Night's Fall (Night's Champion Book 2)

by Richard Parry

  We can save him.

  We are saving him, thought Talin.

  You can make him one with us.

  Talin pushed back against the Night clamoring to be set free. Be still. He watched as Lyron’s fingers found another card, the strength almost gone from the man. His fingernails scratched at the edge of the card, the lip of it leaving the ground before snapping back down. The man’s eyes were unfocused now, Samdi’s shadow standing tall and patient behind him. Talin crouched down, leaning his head forward until his lips were a hands’ breadth from Lyron’s ear. “Lyron,” he said, his voice low. “Lyron, you must choose a card. There is no going back. You can either choose a card, my friend, and join my side, or you can take the long walk to the Cliffs. The Baron is here, Lyron. He is here and he is reaching for you.”

  Whether his words had an effect, or it was a last animal reflex, Lyron’s fingers managed to peel the card away from the floor. It flicked up, skipping along its edge as it skittered and danced away. Lyron’s last breath left his body in a rattle, as the card fell — face up — against the ground.

  The Joker.

  Talin reached out a hand, clapping Lyron’s body on the shoulder. His other lieutenants were watching in silence and fear. Some believed, some did not. It didn’t matter whether you believed in the lion; the lion was still hungry. “Rise, Lyron.”

  The body shook under his hand, and Talin released the man’s shoulder, standing upright. “Rise, Lyron.”

  Lyron’s frame convulsed, and the body got an arm underneath, pushing itself away from the stone. Red-rimmed eyes looked at Talin, then moved with predatory intent to the other four of Talin’s lieutenants. Talin clapped his hands, and those eyes snapped back towards him. “Rise, Lyron.”

  And Lyron did, moving with slow, deliberate movements. A knee came up underneath him, and he levered himself upright. His body unfurled like a fern, coming upright to stand tall and strong before Talin. Talin gave the man a rare smile. “My friend. Today you are no longer Lyron. I take that name from you.” He stepped towards the upright card of the Joker, picking it up from the ground. He turned back towards the man who had been called by his family, his friends, and even his enemies as Lyron, and held the card out. “In return, I give you another. Am I not generous?”

  Was-Lyron reached out a hand, taking the card. Those red-rimmed eyes looked at the smiling face of the Joker before looking back at Talin. “What will I be called?”

  “You will be called many things,” said Talin. “But you will have only one name. The name I give you is Choler.”

  “Choler,” said Choler. He turned back towards Talin’s other lieutenants, as if the bone buried in his chest bothered him not at all. “And these?”

  “Brothers and sisters yet to be born,” said Talin.

  “Come, then” said Choler. He gestured an impatient hand at the others, blood still trickling from the hole in his chest. “We have little time.”

  It didn’t take long for them all to be born. Within the hour, Talin had five perfect soldiers, and he let them run free.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The boy was watching the Lost Soldier — Jessica. She was sitting next to Adalia on the big back seat of the Yukon as it followed in the wake of … of…

  “It’s best not to think about it,” said the boy, turning dark lashes her way. “It’s not your job to help her.”

  She’s my mother. Adalia’s fingers skipped over the face of her phone, the text coming up in smaller letters than it deserved. Adalia wanted a big font, lots of red. She settled for an emoji of an angry face.

  “That’s why it’s not your job,” said the boy, turning back to look at Jessica. “It’s their job to help us.”

  Adalia tapped her phone against her hand. She watched the boy stare at the Lost Soldier, then keyed on her phone. Do you know her?

  “Yes,” said the boy. “And she knows me.”

  It was funny how they called Carlisle the Shield, and Jessica was the Lost Soldier. Carlisle, it made sense, even Adalia could see it. Being the Shield came out of every part of her, hammered bright and strong. But Jessica … there was something lost about her, but Adalia couldn’t see the details. Like they were blurry. Why is she called the Lost Soldier? What war did she lose?

