Vagabonds

by Kyle Olson

  Yet, Sophia was… smiling.

  Ifon attacked, swiping at the girl, but Tess intervened, throwing him off course with a little fire mine. Compared to their first scrap, Ifon’s movements were slow, awkward. His paw had healed enough to where he was putting weight on it, but only for the barest of moments. Though, she had a suspicion it wasn’t just the injury slowing him down. God of war he may have been, his stamina wasn’t limitless. Neither was Tess’.

  No massive, landscaping conflagrations, no howling blizzards and storms of ice boulders. Just firecrackers and snowballs. This went on for not more than a minute, neither side willing to commit more than the equivalent of a show of teeth.

  And then, Sophia pointed at the sky. “Look! I was right, see? Here comes a big-ass bomb to fuck us all!”

  Looking away when in the midst of battle was never a brilliant idea, yet Tess felt compelled, as did Ifon, by the distant whine of a jet that, somehow, they’d missed but Sophia heard.

  Way up, just like the last aircraft. A sliver of black against a blue background, moving fast. Soon, it was overhead. Soon, it’d crossed over them and turned around to go back from whence it came. Seemingly, nothing had happened.

  Then Tess heard the whistle.

  Ears guided eyes—There it was. Another lone dot, falling towards them as fast as gravity could drag it down from the blue expanse.

  Tess and Ifon stood still. While they couldn’t say what, exactly, was heading their way, they could hazard a guess. The white wolf grit his teeth and backed off a step, then raced towards his compatriot, throwing up a shield of ice to cover himself and Daontys. But, it was not to be. Daontys had taken leave of his senses, hurling insults and words as he regained himself, righted himself, eyes ablaze like the sun itself.

  In his recklessness he jumped straight up into the shield of ice and was slammed back to the ground, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He was on his feet again in a flash, altered his course, and took aloft on unsteady wings through a gap that hadn’t covered over.

  “Worms! Insects! Wretched scrabbling beasts! You dare defy your god?! PERISH!”

  He rocketed upwards, as if pulled aloft by an invisible hand. The sun surged, though no one would know it for several minutes to come. A massive flare, carrying with it enough power to knock out unshielded electrical systems and set fire to wires hanging on telephone poles had lashed out at the planet, beckoned by its god. Daontys tapped into that raw, cosmic power, channeling it. Fresh feathers sprouted, casting off the blackened remnants, gleaming like mirrors. Wings held wide, the tips came close together above his head, a focal point for the raw power he was about to unleash.

  Energy accumulated, radiating like a second sun in miniature.

  The whistling bomb had reached the proper height, just above Daontys.

  He vanished in the conflagration, the pressure wave obliterated his body. In milliseconds the hellish inferno threatened to swallow them, the land, the trees, everything. It might even expand all the way down to the highway.

  The storm of untamed entropy rushed towards Tess, but she was not consumed as Daontys had been, for she had been prepared. The front of flame halted, contained in an invisible sphere. Like a caged beast it railed against its confines, all its strength pining for release to fulfill its purpose.

  It was goddess versus energy itself. She clung with all her might, summoned will from the depths of eternity.

  A lapse of focus felled dozens of trees, sent Sophia tumbling backwards like a leaf. It weighed upon her like nothing else ever had, save for one thing. The jackal’s legs shook.

  Ifon watched. If there was ever an opportunity to strike the killing blow, this was it. Of course, he’d likely kill himself in the process. Thus, he waited, patient. Hopeful.

  With the last reserves of will, she unzipped the back of the sphere. Fire and energy lanced out like a hole poked in a balloon, spewing into the sky. The hole widened, against her command. It threatened to tear.

  Not yet, not yet not yet! I will not die here! You hear me?! You fucking hear me?!

  She coughed.

  Vision wavered. Her knees gave out.

  No!

