Romy's Legacy: Book II of the 2250 Saga

by Nirina Stone

  “He didn’t waste time with parties,” Blair says, as if he could read the thoughts in my head. “He was busy founding colonies and constructing harbours, improving water supplies. Things that any basic society needs. He commanded a great fleet. Oh, what was his name?”

  He looks at me expectantly, as if I’ll supply him with the answer. I just shrug.

  “I hope I don’t die without remembering who he was. It would suck to die, don’t you think? And then be forgotten?”

  My chest constricts and I flinch when he breathes in painfully. I nearly tell him he won’t be forgotten. Whomever this Roman was, I’m sure he wasn’t forgotten, either. It’s just, I’d probably never heard of him.

  Before I can say something, Blair coughs and sighs. I realize that I don’t want him to die—despite our history, despite how much he annoys me. I don’t want him to die.

  When I tell him as much, he simply laughs. “Will you miss me, Romy?” he asks. “Did you fall in love with me? Or is it that you can’t handle being alone?”

  Ignoring the “fall-in-love” comment, I think, What a thing to say. Of course, I can handle being alone—in fact, I love being alone. What an odd thing to say. When I frown, he says, “It explains your relationship with Strohm, don’t you think?”

  What does Eric have to do with any of this?

  When Blair takes another long drag and keeps his eyes on me, I say, “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Is that right?” he says. “Then, explain your relationship to me.”

  It doesn’t matter that he’s bleeding out, that he’s slowly dying. I don’t care. I’m not about to answer the question. “It’s really none of your business.”

  I know they’re close, “brothers in all ways but blood,” Eric once told me, since they grew up together. But Blair’s not my brother. Besides, how do I explain something to him that I don’t fully understand myself?

  Blair laughs again. “What if it’s my one dying wish? To know what’s up with you and Strohm.”

  I don’t care. You can go to your grave without my answer. I don’t care.

  When I don’t speak, he gasps again—the breath he takes in seems to hurt him from every angle.

  “Harsh, Romy,” he says. “Can’t even grant a guy his dying wish.”

  “I don’t think it is your dying wish,” I reply, “and my relationship with Strohm—with Eric—is really none of your concern. I don’t understand why you insist on asking about it, anyway.”

  “Okay,” he says, “you’re right. It’s not my one wish—but I wonder if you would grant me one if I asked for it. Or if you’d still let me suffer to death.”

  It’s my turn to roll my eyes. I know he’s playing me. I raise my eyebrows. “What’s your dying wish, Blair?” I hope it’s a song or a story or maybe a longer hit of jane. When his eyes land on my lips and back to my eyes and he raises his eyebrows at me, I stop hoping.

  “Think you know what it is,” he says as his eyes alight on my mouth again. Great. He has to pull this stunt right now, does he? Well he’s about to die, anyway. What do I care if I don’t grant him this? It’s not like I need to feel guilty about it. It’s not like I’m the one who’s killed him. But then, it’s only one kiss and it’s not like he hasn’t kissed me before. It was a long time ago, but still—

  “You’re overthinking it,” he says, “unless you’re planning on kissing a dead man—”

  I shush him and lean in closer, pressing my lips gently on his, hoping the action doesn’t make his side hurt more. He makes a low humming sound in his throat but doesn’t move. When I lean back again, he’s watching me. I can’t decipher the look on his face.

  “Surely,” he says, “that can’t be the last kiss to send me to my grave?”

  Is he serious? He smiles at me, the glint in his eye back. Now that I’m sitting this close to him under the moonlight, I can see that he’s quite handsome. The spattering of grey in his hair brings out the grey in his eyes, which are now staring at me expectantly. I lean in again and kiss him for a longer time. This could very well be the last kiss of a dying man, one that saved my life from that cat—so I make it count.

  Though I know he’s in pain, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, radiating his warmth through me. I didn’t realize until now that I’d felt cold.

