Instead, she suddenly saw her brother, dead, lying on the bed, with their mother standing over him. The image felt too real, as if Crystil could literally touch her brother. His eyes suddenly opened, but nothing else on his body moved. She unmistakably heard him speak, but his lips did not move.
“Why couldn’t you save me?” he said in a menacing voice.
Her mind flashed to that fateful night at the swamp with Eve. Crystil heard Eve scream, and she dragged her. Then, in horrifyingly slow motion, she saw the nakar breach the water and begin to envelop her entire body. Eve’s eyes shifted to Crystil.
“Why couldn’t you save me?” she said in an angry tone.
She flashed to the last words she had with Emperor Orthran. Behind her, Cyrus and Celeste screamed as other soldiers grabbed them and carried them onto Omega One. Crystil begged for the Emperor to join, but he said Anatolus was his children’s planet to take on, not his. His rule stayed on Monda.
But then his eyes narrowed.
“Why couldn’t you save me?” he growled.
“I can’t!” she screamed as she stood and put her hands to her face, clenching them and her teeth. When she regained her composure, she looked down at Celeste. Crystil hadn’t truly saved her, either. Only the luck of Cyrus’ presence prevented her from adding another horrifying flashback to her list.
Crystil thought about that moment when her leg hit the branch, her tibia snapped in half, and Celeste went rolling. The bright lights… the lights of Omega One. She hadn’t felt Cyrus pick her up and place her in the pod. She’d gone too deep into shock too much by then. And yet, the pain didn’t burn as much as the other flashbacks.
Crystil did have a permanent reminder of the experience. She sat back down, still breathing heavily, and removed her boot. Cortanus worked wonders making the foot look and feel natural, even as she moved her toes. She would always know it was not real, but it would not hurt her as long as Celeste lived.
She looked one last time down at Celeste and gently kissed the top of her pod.
“You’re not going to die,” she said for her own self-assurance.
Crystil walked toward the cockpit and took her seat, even farther away from sleep. She looked up and saw the creature surprisingly close, though not dangerously close. It stood over the forest, probably a mile or two away. From this distance, she almost had to admire the beast.
Whatever had created it had built the perfect killing machine, something with no natural predators and the entire world available to eat. She hated the beast and wanted nothing more than to destroy it. But she also knew how much she feared it, and she didn’t fear what she didn’t respect. Fighting this monster would be the ultimate challenge, and it wasn’t one that she could get pushed away from.
It gave her a feeling of an epic showdown. It was just her, her two companions, their ship, and their wits versus the perfect organism. Politics would not dictate when they fought. Treaties would not be signed. Backdoor negotiations would not take place. Either they would die, or the monster would die. The simplicity of it gave Crystil an odd thrill, even as she wondered how in the name of Monda she’d even hurt the beast, let alone kill it. She had one idea in the back of her mind she hadn’t shared with Cyrus or Celeste, but if that idea failed, so would their entire mission and their lives.
But then the beast flew frighteningly close to the ship. Crystil dove under the control panel. The monster landed with a giant thud, and Crystil could hear the monster scratching and poking.
We’re running out of time. This ship needs to switch—
A loud, grinding screech of torn metal came, and Crystil clenched her muscles tightly. She waited for something to happen—lost power, fuel leaking, anything. The beast let out a ear-splitting roar and flew away.
“Cortanus,” Crystil said as she rose to her feet. “What just happened?”
“The beast pierced the hull of our ship. The ship can still fly, and our technology can repair the damage relatively quickly. Of greater concern, however, is that our water supplies are gushing out.”
Crystil swore relentlessly as she went to the airlock. The one thing we couldn’t afford to have happen right now. Of course it happens. Our time here is about to get a lot shorter. She exited and examined the damage—it gushed out like a broken dam, and though it took only a couple minutes for the ship’s self-repair system to kick in, it could not get the water back. Crystil swore more as she went back to the cockpit. Cyrus stood in the hallway but said nothing upon seeing the expression on Crystil’s face.
