“Where are we supposed to find the next one then?” Cherry hissed. It had been a while since he had heard anyone use the stupid whisper and he shot her a look of his own.
“We’re still going there, but I don’t want him to know that,” he told her.
He could tell them what was about to go down, but he could feel a timer in his head. More than that, he was literally in two places at once and he was seeing this present as if it were indeed unfolding now (because it was) but also as himself from the future.
Grabbing Cherry’s hand, he turned and yanked them back towards the warehouse, nearly colliding with Brute, Dolly, and Sunday as he did. They jumped aside as he parted through them.
“What’s going on?” Dolly murmured, clambering to stay caught up with the others.
The only one that could answer that was him and he didn’t.
He let go of Cherry’s hand as the thrall warmed through him, using that preternatural speed to bolt ahead without them. He leapt along the rooftops, landing on the flattop of the warehouse with its slanted greenhouse windows and peering down.
And there he was, his young dumb ass self, standing in the middle of a den of thieves because he had been too scatterbrained to remember what he had been doing there.
He didn’t remember how he had gotten out then, but the memory was white-hot now. It wouldn’t have been a lie to say he’d gotten out by himself, but only if that literally meant beside the thrall-empowered future version of himself.
Turning, he damn near yelped in an almost-collision with the Maiden form of Cherry. Ever more terrifying for the angry look on her face, he had to swallow the urge to form weapons in his hands. He didn’t dare look at the ghostly swirling gowns of the other Rain Maidens behind her.
“Have Brute take you to the inlet for your search. I’ll draw the dead while I take care of this,” he told her, the low grumble of his voice gentled in his hope she wouldn’t fight him on this.
“I can help you,” Cherry insisted, that terrible beauty more unsettling as it eased into kindness.
“I know, but I have to take care of this on my own. Trust me,” he pleaded.
Her icy cold hand crackled as it passed over the infernal heat of his cheek, but she did not pull it away. Those swimming abyssal eyes searched his and she nodded, tossing her head back to look at Brute.
Brute nodded and the four of them zipped away, leaving him alone on the roof.
The ‘ghosts’ were closing in on him down below. Hopping up, he twisted as gravity pulled him through the glass, using his rotation to propel the shards away from his younger self and shooting out with more force at the others. Plus, it made one hell of a flaming tornado has he formed dual swords in his hand on the way down.
It had taken out a couple of them, but his younger self looked less than amused.
“I told you to leave,” younger him warned.
“And I know better than to listen to myself,” he joked back. “Draw your weapon, asshole, I’m not letting you take all the credit. But tell that bastard he owes you double.”
His younger self did so, going one better and cutting one side of a weighted cargo rope, sending him up to the rafters were some of the other thieves peered down.
“Yeah, cool. Fucking show-off,” he grumbled, watching his younger self taking down a couple of the thieves on his own.
It wasn’t enough that they had to fight the thieves, but he could feel the pull of the Maidens as they called the beacons. He could feel the pull of the Gate (and it would be Brute’s this time), but he would have to stay in the Realm of Men this time around.
He’d already thought that one through, pulling out Brute’s Key. They wouldn’t be crossing over anywhere without it, after all.
As he suspected, the shadows that usually swarmed the gates oozed into their realm and the wraiths mingled with the chaotic swarm of thieves. It had done well in drawing the dead and the thieves into battling each other as well.
Charging to the other side of the room, he cut through many of them like paper dolls, aiming to meet up with his younger self through the path of bodies and blood. The wound on his thigh strangely ached and he knew something was wrong about that. The thrall always numbed away pain in the adrenaline-laced surge of battle lust. Not that he could do jack shit about it right that second.
It hadn’t take long to cut through them and he stood facing his younger self, recognizing each new slash on the boy for the scars they would be later. He’d always done well to avoid mirrors but looking at himself like this was far worse.
“Who the hell are you?” his younger self asked.
“You won’t remember anyway,” he shot back without hesitation.
His younger self gave a familiar shrug.
“Probably not. Hey, old man, that wound on your thigh is seeping. Take this,” the cocky younger version of him teased, digging in his satchel to pull out a vial.
He didn’t need it but he caught it, frowning at the glowing orange liquid inside. Already his memories were dimming with the danger of dying past and he struggled to come up with what he was looking at. He had the ABCs of antidotes, but not this one… His younger self shrugged.
“I don’t know. Some Fajja guy came around and said to give it to the next unlucky bastard who bails me out,” his younger self said.
He was glad his younger self took off without ceremony as he uncapped the vial and swigged back the foul liquid. It trailed a searing pain down his throat, one that shot to the wound in his leg. He saw the wound glow with the undercurrent of molten lava before the wound sealed itself shut.
“Fajja-fucker… You just can’t seem to leave me alone, can you?” he grumbled.
The beacon had been called, but there was no seeing from inside the warehouse. He stowed Brute’s Key back into its sheathe and hurried off to find them.
Cherry delicately held a compress to his eye as they sat around the fire of a hearth they had lit in one of the unused buildings close to the inlet. She had offered to heal him, but they looked more tired than usual and he’d earned that black eye for taking Brute’s Key.