  He pulls me closer and leans back so that I’m on top of him, still kissing him a deep long kiss. My face and neck turn feverish as I lean into him. The flutters in my chest move down to my belly and almost turn painful. Still I fight the feelings, then the thought that I’m enjoying the kiss far more than I should.

  When we hear another howl in the woods, we finally pull apart.

  “Shit,” Blair says as I gently pull him back up to a sitting position. “The blood must have attracted them. You need to go.”

  What? Go where? Leave him here? To get eaten? We may not be the best of friends I think, but there’s no way I’d do that. I don’t hate Blair—maybe I did, once upon a time. Not anymore. I don’t know what I feel now, but I know I can’t abandon him.

  “I can’t leave you to be wolf kibble,” I say.

  “Yes you can,” Blair says, “you need to go now. Just keep heading northwest, it’s not far. They’ll be distracted with me and you need to run. Right now.” Why is he so keen on sacrificing himself for me? And if we’re not far from where we need to be, why can’t he just come with me? I’m annoyed with his insistence on me leaving him. It’s not happening.

  “You can’t order me around, Blair. I’m not one of your little soldiers.” I stand up and grab the small knife he’d used against the cat, then I reach for my metal rod. It won’t be much—at all—but I’m not leaving him here to get eaten alive. The thought is too much.

  “I’m already dead, Romy,” he growls, “but you have a chance to get away. I know I’m a good kisser, but come on.”

  The guy insists on going down with the last word. Still, I resist the urge to respond to his joke.

  Don’t push it Blair, or I will leave you. Despite the thought, I stand in front of him, and look left and right, waiting for something to walk through the bush again.

  This time, I won’t let it get too close. This time, I’ll ram the end of the metal pole right through its eye and into its brain if I can. Another howl—it’s closer now. I know it will come through the bushes on my right so I turn, hold the rod straight out like a sword, and brace myself.

  “Sanaa was right about you,” Blair says, but before I can ask what he means, we hear two more howls, from two different directions, getting closer to our campsite. It’s the wolf pack.

  Three of them break through the bush, a synchrony of bared teeth and rough fur. They’re about twice as big as the cat, and their grey and white fur stand out under the light of the moon. They look at me, then eye Blair like he’s supper—which, I guess we will both become in a few minutes. I don’t intend to go down without a fight.

  I hope you choke on me, I think, and brace my legs, slightly bending my knees. My knuckles whiten as I grip my measly weapons and try to stop my shoulders shaking.

  I hear another growl to our right and spot another wolf out of the corner of my eye—this one’s several feet closer to us than the first three.

  Keeping them all within my peripheral vision, I crouch closer to Blair, keeping my chest high as if to challenge them. I don’t really have a plan in place. I hear Blair’s breathing behind me, and know that I simply don’t have it in me to run away from this. To let him get eaten so I live.

  “You’re being idiotic,” he whispers, “I would have run—”

  His voice triggers another round of growls from the wolves, and one of them takes a calculated step forward.

  I try to keep my eyes off its teeth though they gleam like tiny mirrors under the moonlight.

  The growls abruptly stop when they seem to hear something in the distance—too far or too high-pitched for my human ears.

  Then one of them turns and whimpers—it has its back to m
e and faces the trees. It bends its legs, with its tail tucked neatly between its haunches. I look at the other wolves, and they are acting even more meek. What would make animals like these react like this?

  “Hit them now,” Blair whispers, but it doesn’t feel right. Sure, they would have eaten us without hesitating, but it doesn’t seem right to go after them, their backs to us when they’re this scared, this vulnerable. So I stand my ground, though I keep my eyes on them.

  Then they turn back around to us, but by the time I raise my arm to attack, they run past us and into the dark. They barely make a sound as they retreat.

  “What in Odin—” Blair starts.

  I look after the running wolves, then l turn back to the spot from where they came.

  The ground shakes and rumbles under my feet before I hear it. There’s no mistaking it—something big, something heavy and fast is coming towards us. And it scared off four hungry wolves.