“Go back to sleep,” she said. “Nothing we can do now.”
He nodded, hesitated, and then headed to his room. Crystil took her seat in the cockpit and slammed her fists on the panel.
“Cortanus, only in this room,” she said. “How much water did we lose?”
“98.6 percent of our reserves.”
Figures.
“By my estimations, you now have about two weeks worth of water before you run out.”
Two weeks. Two weeks.
We can’t wait.
They would have to go back and explore the cave her and Celeste had barely examined. Finding water there seemed slim. But she knew where she wouldn’t find water—pretty much anywhere else
Crystil could no longer wait a couple of days for Celeste to heal. She couldn’t wait at all.
34
To Cyrus’ pleasant surprise, Crystil had let him sleep in. But she had not left him in his room by himself.
When he rolled over and looked at his couch, he saw a large rifle with a gas tank connected to it. He needed a few seconds to clear his mind from the fog of sleep, but as he got closer, he recognized it was a flamethrower. He laughed as he held it, examining it from the trigger to the fuel canister to the barrel. He carried it into the kitchen, where he found Crystil munching on a ration, and pointed it at her food.
“Need that heated up?” he said.
“At least make your jokes wittier than that,” Crystil said without looking up. “You’ll also need a knife and supplies for six days. Grab night vision goggles and anything else you want for hiking. We’re going to find some drinkable water. And we cannot fail this time.”
As soon as Crystil finished talking, he quickly grabbed a seat next to Crystil, pulled the chair back, and sat down, crossing his legs and emphatically placing the flamethrower on the table.
“Hey, easy,” she said.
“You do know what just happened when the two of you went out hiking without me, right?” Cyrus said, speaking over Crystil’s annoyance. “And now we want to repeat the process? No way. I’m not leaving Celeste here for longer than a day. Going to the ashes was bad enough. And besides, you said she’d be ready in forty-eight hours, now, what, thirty-six? We can wait.”
“Except we can’t,” Crystil said. “Do you want to know how bad the damage was last night?”
He snorted but eventually relented.
“Guess we lost over half our water.”
“I wish we only lost half our water,” she replied, creating a sinking feeling in Cyrus’ stomach. “We got about sixteen days worth.”
Oh no. No. Already…
“So… this is—”
“Use that when we get to the thicket of poisonous flowers and burn it to the ground. Understood?”
Cyrus saw that he didn’t have room for argument. Even if he wanted to, he would do so at the risk of dying a painful, thirsty death.
“Give me five minutes with Celeste,” he said, to which Crystil nodded in affirmation.
Cyrus walked toward the med lab, making a mental note that the test of their newfound relationship came not in happy times, but in stressful times.
Celeste had recovered so much that her heart rate had returned to a normal pace and only scars, not discoloration or poisoning, remained. The pod had a revised countdown of about twenty hours until she’d be released, a precautionary measure to make sure nothing else flared up, but if Cyrus kicked her out now, she would look complet
ely healthy.
“All right, let’s roll,” Cyrus yelled out to the mess hall, buoyed by his sister’s condition. Maybe we got sixteen days. But we’re going to make the most of those sixteen days.
He took a quick detour to the armory, grabbing a knife and other equipment. He passed Crystil in the mess hall as he grabbed rations and waited for his commander at the airlock. He didn’t have to wait long as the sound of her boots echoed.
The airlock opened and dropped them to the ground. When Cyrus had gotten space, he held his flamethrower to the sky and let out a quick shot of the flamethrower, a swift and short fwoomph from the barrel.
“Whoooo! Ain’t nothing gonna stop us now!”
“Cyrus!” Crystil said.
When Cyrus saw the anger on her face, he immediately lowered the flamethrower.
“Please do not waste ammo,” she said firmly. “And don’t get cocky. You don’t know what would laugh at your attempts to use that.”
Actually, I know exactly what would, he thought. Crystil patted his arm twice and headed for the forest, Cyrus following closely behind.
