by Casey Lea
The girl stopped retreating, but clutched a bundle of rags closer to her chest. The hut stank and Amber wrinkled her nose at the smell of decay. Someone here was very sick. She looked more closely at the woman’s bundle. It was the length of her forearm, roughly oval and many layered as if wrapped for warmth.
Amber’s breath caught and she sank to her knees, but kept her arms outstretched. “Is your babe ill? May I see?”
The mermaridian gulped, but shuffled closer. “Can you help?” she whispered and reached out in turn.
Amber leaned closer to peel the layers from the child’s cocoon. A tiny arm came into sight, limp and still. The smell was much worse. The last layer lifted to show the decaying face of a long dead baby. Amber gasped and there was no air, only the stench of decomposition. She turned gagging and crawled out into the frigid night. Behind her the sobs began again.
Amber felt as if she was crying on the inside – strips of pain kept shedding from her heart while her eyes were dry and staring. She needed to scrub them blind, along with the image left in her mind. She’d seen death many times, but her defenses against such sights were crumbling. She couldn’t stand it anymore. Not with a baby. That was guilt she truly couldn’t carry.
Where was Falkyn when she needed him?
She could hardly feel her limbs when she finally pushed herself upright and returned to the hut. She felt just as numb on the inside, but this girl needed help. Amber put on her best professional face and her calmest voice. “Give the little one to me.”
The mermaridian was rocking her opened bundle and Amber saw the remains of an umbilical cord around the infant’s neck. Anger returned to warm her. “This baby died during birth. What was your healer thinking?”
The girl stared at her blankly. “There are no healers. Not anymore.”
“There are now.”
Amber stepped forward and calmly lifted the little corpse from his mother’s arms. She released a storage chip from her com and compressed the body into it. The mother sagged as if a stasis field holding her had been cut. She subsided to become a pile of rags at Amber’s feet and the healer could feel the fever burning through her. She crouched beside her patient and studied the results of her scan.
“You’ve an infection and you’re malnourished. I’ve got two med patches for you. I want you to keep these fields in place for at least a day. Understand?”
A moan was the only reply and Amber busied herself anchoring the fields and speeding their healing with manual direction. The figure beneath them became less stiff and within a minute the mermaridian was deeply asleep. Amber sat back in a crouch and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. There was nothing more she could do for now.
“I’ll return in the morning,” she promised. There was no response and she backed out of the hovel on her knees.
Amber knelt there listening to the night and thinking, but not about herself. Raptor was scary and she’d clearly pushed him off some personal cliff with her taunting. That was a risk, but this young mother needed help and there’d be others like her out here. They were far more vulnerable than the Arck, who, she had to admit, was exceptionally capable of protecting himself. He didn’t need her as much as the people of this sad world. It was past time to get back to the ruins of the ship. She’d find Sweep and stick close to her until Falkyn returned. Amber needed to talk to the Ship Leader about setting up a med clinic. Quickly.
She started crawling, because it was easier to claw her way up the muddy bank behind the hut. She reached the top and stood, brushing muck from the energy field her com held in place around her. The shield that was supposed to keep her distant from the physical pain and discomfort of life.
“You,” a voice yelled from the dark and Amber jumped. A silhouette she’d mistaken for a hill lurched closer. “Who you? What doing?”
Amber relaxed. It was only a mutt. “I’m visiting a friend. Now I’m going home. Stand down.”
The figure shifted closer, growing to loom over Amber. She swallowed, but managed not to back up as she eyeballed the largest mutt she’d ever seen. He held out his arms to either side, blocking any possible way forward. Not so good.
“Move.”
The mutt considered that for a long moment. “No. Priest says no.”
“No to what?”
There was more silence. “People. No people out in dark.”
“Oh, yes. The curfew. Don’t worry. The priest said I could go home. Now move.”
