Song of the Worlds Boxed Set

by Brandon Barr

Aven pictured clearly what the creature had done. It had broken into the cell, and whether Piz was conscious or not, had consumed him.

  “Don’t cry, farm spit,” said a voice.

  Aven came to his feet. He turned to face the voice. “Don’t cry for me. It’s alright. I’m still alive.” Pike’s face was like a ghost’s in the glow of the flame. He stood at the mouth of the rent metal, an indistinct shadow of a form.

  “Have you seen it?” asked Pike. “That thing?”

  “No,” said Aven, peering down below Pike’s face, searching for something, he didn’t know what. Aven couldn’t make out Pike’s hands in the dark. Did he have them behind his back?

  “It didn’t find me,” said Pike. “Went right past me. I wiped a dead man’s blood on my clothes and lay down with the bodies. Of course, when we crashed I nearly broke my neck. Was thrown up against a wall. Hurt my leg bad. You look like you’re in good shape.”

  “I didn’t lose too much blood,” said Aven.

  Pike appraised him in silence, his eyes unreadable and dark in the dim red light.

  Aven feigned a friendly tone. “I think we have a good chance, the two of us together. I have a pack full of food there on the ground beside you. There’s a forest just outside the ship. Should be able to find water and—”

  “—shut it!” interrupted Pike. “Don’t pretend to be nice to me. I’d sooner partner up with a squealing pig than have your voice whining in my ear. You aren’t good. You aren’t some hero. You’re a coward. Ran and left my sister to burn and die. And my mother. My father.

  “It’s your turn, Aven—gutless rat. You’re gonna burn.” In the pale light Aven saw Pike’s hands swing around from his back, one of them gripping a lightning gun. Pike held it up to his chest, his lip trembling, eyes brimming with emotion.

  “Baron Rhaudius isn’t my father. Damn him. Damn my blood. I don’t love him. Never could. Gar was always my father. Treated me like a real son. Gave me rules. Discipline. A real father says words like, no, and don’t go down that path. Rhaudius, whatever I wanted, he gave me. Do you know what you took from me, Aven? Healing. You took away healing. My true father died with my last words ringing in his ear—words I said to cut his heart. You took him away before I could beg his forgiveness. I was going to go back. I was going to leave the fortress. When you burned my family, you burned my road to redemption.”

  Aven stood paralyzed by Pike’s words. The raw epiphany Pike had just dropped at his feet shook him—but it wasn’t Pike’s words alone that paralyzed Aven, it was the anger Aven felt growing inside.

  It was as if the shame and anger that had plagued his mind ever since the deaths was no longer bearing down on him.

  He had tried to save them!

  Who was Pike to accuse him of burning his road to redemption? Despite the weapon in Pike’s hands, Aven wasn’t going to cower before him.

  If he was going to die, he’d die fighting.

  “You talk of redemption,” said Aven, “but I don’t believe you. All I see is a bitter and unforgiving man. You can’t blame me for your own bad choices. It’s not my fault you waited too long to change.”

  Pike’s head swayed, the shadows moving and morphing across his face. “I hate you, Aven.”

  The end of the lightning weapon lit with swirling energy, bathing the room in deadly blue light. Rage and pain clashed across Pike’s face.

  Aven braced himself. “You think killing me is going to make you feel better?”

  Pike’s brows slanted downward into a muscled knot. “I think it will.”

  Staring at the swirling blue tip of Pike’s weapon, something in Aven’s spirit fought against the fear. He wanted to fight. To live for something new. Some possible future further down the path. He felt an indistinct hope inside, but now Pike wanted to take that away.

  He had to kill this monster. Once and for all.

  Aven switched off the flame in his hand and placed it in his pocket. He spread his hands at his side, palms open, fingers extended out. “You’re giving up, Pike. Don’t surrender. You said you wanted to change, that you wanted to go back to your old life. Killing me won’t accomplish that.”

  “Stop talking,” said Pike, every muscle on his face contorted.

  “Who do you want as your father? Gar or Rhaudius?”

  Pike took a step forward. Aven saw in the pale blue light how he favored his right leg. The injury he’d spoken of. Pike came toward him through the twisted metal bars.

  Aven took a step back, toward the corner of the cell where the drain was. Where the metal lever hung on the wall. Five turns and he could have the lever loose in his hands.

  Aven felt as if he were playing some kind of game with Pike. Aven was in his right mind, his thoughts clear, words careful and deliberate. Pike was a mess of emotion. If Aven was given an opportunity…some kind of opening to slip past Pike’s guard…he felt certain he could kill Pike, despite any pity he felt for him.

  Aven said softly, “Can you put yourself in my shoes, Pike?”

  A sneer broke across Pike’s pale lips. “If I did that, I’d beat my head in with a hammer.”

  “I loved your family.”

  “And they loved you,” said Pike. “You were my replacement. You were a friend for Harvest to talk to. Mother and Father had a new son to be proud of. Stole their hearts, you did. Then burned them up and left me with their ashes.”