“So what kind of things did you see in this forest of horrors?” he said, nervous.
“Nothing during the day. The arachnia came out at night, and besides that, I didn’t really see anything besides some precora.”
He did not feel assuaged, as he never lowered his flamethrower as long as the trees surrounded him. The association of having to face the monster while in the trees was something Cyrus could not quite overcome.
Finally, after a couple of hours walking through the forest, he found an opening and jogged out of the woods. He saw the thicket, swearing in admiration. In some ways, it was like the monster—magnificent, beautiful, and the most dangerous thing in their way.
“Looks like a garden in my father’s fortress,” Cyrus said.
Crystil said nothing, seemingly in thought. Cyrus got as close as he could to the thicket of flowers, gazing at the thorns, colors and shapes. They looked even more beautiful up close, like analyzing a crystal under a microscope and seeing the number of sides and ways it shined at different angles.
He sighed but got a devious smirk as he backed up about ten feet. He looked to Crystil, who hadn’t moved since Cyrus’ comment about his father. He aimed the flamethrower, and ignited the garden of flowers.
“Buuuuurn, burn it all! No more poison!” he yelled, giving a laugh as he felt an adrenaline rush. “This is awesome!”
He kept the flamethrower burning for about five more seconds, casting a wide net.
“Bet that was hot to see.”
To his chagrin, though, Crystil didn’t respond and instead walked closer to the thicket. Cyrus watched her get close enough to potentially burn her skin. Suddenly, she threw her hands up in disbelief.
“It’s not burning,” she said. “It’s like it’s got some sort of field around it that’s repelling the fire.”
“What,” Cyrus said, convinced she was playing an elaborate joke. “You really have to work on your jokes, Crystil. Make some puns, or—”
“This is not a game, Cyrus,” she said coldly. “The only thing burning are some edges. We’ll have to cut through with our knives like last time. If you get cut, we turn around immediately. I don’t care how light it is. Understood?”
“I—yes, Crystil,” Cyrus said.
By the time they had finished their conversation, the fire had nearly vanished. Cyrus sighed as he cut through, feeling like a little boy, responsible for trimming the family garden. He’d asked as a child why they couldn’t just get someone else to do it, and silently wished he still had that option. The trim took an agonizing amount of time—Cyrus felt sure at least an hour or two passed—but by the time he finished, he could easily fit through his hole with a duck of the head. Crystil and Celeste, having smaller frames, would have no problem sliding through it either.
Cyrus let out a relieved sigh when he came to the other side, with Crystil already waiting.
“I apologize for the curt words earlier,” she said. “You can imagine this spot does not have good memories for me.”
“I get it,” Cyrus said. “Let’s just not kill each other until we’re certain that we can’t find water.”
Crystil cracked a smile and a short laugh and waved her hand forward. Cyrus admired how well she knew the terrain despite having only traversed it once before. The confidence with which she scaled the area pushed him. Even when his legs felt tired and he craved a break, he did not stop.
Finally, after what felt like an hour going up hills and scaling rocks, Crystil paused. Cyrus joined her at her side and looked down at a massive crater.
“That’s the spot?”
“Yup.”
He looked at the sky. With the sun setting soon, they wouldn’t have much in the way of natural light to guide them. But that’s what your goggles are for, dummy.
“We’ll stop here for the evening,” Crystil said. “I’d rather us first climb down into the cave so that we don’t sleep out in the open.”
“Two steps ahead of you,” Cyrus said.
Crystil caught up quickly, assuming the lead. Cyrus had to crouch and guide himself down the stones. He even hopped in a couple of places, but after descending about a hundred feet, they set up shop.
“Ahh,” he said, lying down and stretching his legs. “These are going to be sore tomorrow.”
“Tonight, you mean,” Crystil said. “We’ll have to take turns on the watch.”
“Wait, wha—”
“Welcome to a soldier’s duty, Cyrus, you’ve been conscripted into the Anatolus Army,” she said with a sardonic smile. “But really, we don’t know what’s down here. Until we know for sure we’re alone, one of us needs to keep an eye out. Doesn’t really even have to be that active.”