There was some low muttering, but the creature shuffled to one side. Amber sniffed and moved forward confidently despite her trembling knees. She should have been more alert. Getting distracted was a childish mistake. She didn’t know what was wrong with her thoughts in this life. It was as if all her memories had blown away like leaves, until only the bare branches of her past remained. She was lucky to have escaped the Mutt.
“Stop her,” a softer voice ordered from the dark and a huge hand closed on the back of Amber’s neck.
It tightened to lift her from the ground. She managed a squeak, but that was all before huge fingers circled her throat. She dangled silently while the night got blacker still.
“Drop her. Let’s see who she was visiting.”
The words were so distant she could hardly hear them and when the ground smacked her in the face she scarcely felt it. Her head spun faster, but finally settled as a flickering light grew to give some form to the dark. She rolled slowly to one side and saw a shape returning up the slope from the hut. It hauled itself onto the path and moved to crouch beside her. She had an impression of black robes and then the mermaridian pushed back his hood to reveal a hooked nose and white hair combed back from a high forehead.
“You’re the priest,” Amber croaked and he smiled.
“The High Priest. High Priest Voleon, anointed by Luck and guided by Fortune. And who are you? Skulking round my people and giving them poison?”
Amber wondered whether she was still faint. Did he truly call her healing strips poison? “What?”
“This.” The High Priest lifted her two med-fields and she realized he must have stolen them from the bereaved mother.
She glanced down the slope and into fire. The blaze had spread from the center of the hut to burn out of control. There was no sign of the young mermaridian. Amber trembled from anger as much as fear. “Return those at once. My patient could die without them.”
“Your patient was a blasphemer. She no longer has any need for your evil.” The High Priest started shaking too. “Temptress.”
Flecks of spittle appeared at the corners of his thin mouth and his eyes rolled up. “Your foul teks will draw the curse of the Ice and let it enter our land once more.”
“No, they won’t. The plague did travel through com channels once, but these are just healing strips. They can’t do any-”
“Silence. Seek not to corrupt me with your iniquitous words, woman, for I am pure and blessed. I burn with an exalted light far beyond your feeble understanding, while you... you will face any punishment I decree. Bring her.” The High Priest pulled his hood back up, but then paused to stare into the night. “Cleric? Is that you? I need you to record another judgment.”
A tall figure slipped from the darkness like a splinter leaving a shadow. His hooded head bobbed forward in servile acknowledgement and the High Priest sniffed. “See to the prisoner. You, mutt, stay here and be vigilant. Bring me any others you find in the night.”
The mutt grunted, while the cleric bowed and moved to retrieve Amber. Strong fingers closed on her arm and pulled her close to the cowled figure. She shuddered, trying to read his feelings, but his mind was so closed he might not have had one and his emotions were non-existent. Strange. He actually felt more dangerous than the frothing High Priest.
Amber shivered again and her captor swung her up, into his arms, without effort. He strode after his leader and the flicker of torches appeared ahead. A restless murmur grew louder, as if a dozen chattering streams were running into each other,
but she recognized chanting. She was running out of time. She needed to escape before reaching Voleon’s church and his judgement.
Amber tensed, but the cleric pulled her closer to his chest and gave her a shake. “Don’t,” he whispered. “If you struggle, I’ll just enjoy it more.”
The mermaridian’s voice was far too familiar and shock shot through Amber’s terror.
“Nikareon?”
He gave her another shake.
Hush, his mind ordered. We’re surrounded by the enemy. You’ve drakked up sensationally this time.
Enjoy, she snapped back. It’s the only drakking I’ll do anywhere near you.
Amber sensed his amusement, but they were out of time. He carried her from a scrawny patch of trees into a field dominated by the heat and smoke of a bonfire. It raged taller than a house while shadowy shapes gyrated around it. The more solid shapes of giant gibbets ringed the fire and corpses dangled from them in limp silhouette.
Amber couldn’t stop shaking and Nikareon hugged her closer. It seemed they were both about to go to church.