  I try to breathe and swallow but my throat hurts. What could possibly scare off a pack of hunting wolves? Trying to erase pictures of land monsters and bogeymen from my mind, I slip the knife in my belt, the metal rod down my back, and I turn to Blair.

  “I don’t know about you,” I say, “but I’d really rather not be here when that thing reaches this spot.”

  For a second, I think he will insist I leave him again. When he doesn’t utter a word, I pull him up to his feet—ignoring the sounds he makes—and we do a shuffle run towards where the wolves disappeared. I pull him harder along, knowing I’m only causing more pain, knowing he’s still bleeding.

  He purses his mouth to stifle the sounds, but every escaped grunt, every huff he makes, is telling. “I don’t get you,” he says between pained breaths. “I don’t get why you’re doing this. You could save yourself.”

  I could, I think. I could run much faster on my own—I could try to climb up a tree, something. But I simply can’t make myself do it, though it might cause my death.

  I say, “You’re the only one here who knows where we’re headed, Blair. I’d like to know where it is.”

  It’s only half false. He’ll bleed out before we can survive this, I think, then wipe the thought from my head. The truth is—whatever I’m feeling for Blair, as confusing as it is, it won’t allow me to give up on him. I can delve into deeper thoughts about it all later. For now, our lives are on the line.

  We’re still shuffling away, but the rumbling is getting more intense, more immediate. I should have thought of running in another direction. We should have run left instead of straight in front of the rumbling. Hoping it’s not too late, I pull him in that direction.

  That’s when it comes through the brush and rushes past us—a stampede of all sorts of animals: deer, wolves, moose. It could be the moonlight, but I swear I see rats run through the bigger animals’ hooves as well.

  “What the—” Blair says. All I can think of is how lucky we are. Most of them are running a few feet away from us, and the rest skip to the side before they manage to ram into us. Was that a bear? What in Odin would cause a stampede like this? I’ve read stories about such a thing, but they are always one species at a time, aren’t they?

  I don’t stop to think though. Whatever has these things running for their lives and not stop for an easy snack is not something I want to stick around to see. So I put my arm around Blair’s waist and pull him along faster. At least his screams are muffled by the sounds of heavy hooves around us.

  Then Blair falls. I shift my legs, trying to grab on to him, but the blood is too slippery. The moment I get him back up, he falls again. Then something runs into me, pushing me forward and away from Blair. I yell his name, but can’t hear my own voice, least of all his.

  Whatever rammed into me doesn’t have horns, at least, but the impact definitely broke some ribs. I hold on to the animal’s head as it brays—it could be a doe—and I hold on tight, aiming to climb up and onto its back. I lost Blair—but I can’t focus on that right now. I have no idea where he fell.

  I look up and past the animal’s back, through a yellow fog of dirt with other animals streaming through it. If he fell like that, and it’s moonlight, and they’re all panicked, I don’t expect that he’d survive their crushing run. I try not to focus on it, but struggle to climb up on the doe’s back.

  And then my hands slip from her as she falls too. I hold on tight, bracing myself for the impact, hoping the death will be fast. Painless.

  10

  Where Am I?

  I expect to hit the ground hard. I expect the impact to jar my entire body and break hundreds of bones. Instead, the doe keeps falling and her head finally slips through my arms.

  Looking up, I see a flash of something metal. Sharp. Menacing like a knife. It moves over the ground like a swimmer’s arms sluicing through water.

  Before I can identify the thing, I’m falling faster, down an abyss that swallows me whole. My arms automatically reach over my head, trying to grab on to something—a root or a ledge or anything. But the wall I fall past is smooth under the collapsing dirt and gravel.

  The drop seems to last hours, days. I look up again but have to shut my eyes when dirt and dust land in them, sitting under my eyelids like shards of glass. I can’t even rub them, my hands are too busy uselessly reaching for ledges that don’t exist.

  Then I’m choking, choking on dirt. Coughing so hard, only the end of the fall distracts me enough to stop.

