hospital is not far.”
“Hear that? You’ll be fine. I’ll do the surgery myself if I have to.”
“You, you were always good with a blade and your hands,” Tarkit said, all his effort and strength put into a smile. The corners of his lips twitched. “Ma, I just, just want you know, I’m proud of you. You’ve done great, just a little more, right? A little more and—”
A fit of coughs stole his words, but she knew how they’d finish. Knew too well.
Proud of me.
What’s there to be proud of?!
Hands occupied, her toes picked up the slack and curled, digging into the flooring, ripping the carpet.
If only I had something here. Needle, thread, something, anything! Not even a fucking bandage!
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
An eerie silence hung over the battlefield. Sophia sat on a nice rock, allowing Yf to tend to her. Her shoulder had been grazed and she got a shallow knife wound on the thigh. Nothing serious, but still hurt like hell. One of the men had a small field medkit, so she got actual bandages instead of those made from a uniform.
The man she’d killed had been the one with the medkit.
Couldn’t peel her eyes off the corpse.
Tess plopped on her haunches next to Sophia, following her line of sight. “That one yours?”
“Yeah.”
“The more you stare, the worse it’ll be.”
“Easy for you to say, how many thousands have you killed?” Sophia’s voice was placid as a still pond.
“Quite a few.”
“There, all done,” said Yf, standing. She stretched, popping her back and shoulders.
“Thanks.”
“Tess is right. They tried to kill you, you defended yourself. That’s that.”
A surge of emotion colored Sophia’s cheeks almost as much as the cold, “Yeah, because we’re just mortals.”
“If that’s what you want to believe,” Yf shrugged, then opened a portal, “I need to make sure Hydon is all right. He’s gonna be pissed I’ve taken so long as it is. You’ll be okay here?”
“Who knows?” Tess said, scratching at her ears with a rear leg, “No idea where they went. Soon as Sejit woke up from her little stabbing she hauled ass, so I didn’t get a chance to look around.”
“Right, well, I’ll pop back in a few—Oh, right. Sophia, you should probably come with.”
“…Nah, I’m fine. Thanks, though.”
“Uh-huh. If you say so.”
Yf vanished into her portal and just as it’d winked into existence, it winked out.
“Well, since you seem to have a death wish, may as well tag along with me. I’m going to check things out back up there, see if I can find something.”
“Sure,” said Sophia, following along after the jackal. Though, as they made the way back up the path, they passed by a soldier sprawled out in a pose only the dead could assume. Her fingers twitched, even itched. She stooped, taking his pistol from its holster, and stuffed it in the waistband of her pants. During the scrap, she’d lost the first one.
Tess said nothing of it, but her lips pulled back some, revealing more than just the tips of her white teeth.
Back up top, the blizzard had dissipated, leaving sunny skies. Some of the ice was beginning to melt, but there was no danger of it melting away entirely any time soon. Even without Ifon’s miracle, it wasn’t far above freezing.
Tess’ nose snuffled a few times to get a grasp of their scent once more. Nose to the ground, or as close as she could get it in many parts, she let it guide her. Ifon’s wolfish musk overpowered Daontys’ gentler fragrance, but they always overlapped. They’d been together, wherever they went. Dim, washed out scents, like a sun-bleached painting, began to pop with color as she tracked. She came to the house, or what was left of it. Little more than a pile of rubble atop a foundation.
Another smell wafted up from the wreckage. Another god, one she’d not smelled before.
Following to where it was strongest, she came upon a suspicious heap of debris. Her head cocked this way and that, comparing the scent to the rest. A large ice boulder sat there. Not an unusual sight, given the surroundings, but it was still… That was it. Too flat on the bottom, too neat. The hunk of ice was larger than her, but a few little blasts took care of the matter. It’d been concealing a stairwell, which, incidentally, was now filled with smaller ice chunks.
Perhaps she ought to have just tried pushing it away instead. The ice shifted and a wolfish smell flooded her nostrils.
She leapt away just in time to avoid Ifon bursting forth with a snarl. His leg was nearly whole, just the paw remained to form.
Fuckin’ war gods!
Ifon growled as he landed awkwardly, his vision shifting to scan his surroundings.
“Where is Sejit?”
“Not here,” said Tess, body held low to the ground, ready to dash and dodge.
He glanced over at Sophia.