8
Mob Rule
The flames leaped higher when something was thrown on them and a howl came from the crowd. The smoke thickened and now it had a sickly sweet smell. Amber didn’t want to think about what might be burning. She tucked her head against Nikareon’s chest and didn’t think about that either. Tonight was full of bad choices and worse options.
Amber risked a peek when they started to climb and saw a series of rough steps hewn into a hill ahead that led up to a tent. The dark fabric hardly moved in the breeze and swallowed the firelight. It was covered by lighter grey cloth that lifted with the wind, to look like smoke wafting across the night.
“It looks like the congregation gets a little chemical uplift,” she muttered and Voleon flicked his fingers at her.
“Keep the blasphemer silent.”
“Not possible,” Nikareon said.
The High Priest looked back with a frown as he lifted the tent flap. “Do you dare disobey the words of Fortune?”
Nikareon surged forward to carry the man into the tent. “Every chance I get,” he announced, dropping Amber and pushing his hood back.
Amber hit the floor hard, thumping onto her bottom, while Nikareon spun, searching for guards. However, it seemed only the most faithful were allowed in the tent. There was nothing in the single large room but a hodgepodge of furniture and treasure that looked like the collection of a frenzied crack-jaw. Nikareon’s eyes gleamed and he hooked his hands into the embroidered front of the High Priest’s robes.
“A Beserk,” Voleon grated. “I heard Belthezeon was cloning them. Abomination.”
Nikareon shifted his hands to the Priest’s throat and squeezed until his knuckles looked as pale as death. “It took me less than a second to kill your cleric,” the Beserk said conversationally, “so I suggest you stay quiet.”
The Priest’s eyes bulged and Amber finally felt his fear rise to smother his anger. He lifted a finger in agreement.
Nikareon loosened his grip and the Priest stumbled back, clutching his throat. Nikareon gave him a moment to recover, before closing on him again. “Summon transport. You’re escorting us out of here.”
The High Puppet turned at once to twitch the tent flap open a slit.
“Summon my litter,” he called hoarsely and a voice outside agreed.
“Good,” Nikareon murmured, dragging Voleon away from the door. “Now tell me of my people. You claim Beserks are being cloned. Who donated the cells being grown? Which individuals? And, priest… think hard before you say you don’t know.”
The man clutched at the strands of dice strung round his neck and scowled. “Tissue was revived from a dead beast called Chareon.”
“Ah.” Nikareon turned away from the Priest and Amber.
Her fronds rose to ripple in the air, trying to touch his feelings, but his thoughts were well hidden and only his hunched shoulders hinted that he was upset.
“Do you know him?” she asked. “I suppose you must. There aren’t that many Beserks. Is he a friend?”
Nikareon gave a harsh laugh and turned back without answering. He snatched a robe from a peg and tossed it to Amber. She caught it and pulled it on, only to disappear. Why were all mermaridian so enormous? She jerked up the hem of the bulky garment and stuffed it under the silver cord at her waist. She started to roll up the cuffs too, but before she could finish someone thumped at the swinging cloth of the door.
“Transport is ready, Highest One.”
Their prisoner jerked and started forward, but Nikareon was beside him before he could take a step. The Beserk grabbed the back of Voleon’s robe and pulled it so tight the cloth at the front ran up the Priest’s throat to bunch under his chin. Nik leaned closer to whisper in the man’s ear. “If you wish to live long enough to build a theocracy, you’ll stay quiet and lead us through your mob.”
The Priest regarded Nikareon sourly, but then shrugged a hand. “As Luck wills.”
He ducked his head through the tent flap while Amber’s rescuer kept a firm grip on the back of the priest’s robes.
She studied Nikareon and realized he’d surprised her. She’d assumed his only battle strategy was attack and then attack some more, but it seemed he had some subtlety after all. She heard the priest order the litter placed near the exit, but Nikareon’s head snapped in her direction and she jumped.
“What?” she snapped.
“You seem surprised, Doc.”