  The boy laughed. “As far as I know, she’s never lost a war.” He cocked his ear to one side, sitting in the space between the front seats — Adalia blinked and tried not to look too close — as if he was listening. “No. Never lost a war. Well, until that happened.” He pointed out the back of the Yukon, the road stretching out behind them to a point where a bunch of soldiers and people were lying, dead under the winter sun.

  The phone spun between Adalia’s fingers, the screen glittering in the gloom of the cabin. I don’t think she lost. I think she’s won everything.

  The boy looked at her like she was crazy. “Did you get hit in the head back there? No, that can’t be it, you didn’t get out of the car. She — we got creamed. Until, well, until your mom went all Wrecking Ball.”

  Adalia smiled at that. I don’t think that’s how you use ‘Wrecking Ball.’

  “Whatever,” said the boy. “My point is, we were all going to die.” He paused, then hugged his knees close. “Sorry. You. You were all going to die.”

  You can be hurt, typed Adalia. I’ve seen it.

  “I made a good comeback,” said the boy. A frown crossed his perfect, porcelain face. “But you’re right. I didn’t think … I didn’t know the Night could do that. I don’t know all the rules.”

  She won everything, typed Adalia, because we’re here. You’re here.

  “Seems a bad trade,” said the boy. “The lives of thousands of people for us.”

  I wish you could have met Val. Adalia held the phone close so the boy couldn’t see before she’d finished typing, her fingers moving in furious rhythm across the screen. He would have said something like how we’ve got to save the world. I guess if I think about how you talk about the Universe, like it’s a thing that’s alive, maybe this Universe needs the world saved. Maybe it thinks it’s not a bad trade at all. She shivered as let him see the screen.

  “You’ve got to wonder,” said the boy. “I mean, it sounds right. Sounds like something it would do. But how does it decide who gets to do the saving and who gets to do the dying?”

  I don’t think it does. I think we do. Adalia shifted in her seat.

  “Hang on,” said the boy. “Not you. You’re a … kid.”

  So are you. I don’t think it matters how old we are.

  “I’m not … I’m not a kid,” said the boy.

  I know. I think I can see it now. Adalia looked at the boy, past the long lashes, held his gaze. Why are you watching her?

  “Oh,” said the boy. “I keep hoping she’ll see me.”

  I can help with that. Adalia looked at him again. Tell me your name.

  “I can’t,” he said, his voice low. “You know I can’t.”

  Then I’ll find it out the hard way. Adalia flicked the screen of her phone off, turning to Jessica. “Excuse me.”

  “What are you doing?” said the boy.

  Jessica turned her face from the window to look at Adalia. Her eyes darted towards the front of the cabin — towards Carlisle — before coming to rest on Adalia. Her face creased into that fabricated smile some adults got when they were trying to talk to a kid. Like they were trying to talk to a kid and didn’t know how. “Hello, Adalia.”

  “Hey,” said Adalia. “I know this is going to come out all weird and you’re not going to understand why I’m asking this, but when did you lose him?”

  Jessica’s face closed down like a vault of stone, and she moved back in her seat a fraction. Adalia didn’t know much about the military or the people who were in charge down there, but she figured that was a sign.

  “Kid,” said Carlisle. “Kid, what are you doing?”

  “She is doing what must be done,” said Ajay, resting his hand on Carlisle’s arm. “Let i
t be.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Carlisle. “I—”

  “Because my Mom’s out there,” said Adalia, “and so is Val, and John. And we need to go save them. But we can’t do that until we’re … we can’t do that alone. The Universe, and I don’t really understand this, okay, but the Universe needs the world saved. So I need you to tell me when you lost him.”

  Nobody spoke for a long moment, then Jessica licked her lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The other thing,” said Adalia, talking faster before she could lose her nerve, “that is going to sound super weird is that I can hear it when you’re not telling me the truth. It’s like a kind of bell.”

  “Okay,” said Jessica. She sat very straight in her uniform, the material looking out of place in the back of the Yukon, but perfectly suited to her. “Okay. I don’t want to tell you about it.”

  Adalia thought about that. “I know I’m about his age when you lost him,” she said. “I’ve figured that much out, but I … we’re going to need his help.”