  Aven recoiled at Pike’s words. “I never replaced you, Pike. Don’t lie to yourself. They would have wept if you’d come back.”

  “I was going to!” screamed Pike.

  “But you didn’t,” said Aven coolly. “You were living behind the Baron’s gates, oppressing your own family and your own people. No matter how you feel now, you still chose that.”

  A burst of blue fire shot from the tip of the weapon. A giant fist of energy slammed against Aven’s chest. He collapsed backward onto the floor. The pain receded quickly and Aven sat up, breathing hard, his chest muscles sore and tingling. But he knew a secret about the weapon that Pike didn’t seem to know. The power could be set on high or low, and judging from the receding pain, it wasn’t set to kill.

  Pike stared down at him, as if searching for some kind of answer.

  “What if you could still change?” said Aven. “What if Gar can see you right now?”

  “You’re just a worm trying to wriggle away. This is what you deserve.”

  “Isn’t that the point?” asked Aven fiercely. “You need to forgive me. I hurt you—but you won’t let it go. You’re holding it against me even though you know how much I hate what I caused. But then, you’re the one who wanted Gar to forgive you. You hurt him, but you know the kind of man Gar was. He would have taken you back with open arms! He loved you despite the pain you caused him! But you can’t forgive me, Pike? Why? Why can’t you forgive me when you know what it’s like to need forgiveness?”

  Pike’s eyes dropped to the blue swirl of energy dancing at the tip of his weapon. Aven felt the power in his own words even as he saw a chance to slip past Pike’s guard.

  Aven feigned as if he had been hurt badly by the lightning, gingerly bringing his knees under him, then leaning forward on his hands he moaned, as if in pain. Inside he was coiled like a snake ready to strike.

  Slowly, Aven looked up. Pike’s brows trembled, wet hair matting the deep creases of his brow. Then Pike grimaced and shut his eyes, as if pinching away an inner pain. That was the moment Aven surged forward.

  Aven lunged up, just under the blue flame tip of the weapon and rammed his shoulder into Pike’s gut. Aven drove forward with his legs, sending both of them crashing to the floor.

  Aven landed on top of Pike and heard the clatter of the weapon skidding on the metal flooring above their heads. Instinctively Aven twisted away from the body beneath him, but felt Pike’s hand come down on his right arm. Aven wrenched his arm and rolled, tearing Pike’s hand away. As Aven came to his feet, he could see nothing. The blue light at the tip of the gun had gone out
and the room was shrouded in utter blackness. Pike’s wheezing breaths sounded not far away. Aven moved quickly, hands reaching out blindly in the direction he thought the lever hung on the wall. The lightning weapon would be useless to him. He hadn’t had the chance to figure out how it worked, but Pike had, and the sound of scratching and heavy breathing behind him brought with it a sense of panic.

  Aven’s hand came against the wall and he immediately moved left, imagining in the dark where the lever hung. Then his fingers struck against the cold metal and Aven spun it quickly, loosening it.

  Five turns, and the heavy piece of metal came free in his hands. Aven pivoted around, the lever raised in his right hand. A sheet of blackness met him.

  There was no sound. He stepped forward, in the direction he thought he’d last heard movement.

  “Pike?” whispered Aven, his voice almost friendly.

  The room was silent.

  “Pike?” said Aven again, a little louder.

  Something scraped against the wall before him. A soft click sounded. Instinct told Aven to hide his weapon. He lowered the lever and placed it behind his back.

  A blue flame lit at eye level to Aven. Leaning against the opposite wall was Pike, weapon to his shoulder, eyes glaring at him from the side of the sleek black frame.

  “You almost had me,” said Pike. “You almost made me feel sorry. But your words were as hollow as your soul. You don’t want forgiveness.”

  Aven stood still. There was no way he could close the distance and use the metal lever, not as long as Pike held the lightning gun.

  “Do you know what I want, Pike? I want redemption too. I want a new life. Are you blind? You’re the one holding the gun. You’re the one trying to kill me.”

  Pike’s eyes remained hard. “Admit it. You’d kill me if you could.”

  Aven stared at Pike, at the glistening face lit blue by fire. “I would. But only because if I don’t, you’ll kill me. I meant what I said. I want your forgiveness, not your hatred.”

  Pike’s forehead was a tangle of thick creases. Sweat dripped from clumps of his wet hair.

  “We both need to die,” mumbled Pike. “You and I. You hate what you did, so you say—if you really do feel like that, like me, then death isn’t so bad. It’s what you deserve. It’s the true penitence.”

  Aven took a slow step forward. “I felt that way once, that my life was worthless because of my failure and I had nothing else to live for. Now I know those are a coward’s thoughts. Our lives can still do good. We can do something right with our lives, no matter the mistakes of our pasts.”

  Aven took another step.

  “Stop moving toward me,” said Pike. “Wriggling little worm, you are. I’ll forgive you, Aven. But I’m still going to kill you.”

  “Is that forgiveness?” asked Aven, taking one more slow step.