  From a great distance, perhaps from a bird’s vantage, one would have seen a supernatural-sized ebon jackal standing upon a small expanse of land that had been reduced to a barren, cratered, ice-boulder strewn strip of hell. Above her, a roiling sphere of inferno, jetting like a volcano. It was beginning to deflate when the jackal fell. The sphere ripped apart, but the pressure—The pressure behind it all had gone, and other than one final obstinate puff, it dissipated harmlessly.

  Tess regained her footing, tentative as it was. She locked gazes with Ifon. Should he attack, there would be nothing she could do.

  Instead, he peered out from his shield, up to where Daontys’ final moment had come.

  Nothing remained.

  “It would seem my alliance has come to a close,” he said, as if it were more of an inconvenience than anything else.

  “Seems so,” Tess said, voice thick like molasses, like someone who was just waking up from an ageless slumber, “Going to surrender now?”

  His eyes narrowed and he measured the words on his tongue. “No. However… I have not lost, nor have you won.”

  He took a step forward, placing all his weight upon his now-healed paw, testing it.

  “So why don’t you just kill me now? I could scarcely fight back,” she said, trying to force a tired laugh.

  “Do you think I could fight both Erton and Sejit alone? Hah! I appreciate the vote of confidence. For the time being, I believe it is in our interests to call a truce.”

  Most anyone else and Tess would’ve assumed it to be a ploy. But, as much as it pained her to admit, Ifon was a god of his word.

  “Now isn’t that interesting. Go on.”

  “To begin, where has Sejit been all this time? If her son was fine, she should have come back by now.”

  “…I figured that’s what you were getting at,” Tess sighed, shaking her head, “But asking for me to walk away right now. You must have the biggest fucking balls in the world.”

  To Tess’ surprise, Ifon lowered his head for a moment, perhaps in pensive remorse. Until he chuckled, anyways, insomuch as a wolf could.

  “Perhaps I do. Perhaps I know that if I wish to see another day, I must make hard decisions and swallow my pride. I believe you also know this, for you’re no fool. At the least, we can agree that it’s in our best interests to part here, to wait and see what transpires.”

  “…Do you really think so poorly of her?”

  “Not at all! Is it so strange? We both know what she’s capable of when her wrath gets the better of her. Erton has wounded her son, and so it will be the whole nation who feels her retribution. If he survives, she is less likely to go on the warpath. If he does not… Even if she does not assault them, Erton intelligence has obviously discovered who we are. Why else would they have sent a unit and dropped ordnance here? Staying here is a folly, as is tiring ourselves further.”

  Tess inhaled deep. Any other circumstance she would have laughed, for it would’ve been the damnedest joke. An insult, even. Any other circumstance.

  Would Sejit go berserk if Tarkit died? five, ten years ago she would have been confident in answering ‘no.’ The lioness would’ve been heartbroken and angry sure, but she would have been able to keep herself together. Nowadays? Sejit had been worn dangerously thin, like there was something else eating away at her, something Tess couldn’t place.

  Much as it pained her, he was right. Much as she envisioned her children screaming out for revenge when she was so close, of their horror to find she would not just let him go, but work with him, she had no choice.

  Should she fight him now, she was sure to die. If she tried to fight him later, well, first there had to be a later.

  “Very well, I agree to a truce,” said Tess, the words sticking her in craw, “Even cooperation, if it comes to it. Sejit can’t be allowed to run
rampant.”

  “Excellent! I knew you were a woman of reason,” Ifon said, beaming—insomuch as a wolf could.

  “Are you kidding me? What the fuck!” Sophia had popped up, shuffling towards them like a bewildered drunk. Tattered clothing, bloody bruises, but whole, and in her four-legged shape.

  “Hey, you’re still kicking about. I was about to come looking for you.”

  “Yeah, sure. All I do for you guys and this is the thanks I get? And now you’re going to ally with him? You two just tried to kill each other like, a bunch of times! What about Sejit!”

  “Sejit is exactly what this is about. What do you think she’ll do if Tarkit dies?”

  Sophia stumbled around, settling on a seat of ice. She gave Tess’ words their due thoughts and reached a conclusion in short order. “Oh.”

  “Oh, indeed. But,” Tess continued, watching Ifon, “That’s only if the worst happens.”