  Jessica leaned forward, her voice harsh. “Who told you? How did you find out about this?”

  “Major,” said Ajay, his hand once again touching Carlisle’s arm, “you need to know that she is under the care of a Shield. I’d be … I’d encourage you to be cautious.”

  Jessica laughed, a harsh sound with no humor in it. “I don’t take orders from you.”

  “Not orders,” said Adalia. “We don’t give each other orders.” She looked over at the boy, then back to Jessica. “What’s his name?”

  “Please don’t do this,” said the boy. “Please don’t.”

  “I want to get out,” said Jessica. “Detective, could you stop the vehicle?”

  “Can’t you see it hurts her?” said the boy.

  “Jessica,” said Adalia, leaning close. “Jessica, I can help you carry it. You don’t have to hold it by yourself.”

  “Stop,” said the boy, his eyes wide. He held a hand to his chest, over his heart. “I can … it hurts so much.”

  “I know it hurts,” said Adalia, leaning closer. Jessica was trying to scrunch away from her in the seat, looking at Adalia like she was a cobra. Adalia reached out a hand, cautious at first.

  “Don’t touch me,” said Jessica. “Don’t—”

  Adalia held Jessica’s hand in the back seat of the Yukon and felt the pure touch of the Universe at last.

  ∙ • ● • ∙

  “Mommy!” A tiny body crashed into hers, arms grabbing her around her legs.

  “Hello, what’s this?” she said. “I was expecting my family, but instead I see a limpet. Limpet, what have you done with my son?”

  The limpet gripped tighter. It spoke, voice muffled.

  “I see,” she said, lowering her duffel to the ground, letting her hand stray to the top of Gabriel’s head, his hair silky under her fingers. Her eyes caught those of her husband, a smile passing between them. It’d been longer this time, the tour harder now they had the little one they’d worked for. There had been the rounds of careful lovemaking after glasses of wine, Bobby’s gentle hands and soft words leading into nights of passion. She’d taken those words with her in her heart whenever she’d had to leave, but they hadn’t helped as much as the IVF.

  They’d tried for so long. So very long. And now Gabriel was here and wonderful and everything they’d wanted, and yet — she felt like the stranger. She felt like she didn’t belong. She’d hurried away on another tour straight away, because … well.

  She felt like this boy wasn’t her son.

  Still, they’d said that this could happen. She had to be patient. She was okay with that — they had time.

  The spring air was warm, and Bobby gave the screen door a shake. There was something in his eyes, a yearning, and she heard it in his voice when he spoke. “C’mon babe. It’s steaks tonight. I know they don’t feed you right when you’re in Romania.” It wasn’t his cooking she craved — although that was good — but the touch of his hand. The feel of his body, next to hers. The smell of him. His heart, by her heart.

  Jessica took a step forward, limpet — Gabriel — still attached. He’d stepped on one of her boots, and she swung that leg forward, causing a squeal of delight. She could feel the tension starting to release from her shoulders as she walked up the path to the familiar shingle-walled home they shared. There was a bike on the lawn, a soccer ball next to it. She felt herself grinning like a fool and didn’t care.

  Every time she left, she wasn’t sure how she’d feel when she got home. Would they remember her? Would she remember them? As she walked past Bobby, the smell of him — the man she loved — hit her hard and she almost stopped. This is why it was worthwhile. Going away, that’s what she wanted to keep her country safe. Coming home, that’s what she needed to keep her soul safe.

  ∙ • ● • ∙

  The dinner had been excellent. Bobby was a satisfactory cook, didn’t pretend otherwise, but he seemed to pour his heart into it. There wasn’t any specialist that had come out of the Food Service Training School who knew more about how her heart worked. The kitchen where they ate had that new linoleum on the floor — Bobby had laid that down while she was away, one of his “continuous improvement projects” that kept the house from looking old. She had thought it would be brighter, but maybe that was just the way he’d talked about it. The photos never told the story.

  It was their home. They didn’t live on base, because they’d both decided that wasn’t where they wanted to raise their son. She fought, so he wouldn’t have to. That was the plan.