He had even laughed once the stars cleared.
The beacon was barely visible, a wavering stripe through the dirt-fogged window of their borrowed domicile and that jutted from above the menacing silhouette of the Coliseum.
Another laugh escaped him as he wondered if he’d gotten ‘home’ all right, wherever home had been for his younger self.
Cherry had pulled her hand back as the hysterical sobs of his mirth pealed through him. She landed a scolding punch to his shoulder and he rubbed at it as if that jab hurt more than the one she was treating.
“She couldn’t become a Rain Maiden when you took her key like that. It’s not funny,” she said, chastising him in her misunderstanding.
He shook his head, not bothering to enlighten her. It would be too easy to let anything slip if he talked about the paradox at all. Never mind that the Coliseum had only served to drag a keen edge over the madness as well.
“I’m no genius, but there’s no way that was just your younger brother with the exact same mark either,” Brute accused, subdued only because Dolly was sleeping against her side. There was also no way in hell anyone wanted another child after him but that was beside the point.
Sunday had stayed oddly quiet through all of it, always seeming content to observe, but even her glance betrayed a voracious curiosity in that arena.
“The Gods work in mysterious ways,” he said with a shrug, knowing how weak the avoidance sounded.
“You want me to be forthright, but insofar, you have done nothing to return the favor,” Cherry spoke up, jabbing at his eyes less delicately. It did earn her a genuine ‘ow’ from him now.
“If I thought I was doing any of you a favor by talking about it, I would. I don’t know why the hell I’m here and that’s the truth of it. Seeing as the only clear mission is protecting you, at least be assured I am upholding that much,” he told them, his eyes holding
Cherry’s alone.
Cherry held his gaze for some tense span of time, releasing a shaky pent-up breath and letting her hand fall away from where she held the cloth.
“You don’t trust us to help you too,” she accused, but she was no longer angry. The disappointment saturating her every word said enough.
“You’re wrong. I know you can handle yourselves. We need each other,” he confessed.
It was an alien feeling, the thought of needing anyone, but it was true. It wasn’t about dependency, so there was no weakness in those words. The Flame God had him on a leash. Whatever reason the God had, that story was well beyond his knowing. No one knew why the Flame God had rent the Rain God into Keys, why the Rain God had entrusted him to do so. Nevertheless, he was enslaved to protect them. He didn’t doubt Fajja would send borogs after him himself if he thought to back out. So while there was no virtuous reason for his cooperation, he did need them, as much as they needed him. Maybe more.
It had been a while since ‘Brute’ had cut along the western edge of the Anders territory.
Her father had owned his own small ferry company, just another small fish in a big ocean. His aspirations had been to expand enough that the fatter wallets would be open to him.
She had been an only child. Even before she reached double digits, she was towering beside other boys her age, broad shouldered, her sturdy frame awkward with muscle. She had been a valet for her father’s company though, always toting around the cargo and luggage their meager clientele had lugged around with them.
She was always fascinated by the daughters of men who didn’t put their daughters to work. They were slimmer, wearing frothy improbable dresses and smelling exotic in clouds of cloying scent. Even then it wasn’t a wistfulness to adopt that for herself; she simply liked to be around them.
It was even more fascinating that often the young girls didn’t realize she was one herself. She would catch them winking at her shyly, subtly brushing a hand over the strength of her muscle-corded arms. Everything about women, even the bolder ones, was surreal to her. On the rare chance that men paid her any mind, their flirtations were devoid of any subtlety or tact, so very unlike the heady games that enraptured her as women did.
No one ever talked about romances that didn’t involve a man and a woman, so she had always thought it was a fluke. Often it was. Her voice was rough-edged but undoubtedly female and when she spoke up, sometimes their eyes went round with embarrassment and they would flee. The rejection stung. Even though she would often never see those women again, most encounters just fleeting ships on the ocean, she wanted to make them last. She had started holding her tongue, letting herself revel in how far their flirtations might go until they parted ways.
Nothing made her feel as good about herself as that passing admiration. She was a workhorse for her father. As an ambitious workaholic, he expected no less.
As a teenager, the curiosity only got stronger. As her father’s business started to flourish, her work ethic only made them closer. She started to feel like she could ask him anything.
They rarely ate dinner together, but one night had been different. Her father had taken on a big client that had been impressed by his knowledge of the western islands, one that had suggested he expand his expertise to include an island tour. The benefactor even invested enough to personally fund three leisure crafts to appeal to the richer clientele.
It was cause to celebrate.
Perhaps her father’s buoyancy over his good fortune had been too encouraging but as his rambling tapered off into silence, the words sprang to her lips thoughtlessly.
“Father, do you think that sometimes women love other women?”
The gates slammed shut on his joviality, one wad of expensive meat abandoned in his cheek as his jaw clenched. His hooded eyes lost their gleam as he studied her.
“Of course not. It’s an odd thing to ask at all. I’ve already arranged a marriage for you with my business partner’s son, so whatever you’re entertaining ends now, young lady.”