  “Even if we work together,” Ifon said, worry creeping into his tone, “I question our chances. How was she stopped last time? Would be nice to know.”

  “Wouldn’t it?”

  CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

  It was only by Wophin’s reminder that Sejit assumed her human form and put on something herself after putting pants on her son. There were questions, of course, as the medics arrived. They’d not been told it was a gunshot, for if they had, police would have been dispatched alongside them and investigated first to ensure it was safe. It’d eat precious time he did not have.

  It was only because of the Marshal’s insistence that they broke protocol and remained to load him onto a stretcher. She followed them down and out.

  It was odd for the ruler of the nation to wish to ride along with a stranger who’d been shot outside the museum. Many things were odd, really, but who were the medics to pry too deep when there was a man in danger?

  By the time they got to the hospital, he’d become so weak he couldn’t keep his eyes open, his breaths were so shallow one had to look close to see the subtle rise and fall of his chest to ascertain if he was alive or dead.

  Only by right of her power and position did she forestall the police being notified. This was to be secret. Doctors and nurses alike gave her an uncertain, but knowing, look after all the lies about what had happened were told.

  Even with the power to circumvent iron-clad procedure, there was one thing she was not allowed.

  Sejit could not be in the operating room.

  Here she was, being told by mortals she couldn’t do something when her son’s life was on the line. Underneath her human skin, claws itched. Fangs yearned to flash.

  Deny me? Tell me what I can’t do?

  I’ll—No. It’d, it’d only slow them down.

  Patience.

  She swallowed pride and anger and forced herself to pace to bleed off some anxious energy. May as well have used a ladle to drain a lake.

  Lights flickered a few times until whatever caused it passed or the backup power for the hospital kicked in to smooth things over.

  Patience. Patience Patiencepatience.

  She kicked a chair in the waiting room so hard the thing splintered into pieces, wooden shrapnel and bits of padding flying everywhere. Several others in the waiting room froze in horror before running out as she assaulted another chair.

  Hospital security ran in.

  Sejit stared them down, as if daring them to try anything. To say anything.

  “Uh, Marshal,” one said, once he’d cleared his throat sufficiently, “You can’t, I mean, please don’t destroy the furniture.”

  Several nurses and other onlookers were peering into the room. At least two photos were taken. This was going to be in the news tomorrow, if not tonight. On top of everything else going on. There would be unofficial investigations into who the mystery man was, by journalists and amateurs alike. Rumors would fly regardless of the result.

  Who were they to tell her what to do? Who were they to divide her from her son in his greatest hour of need? Who the fuck were they to gossip and question!

  Pride filled her mouth and throat, bubbling up from the pit of her stomach in protest.

  “GET OUT!”

  Her voice was a storm-whipped wave crashing over them, sending the ensemble scurrying like scared cats—even the hospital security.

  She dropped heavy and leaden into a chair, the frame creaking under her bulk. Minutes dragged like hours. None dared peer back in.

  To add to the weight straining her patience, a thought wormed its way into her mind: She’d abandoned Tess and Yf. And Sophia. When was the last time she retreated from a battlefield? No, no it wasn’t a retreat, it was… Something more important had come up. They could take care of themselves. Probably. There was, however, the issue of the military troops. Had to be Ertonian. Which meant a lot of things, raised a lot of questions. A wildcard factor in a battle, a war that was already unpredictable and uncertain.

  Unable to remain seated any longer, she set to pacing once more, threatening to wear a divot in the waiting room carpet.

  News of their skirmish in Erton was sure to get out eventually. How would the world react to that battlefield a day after Ifon and Tess had torn through Sioun?

  It used to be so simple. She commanded, mortals obeyed. They didn’t doubt the gods, nor their existence. She was worshiped, even if it was only in fear by a certain point.

  And now Tarkit was in surgery.

  Sejit laughed coarse and bitter. Her laughter tapered off into a long, tired sigh.

  What am I fighting for?