  Gabriel had started school while she’d been away, that gentle child she’d left still there but now bursting with curious energy. “Mom! Do you know that our sun is a star? It’s really really big, bigger than all the planets even if you mushed them together.”

  She’d laughed. “Is that so?”

  “Did you know,” he said, eyes wide, “that it will blow up?”

  Jessica had knelt down in mock concern. “I hadn’t heard. Should I be worried?”

  “No, Mom. It won’t happen for years.” And with that, he’d started to head back outside, to a new bike, and a new ball. She wanted to let him go play. She wanted him to stay here with her.

  “Honey,” she said, reaching after Gabriel. “Time for your bath.”

  He’d nodded at her. Bath time was play time, an easy trade for bike or ball. She drew the bath, warm water filling a tub that was white and clean, simple, not a line of military precision in its design. No metal shower heads, no lines of mirrors. Joy, and laughter, and — of course — bubbles. She sat at the edge of the bath while Gabriel played, building a tower of those bubbles with his hands. He had a plastic toy — it looked like the kind of thing you’d get from a Happy Meal — and he kept trying to balance it on top of the bubbles. Gravity won, and it kept falling back. Any excuse for more bubbles. More water, too — it was everywhere. She’d been deployed in places it had rained for six months at a time and she’d never got this wet. Her hair was matted to her head, the shirt she’d pulled on soaked through.

  Maybe this was what it felt like to have a son. Maybe.

  When Gabriel got out of the bath, she wrestled him mostly dry with a towel before he ran — shrieking with joy — back into the rest of the house.

  There was a bedtime story, and the soft scent of his hair as he fell into a drowsy sleep. She left his door open a crack, the light in the hall on, and found Bobby’s arms waiting for her. They talked, and kissed, and talked more, until the night turned black around them as they fell into rediscovering each other. He found the new scar on her arm where she’d been cut during a training exercise. She kissed his fingers away, finding the callouses under his fingertips from his work on the house. He felt the kinks in her back, rubbing the stress away. His touches became more insistent, urgent, their kisses fierce with remembered joy.

  Later: contentment.

  She drifted off to sleep knowing she had a five-year-old son
, and next time she was back, she’d promised she’d get to know him better. They had time. All the time in the world.

  Didn’t they?

  ∙ • ● • ∙

  Jessica faced the laptop, the small faces of her husband and son staring back at her, half a world away. Thank God for Skype. “I wish I was with you guys.” Gabriel was big now, the quiet curiosity of childhood about to be pushed aside by the brash, gangling advent of becoming a teenager. His dark eyes and dark lashes would turn heads and when he worked that out … but not yet.

  Not yet. Ten was too soon to be breaking hearts.

  Ten was too late to get to know him.

  “I got a new bike,” Gabriel was saying. “Dad said it was from him, but I knew it was from Santa.”

  Bobby laughed, the sound smaller than it felt in her heart. “There’s something wrong with our kid. He still believes in Santa Claus, and the Tooth Fairy.”

  Gabriel shrugged, the motion blurred by a hiss of data corruption, the link to Qatar functional but civilian comms shuffled around military needs. “They keep leaving me stuff. They must be real.”

  “That’s your Dad,” said Jessica, her fingers touching the screen’s edge. Wanting to touch them. Wanting to know them. “He’s always trying to take the credit. Why, he told me he did the floor in the bathroom himself.”

  “I helped!” said Gabriel.

  “You drank all the Coke,” said Bobby.

  “That’s helping,” said Gabriel. The smile stayed on his face as he looked closer at the camera. “Where are you today, Mom?”

  She couldn’t say, of course. Couldn’t even take a holiday photo for fear that something would get onto Facebook, and some Al-Quaeda asshole would use a message to her son as a weapon against the men to the left of her, and the women to the right. The people in her command. They’d said this was her last deployment. Said this was the last time she’d be up to her armpits in sand. She pushed a tired hand through close-cropped hair, then said. “Somewhere with a lot of sun.”