“What do you mean not here?”
“What’s so hard to understand? She’s not here.”
“Then where is she? I know that was not a lethal wound. She should be recovered by now,” Ifon’s hackles bristled.
This turn of events allowed her to relax some. Well, this is interesting. Someone’s in a talkative mood. Is it because of his leg?
“Tarkit was on his way up here, got ambushed by Erton soldiers.”
Ifon sniffed at the air, big nostrils flaring, as if testing the truth. With one big huff, he seemed satisfied, but also… put off. Tess couldn’t place it. If only he had his human form. All those facial muscles made it so much easier to read one’s thoughts.
“Is he dead?”
“Not yet.”
“Why did he come here to begin with? Why would Sejit bring her son here?”
“Don’t know, though…” Tess shifted, casting a look at Sophia, “Why did you three leave the room?”
Sophia blinked; she’d been surveying the carnage. “Well, I had a… vision, about you all in danger. The military was going to attack and drop a really big bomb.”
“Little late on that one,” Tess sighed, “They already gave us the shock and awe.”
“You sure?” Sophia’s hand rested on the hilt of the pistol through her jacket. Her survey continued, where it went skyward to the cloudless skies, “I mean, it was really big. Like, nothing should be left up here. Not even trees.”
“Your ancestors never had that capability. A sphinx with sight? Hah! They would have been the ruin of us all.”
“It’s true, damn it!”
“Watch your tongue, mortal!”
Sophia started at a chuckle, which became a laugh like she’d heard the funniest joke, and ended at the shrill cackle of a woman who’d lost the last vestiges of her sanity. The nut had finally cracked. Tess was delighted to hear what the girl had to say, and at the same time, readied herself. His paw was slow to heal; by now it should’ve been finally formed, but it was still just at a stub, at what might be considered the wrist. Should he truly be having… problems, now could be the opportune time to engage him.
“Mortal, mortal, mortal. You uppity old asshole, look at you! Here I am, risking my neck to tell you that you’re gonna get fucked, and all you can do is call me a liar!”
Ifon hurled a spear of ice, but Tess was on point, shattering it mid-flight. Sophia squeaked and tried to cover her face from what’d become a peppering of hail.
“Now now,” Tess taunted, “Let’s hear what our little sphinx has to say, hmm?”
From the concrete stairwell a voice echoed, “Nothing important.”
Try as she might to keep herself under control, Tess couldn’t help but bristle at that hawkish voice. Daontys was looking, to th
e brightest of optimists, worse for the wear. Feathers were still blackened, though some new ones had grown in where old ones had been blasted clean off. But, he was still walking—albeit with a limp—and talking. Which meant it’d become a 2-on-1.
“Oh, good, you’re still alive.”
“Yes,” he said, turning one eye towards her then the other in quick, twitchy motions of his neck, “I am.”
“You shouldn’t have come up here,” Ifon said, voice a low rumble.
What feathers he had puffed up along with the rest of him, “As if I need to be guarded or hidden away!”
“…Suit yourself.”
“Wooow, you look like shit,” Sophia said, and then, to Tess’ great amusement, shooed him away with a flap of her hand, “You should go lay down or something. How is it that I’m the only mortal here, yet I’m in the best shape?”
“Suicidal, now? Gakaka! You’re in the-kofkof-shit-kof-nevermind.”
“Insolence! I do not care if you’re her pet, this will not stand!”
Daontys took to the air in a sweep of wings. Sunlight focused, building at a blinding point.
Tess darted forward, ready to char his hide once more, but Ifon leapt in her path, hurling frozen spears mid-flight, forcing her to dodge and weave.
The staccato of gunfire rang through the trees once more, to the surprise of all involved—especially Daontys. Once again he’d been cast down to the ground, smote by a mortal tool. Sophia’d fired off a pair of double-taps, each clipping his already damaged wings.
“Asshole!” She shouted, barely audible above the falcon’s screeches and cries.
Tess yipped excitedly, “How about that! Good work!”
Another nine rounds whizzed through the air, piercing the grounded god.
With Daontys down for the count, Tess focused her efforts on herding Ifon away from the Sun God with lashes of flame and mine-like explosions. Sophia’s chest heaved, her hands trembled. She squeezed the trigger again, but the magazine had nothing left to give. Click, click. One final click and she hurled the gun away, useless thing.