Amber sniffed. “Of course. You used the word theocracy.”
Nikareon gave her one of his guano-eating grins. “Sure. Me use big words. Make pretty lady like me.”
“You’ll need more than the occasional polysyllable for that.” Amber put on a coy expression. “So you think I’m a pretty lady?”
“No. Just practicing until one comes along.”
Amber pouted. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”
“You’re pretty enough, but you’re no lady.”
A laugh escaped Amber before she could stop it. She was interrupted by the priest, who twisted in Nikareon’s grasp. “The transport is ready.”
The Beserk bundled his captive outside without hesitation. Amber pulled up the hood of her robe, drew it close to her face and followed them into chaos.
The sickly-sweet smoke now curled up the hill, billowing low to the ground and vague shapes crawled within it, as if searching out its thickest parts. It smelled sharper than before and wrapped wispy fingers around the tent. The Priest’s worshippers came with it, spinning and gyrating through the fog. Amber tried to follow Nikareon, but she wobbled and struggled to focus. She took an uncertain step toward the open curtains of a large litter, which was draped in black and covered with grey gauze.
She managed to clutch one of the lighter drapes when it swayed forward, but before she could climb into the litter someone barged into her. Amber cried out and the world spun past as she was thrown to the ground. She gulped in smoke and her vision dimmed, while heat surged through her. It felt surprisingly good.
A large hand closed round her arm again and hoisted her through the air, which made her giggle. She landed face-first on a cushion and choked on a laugh. The hand shook her and her giggles came faster. How undignified. Funny though. She snorted into the pillow and Nikareon hoisted her up onto his lap. They were sitting in a silky tent that billowed in the breeze, but blocked out most of the smoke.
Amber’s head cleared and she jerked upright at once. “Let me go.”
“Where?” Nikareon asked and she realized the rest of the litter was filled by High Priest Voleon.
It seemed her choice was once again between bad and worse. That should have been funny, but it seemed her laughing fit was over. “What was in that smoke?”
A howl sounded from outside their canopy and she flinched, which made Nikareon smile.
“Are the crazies scaring you?” he asked. “If they are, jump all you wish. I like a lap dance as much as th
e next zealot.”
“You’re disgusting. And I’m moving. Over there.” Amber jerked her head to the small corner of the litter that was free.
“So go.”
She gave Nikareon her best glare. “I’m not wriggling off your-”
“Lap?”
“Is that what that is?” Amber asked caustically. “I’m definitely not squirming around to get away from it. Push me.”
She braced herself against more annoying flirtation, but Nikareon stayed silent. His hands closed round her waist and she looked down in sudden panic, which made no sense since he was doing what she wanted. She felt hot again, but in a good way, so it seemed she wasn’t over the smoke inhalation yet. She gulped some relatively fresh air and Nikareon slid her sideways into her own little piece of billowy comfort. She curled up there and tried to relax. She felt as tense as a tweet in a raptor’s nest.
She asked again, “What was in that smoke?”
“It’s a Church of Luck communion,” Nikareon murmured, annoyingly close to her ear. “A drug called froth. They say it gives the congregation clarity, but it’s more like frenzy.”
“Ready?” a voice roared from outside the litter, but the caller didn’t wait for a response.
The fabric swayed as the litter lurched upward. Amber had to grip hard not to be thrown out and belatedly realized it was Nikareon she was gripping. Her hair stirred in embarrassment. That froth had really put her out of form. Their vehicle tipped sideways, before slowly righting, accompanied by the sound of rough laughter from its bearers.
A horrible thought occurred to Amber. “Oh, gods.” She wriggled sideways to look past Nikareon to the High Priest. “Do you let the mutt take communion?”
Voleon looked as sour as broken eggs in the sun. “Of course. All of them. None are turned away. Everyone is free to chance the Wager.”
A twitch of his lips might almost have been a smile. “Even you, infidel. I suggest you breathe deep and try to find a vision of future Luck.”