She always winced at that last word. She would never deny being a woman, but ‘ladies’ were delicate things and there wasn’t any word that fit her less.
She hadn’t even realized she had bent the silver fork nearly in half with her thumb alone as the turbulence of her thoughts manifested in her hand. Setting it down, she stared at it far longer than it warranted inspection before meeting her father’s wary eyes.
“Yes, Father.”
He had resumed chewing his food once more. His face once more became the father she knew best, a sort of relief washing over her that she hadn’t destroyed his respect for her. Only it had destroyed something deeper, creating a rebellious yearning for things she was never supposed to feel.
She didn’t know if her question had simply expedited the process of the meeting with her betrothed or not but only a few days later she was standing on one of the prominent new docks her father owned, waiting for the arrival of this unknown man and his family. Her father had insisted she wore a dress. It was beautiful, expensive, and absolutely unsuited to her. She fit in while working in the gender-neutral uniform of her father’s company, but she drew too many amused stares and whispers in the effeminate fashion. If you had dressed a Gardell with a big bowed collar with a little bell, it would probably be more fitting than she felt then.
Her father and his had recognized each other from a distance, closing the gap between them to shake hands and congratulate each other on what amounted to the manipulation of their unwilling children. Her heart plummeted to her feet when she saw the young man’s lip curl in obvious distaste, but she drew herself up, bowing as they approach.
Her father’s eyes had narrowed at the masculine greeting and she acquiesced to that silent admonition, deflated as she wobbled into a curtsy.
She heard the ringing of gentle laughter, nearly toppling over as she noticed the slight girl peeking around what could only be her fiancé’s sister. At first, she had bristled at the laughter, but there was no mean-spirited look in the girl’s eyes as she smiled up at her. The girl waved at her and she felt that rare peace descend over her with that simple kindness.
“Daughter, go play by the ships while we discuss business, if you will,” the girl’s father demanded.
The girl laughed once more and stuck out her tongue in rebellion, but hopped off in her lacy white dress.
She barely heard the words behind the braggadocio shared between the three men, her thoughts always drifting back to where she envied the girl that was allowed to ‘play by the ships’. They seemed quite content not to have her input regardless and she found freedom in letting her thoughts wander where she could not.
At some point, she had sensed that they had not noticed whether she was there at all and had made her way over to the docks. She didn’t know if the girl was still there, but when she saw that telltale dress, her mouth had gone dry and she felt as if she would fly out of her skin with the giddy rush.
The girl’s golden curls bounced as she bounded towards her with genuine delight to see her. She froze to the spot as the girl leaned in close, peering up at her playfully.
“I’m surprised they let you go.”
She smiled at the girl, a lopsided attempt at one with amusement screwing up any possibility of symmetry.
“They didn’t. I wonder how long it will take them to realize it.”
Her rebellion was rewarded with another high-pitched laugh.
“Let’s make a game of it, shall we?”
It had only taken an hour for them to resurface, but she had never spent so much time with anyone in her life and was loathe to see her go.
She had clung to every odd word that tumbled out of the precocious girl’s mouth. Whatever awkwardness she usually felt with others had melted away under the acceptance of the girl. The girl didn’t just touch her thinking she was a man, but also spared no thought for how poorly she filled the expectations of a woman.
She couldn’t put the girl out o
f her mind, but she had angered her father greatly. He had been quick to make it clear that the sister would not be coming along anymore, that she would never see her until her wedding to the girl’s brother.
The spark of rebellion had already been lit. She could never bring herself to openly defy her father, but she wasn’t as brainless as he thought she was. She had gone through his client files to find out where the girl lived, had stolen one of her father’s small boats to make the journey to see the girl one night.
As she stood outside of the girl’s manor house, she secondguessed why she thought it was a good idea at all. She didn’t know which room the girl was in and what excuse could she have for wanting to see the girl that late at all? She had slumped her shoulders, ready to return in defeat until she heard a ‘psst’ and looked up.
Once again, the thrill passed through her as she saw the girl waving excitedly in her pink nightgown. She climbed the convenient trellis and tumbled in to the girl’s room with a gracelessness that made the girl laugh once more.
She didn’t know what to expect, had just enjoyed spending countless hours talking. As she started to leave, the girl had leapt up onto her tiptoes and surprised her with a kiss. A chaste kiss, but the soft intentional press of lips meeting her own.
She meant to repeat the kiss, but when the girl’s arms had snaked around her neck, it had turned into something deeper. Her hands had grown bolder, but still she shyly traced her hand over the soft curve of the girl’s hip.
It hadn’t gone further than that, but it had shaken her completely nonetheless.
It was impossible, but no less true that she was in love.
She had been tired the next day, her father rough with her lackadaisical work ethic, but it had still been worth it. She wished she could do it every night, but her work was simply too demanding and her father’s suspicions would only increase.
Several days later though, she had received a message by courier that had thrilled her once more. The girl she loved was going to come visit her that night.
She had been on edge, but knew she could not be careless, waiting until her father had retired to bed and an hour beyond to sneak her way down to the docks. The journey was not short, but as the hour passed midnight, she got nervous.
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