Cyrus sighed, but he could accept relatively easy work if it meant a chance to sleep first. He gave a thumbs up and sat up. Crystil sat on the other side of the cave, about fifteen feet from him, and looked over her rifle. With her night vision goggles on, it gave her an odd look, like she had a human body with an alien head. Cyrus had seen soldiers with NVGs before, but never a friend.
A friend? Yeah. A friend.
“Whatcha thinking about, Crystil?” he asked.
Crystil looked up at him, but with the darkness, he couldn’t make out her expression.
“Honestly?”
“No, I want you to lie to me and tell me you’re fantasizing about me?”
“Wow,” Crystil said, followed by a short laugh. “No, no, no. I’m just thinking…”
Her voice trailed off. She cleared her throat. Cyrus couldn’t tell if she’d dropped the conversation or was still thinking.
“I had a bad night last night,” Crystil said after about a dozen seconds of silence. “I kept thinking about all of the people I failed to protect, and how your sister was almost one of them. And that doesn’t even include our loss of water. So I’m thinking about how I’m going to make sure neither of you die on my watch.”
“Oh,” Cyrus said, shocked at the level of honesty. “Well, you know Celeste is fine. And I’m Cyrus Orthran, so I won’t die.”
“You’re funny,” Crystil said warmly, but without a laugh. “But you better be truthful too. A soldier’s life, Cyrus, it’s not glorious. It’s not fun. If anything, it’s a terrible burden. I know sometimes I come across like a machine, cold and without feeling, but that’s because I’ve seen how much it hurts when you get close to someone and fail to protect them. The alternative isn’t great either, but at least then if you fail it’s a failure of duty and not a failure of friendship.”
She sighed.
“But you two just have a way of keeping things lighthearted that’s charming and, sometimes, not annoying,” she said with emphasis on “sometimes” for humorous effect. “That’s what I’m thinking about. And you?”
Cyrus smiled.
“How safe and in good hands I feel.”
“Shut up, charmer,�
� Crystil said with a laugh.
Cyrus also laughed and said nothing more. The conversation dropped. Crystil cocked her gun and stood, but only in preparation, not in anticipation. Cyrus slowly drifted off to sleep as he watched his leader protect him.
35
Crystil’s natural protective instincts didn’t let her sleep for more than a couple of hours on the tail end of Cyrus’ shift. When she woke up from the quick nap, she quickly stood and grabbed her equipment.
“You barely slept,” Cyrus said, surprised.
“I got plenty of beauty sleep while I got a foot upgrade,” she said.
“So by that logic, Celeste won’t need to sleep for a month when she wakes up?”
“Precisely. You ready?”
She wouldn’t leave him a choice if he said no but made the comment to make him feel like a teammate instead of her subordinate. He gave the OK, and she walked two steps ahead before a thought came to her she had to address.
“You sore?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Swear to it.”
Cyrus groaned.
“I swear to it, I promise.”
“Good,” Crystil said as she pulled up her rifle and cocked it, done a bit for dramatic effect. “Ready your flamethrower and throw on your NVGs. It’s going to get dark down here, and we don’t know what lies in wait.”
Cyrus came back with a dramatic toss of his flamethrower that almost led to him dropping it.
“Practice holding the flamethrower before throwing it, please,” she said in a jokingly condescending tone.
Once Cyrus had a grip on his weapon, they headed further into the cave, down a gentle slope. The air got cold and, to Crystil’s delight, felt a bit dewy. Does this mean there is water nearby? Or just an extension of the massive ocean?
A few creatures scattered, but none larger than half of her foot. No one fired a single bullet or flame. Of greater interest was how seemingly perfectly constructed this cave was. In addition to the spiral pattern down to the base, the cave sloped at a constant, unchanging angle, as if created to let gravity carry water down. But they hadn’t seen anything with their goggles that looked wet.
Kastori Revelations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 1) Page 15