  Time continued its long grind. Centuries of life were a blink of an eye in comparison. The death of her children was nothing new. It was something she, any god, had to accept. By some twist of fate, of some conspiracy of universal will, their children were mortal.

  Acceptance was difficult, even if the matter was forced. But, it was one thing for their lives to pass on in old age or disease or any number of life’s little foibles. It was another for them to be attacked.

  Attacked.

  It used to be mortals didn’t try to kill their gods or their progeny.

  Attacked.

  Sejit asked herself: By allowing this, how would the mortals in the Erton government act? Surely, they knew the truth, who she really was. Or, perhaps, those mortals had been after someone else. Daontys. Ifon. Tess. Maybe they didn’t know, just had a hunch of who she was. Or not even that.

  No matter. They would feel her retribution.

  …Maybe it was that Tarkit happened to be caught up in the crossfire, that no one knew anything. It was an accident.

  An accident that happened because of her insistence that he be there.

  She buried her face in her hands.

  Stupid, stupid stupid stupid.

  Regret was a terrible poison, one any god knew to avoid. Do not regret the battle lost, accept your actions and learn from them. The most basic of tenants for a life that extended beyond mortal capacity.

  She regret bringing Tarkit along. Nothing was going to change that.

  Rage and sorrow, a chaotic tempest raging within. She wanted to destroy and cry, massacre and sob, slaughter and be comforted.

  All Sejit, The Great Conqueror, She Who Slays, The Indomitable, could do was wait.

  She did not need to wait much longer.

  A surgeon, still wearing scrubs, poked around the corner into the room. She’d obviously been informed of what’d transpired.

  “Marshal?”

  “Yes? What is it? Is he okay?” Sejit rushed to the tiny woman, towering over her like a lion would a fawn.

  The woman clutched a clipboard to her chest. “He, he didn’t have any ID on him. Would you be able to provide us with identification?”

  “Yes. Of course. How is he?”

  The surgeon opened her mouth to speak but lost her words. Instead, she extended the clipboard towards the most powerful person in the country. Sejit snatched it from her, eyes glancing across the papers.

  Basic information.
Name, address, civilian ID number, travel visa number, if applicable. Contact person.

  The next page was a block of text with room for a signature at the bottom. Same with other pages. Large blocks of text and requested signatures.

  She went back to the second page and read it.

  Three sentences in. She dropped the clipboard. It clattered to the carpet, papers exploding off in all directions.

  Emerald eyes held the woman captive. The surgeon’s body fought against her mind, urging it to flee, but it was as if her body had betrayed her, tethered to the Marshal’s command.

  “You will take me to him.”

  The doctor could only nod, turn as if on a ratchet, and lead the way with short, mechanical steps. She led Sejit into the operating room, where a nurse was cleaning up. The scent of antiseptics wafted into her sinuses. There were no noisy machines; they’d all been turned off. Sejit’s emergency bandages were in a bloody pile on a steel tray.

  Tarkit was on his back. Unmoving. Still. Too still. She couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

  Sejit stumbled towards him like a drunkard, nearly falling. She grabbed the side rail of the gurney for support. It bent under her weight.

  Her hands went to his cheeks, his face.

  “My boy, my boy,” she whispered, voice strained and cracking, “Mom’s here now, Mom’s here for you, everything will be fine, please, wake up…”

  Stillness.

  “This is my fault, all my fault…”

  Tears dripped from her chin, tiny splashes upon the gurney, the floor. Upon Tarkit.

  “If you could please tell us who he was, so we can—”

  “OUT.”

  Bloody instruments clattered upon their trays. Staff scattered.

  Yf was tending to Hydon’s injuries when she felt the beckoning from Sejit. An urgency she’d never experienced before.

  “Shit. Sorry Hydon, I’ll be back soon…”

  The tiger’s ears flattened against his head and he made a low, unhappy noise, but accepted.

  In a flash Yf stepped through into the operating room. Sejit stared at her in a way she’d never seen before. Hollow eyes. A silent plea. Begging. Begging! Her gaze fell upon Tarkit.