  I’ve landed right on the doe, as something small and furry lands on my head, latching on for dear life. I reach up to throw the thing off and shudder—I don’t want to know what sort of rodent that was, but I’m relieved it’s tiny. I assume, I hope, the bigger animals were fast enough to jump out of the way. I wonder where Blair’s body is and try to think of something else before I cry.

  It’s dark in the hole. At least, I assume it’s black until my sore eyes adjust and finally see the silhouettes in the dark. There must be a light source from somewhere. I chance to look up again, but we are far from the surface. I can’t see any moonlight. Liquid drips into my eye and I wipe at it, smelling blood—mine or another animal’s, I’m not sure.

  I stop to take a breath as I slide off the unmoving doe. Okay, I think. First things first—other than my ribs, what’s broken? Aware of a familiar ache, I slide my hand down the side of my leg and my fingers come up slick with fresh blood. There’s a distinct dark smear on my fingers.

  I take stock of my hands, toes, limbs. Everything hurts, and my entire arm feels like it’s been pulled through gravel. I flinch at the slightest movement, and know my right femur must be broken. Otherwise, I’m okay, I’m still in one piece. Talk about finding a silver lining.

  My eyes adjust as I look around, hearing soft breathing and cries. I guess the doe’s not the only animal down here. I count seven, maybe eight of them. They’re all as stunned as I am. And, I note that there are no wolves. Phew.

  The ground underneath me is unnatural. Too uniform. I slide my hand on it and note it’s made of cool metal. It’s not smooth though—it’s made of hard lines and circles and square grids, large enough to fit small fruit. I stick a finger in but, touching nothing, yank my finger out, realizing that’s probably not recommended. Where am I?

  As my eyes continue to adjust, the pain in my leg and ribs finally take over other senses.

  I look down at my belly, remembering that it’s not just me to worry about anymore. I’ve been preoccupied, but there’s no avoiding the fact that there’s a baby there. Then I wonder if a pregnancy can survive the kind of fall I just had. Wondering if—I place a hand on my belly but know that it’s far too early for any kind of movements from the foetus anyway. Still, I’m sure I’ll know soon enough, if I survive whatever this place is.

  A large shape looms up across the room from me. And it is a room—four walls, maybe ten by ten, and nothing but injured animals between me and whatever that thing is. When it emits a low motor-like grunt as it stands, I realize it’s a bear. I saw one up close my f
irst month in the north. All I know about bears is that they can run fast, climb trees, swim. Basically, there’s no way to survive an attack if one sets its eyes on you.

  Unless, of course, you have a weapon. I reach for the knife but it’s gone. The rod fell off my back before I started falling into this hole.

  I hold my breath for a minute. It’s mostly to not bring any attention to myself, but also to take a break from the strong, musky animal scents around me. The wall behind me is warm on my back and I turn, seeing a small slit in it, like a viewing window of sorts. What is this place?

  I place my hand on the tiny window, feeling around for a latch to open it, but it’s flush in the wall. When I pull my fingers back, they leave behind a bloody smear.

  When I hear movement, I dart my eyes back to the shape a few feet away from me. It lurches forward and my breath hitches. Great.

  Here I thought I’d be wolf dinner tonight. Looks like bear’s on the menu. The thought is wrong, backward, I know that—and it makes me giggle. Why am I giggling?

  When I take in a breath again, I realize I’m having a difficult time. It’s like the air in here has been sucked out. The bear lumbers back again and looks ready to sit. I hear the other animals’ breaths are short and pained too. We’re all equally struggling.

  My hand is back on the viewing window when I see a slight shadow, then large brown eyes stare at me from the other side.

  “Hey!” is what I mean to say. Instead, I manage a tiny squeal before reverting to fighting to breathe.

  The lack of air is making my brain fog up and I think I’m about to faint. My whole body’s numb—even the pain in my broken ribs and leg is gone.

  So I bite down, hard, on my tongue, fighting the dull dizzy sensation like I’m about to pass out. I want to see the death come at me, whether it’s the bear or whatever sinister reason that requires small rooms with big holes in the floor. I can’t breathe now. I’m suffocating.