  Pike’s mouth pinched together, either preparing an answer, or holding one in. Time froze for Aven.

  His fingers clenched the metal lever. Pike’s face lay before him like a wet corpse, mouth open, mumbling something under his breath. As smooth as a bird in flight, Aven swung his hand out from behind his back, the full force of the metal lever striking the nozzle of the weapon. A burst of brilliant blue light shot from the end. The energy bolt just missing the side of Aven’s face.

  Aven leapt against Pike, slamming him up against the wall, the long weapon in Pike’s hand useless with Aven pressing close. Aven rammed his forehead into Pike’s face, heard a crack and felt the nose give. Pike’s free hand came hard around Aven’s neck, fingernails digging into his flesh. Gripping the butt of the lever, Aven bashed it into the side of Pike’s head.

  The blow only seemed to enrage Pike, who bellowed like an angry bull. Aven felt Pike’s legs slide behind his own, and then Pike drove him down toward the ground. Aven braced himself as Pike’s full weight slammed on top of him. Aven gasped in agony, the blow from the floor emptying his lungs of air. Pike’s hand squeezed at his neck like a vice. Aven gasped again and summoned what strength he had, swinging the lever against the back of Pike’s head. The blow had no effect. Pike growled, and stretched his fingers up under Aven’s throat.

  Aven dropped the lever, and tried to pull at Pike’s fingers, but his hands were like a thick, oily snake.

  “We go together,” rasped Pike, the blue light coming up beside Aven and Pike’s face. Pike’s broken nose was dripping blood into Aven’s hair.

  “For the people we let die,” said Pike. “It’s our turn. This time, I’m turning the lighting power to high. Our families burned, so shall we.” Pike pushed the flame against Aven’s cheek.

  Aven’s hand sprang from Pike’s fingers at his neck and grasped the hot nozzle, shoving the lit shaft into the side of Pike’s head. The blue lightning surged in a blinding torrent. Aven felt it searing his face and squeezed his eyes shut, but behind his eyelids was an image, the outline of a man who’d once been a boy full of jokes, head now engulfed in fire, hair lit like a torch, an inferno of crackling flames pouring out his ears and eyes.

  Pike’s hand at Aven’s throat grew hot, scalding. Aven twisted and bucked, rolling Pike’s body away. Even behind Aven’s closed eyelids, he could sense the room suddenly going dark. A stench filled his nose. He knew it to be Pike’s burning flesh.

  Aven collapsed and breathed in the stink of death, his body sucking in air like a fish gasping out of water. The instant he felt his strength return, he crawled toward the body, his emotions held back by the finality of what had just happened. The pulse of Pike’s rabid hatred lay quiet and dead.

  There was no sorrow in the moment, only relief.

  He reached out and felt for the lightning weapon. His fingers found the metal frame, the end of which was still burning hot to the touch. He gripped lower on the weapon and wrested it out from beneath Pike’s body.

  In the dark, he stumbled out of the cell.

  He gripped the gun—the very reason he’d braved the dark interior of the ship. Behind him lay the last vestiges of an old life, an old self.

  Weapon in hand, he dragged himself through the darkened corridors, back the way he’d come, blindly feeling along the wall.

  The air tasted free, despite his pains

  He was desperate for a cool wind on his face and water for his dry throat. His face and arms felt burned, as if sun scorched by the weapon. He edged around a bend in the corridor and found dull light streaming from the severed opening at the end of the hall.

  It was only then that tears filled Aven’s eyes. He let them come. The wetness on his cheeks felt cool and good and healing. Aven stopped at the severed neck of the ship and squatted at the opening. The clouds outside were orange as the sun was beginning to set.

  They looked not too different than the clouds of his own world. The same shape and color.

  But his mind felt different.

  His heart as light as a leaf unbound from its past.

  Pike was dead.

  Aven thought of Winter and wished he could share his feelings with her, or the lack of them. He hoped she was well. He hoped the Makers were watching over her. His disdain for the gods did not feel as strong. Winter was so unfathomably far from him, and completely out of his hands. He could only hope they continued to protect her.

  Aven reached for Daeymara’s lock of hair when the flicker of movement drew his eyes to the horizon.

  A woman was riding across the expanse of dirt, the foothills at her back. She held the reins of a sleek brown horse that sped furiously across the desert sand. The woman was moving fast, toward the starship’s wreckage opposite Aven.

  The woman was not old, nor was she dainty in any way. A belt held a tan and green tunic together at her waist, but her bare, muscled legs flashed from the slits in the tunic, lithe and strong like the horse beneath her. A long braid of black hair ran down over her back, where a bow and quiver of arrows was slung over a shoulder.

  Aven tried to move out of sight while keeping his eyes on her. What her intent woul
d be toward him was an open question. He had the lightning gun, but with the bow and arrows, she looked imposing. She seemed to be some kind of warrior. He watched her with mixed emotions.

  He imagined this woman could prove a help, or even a friend, but then, he knew with equal measure she could also be a dangerous enemy, or worse, a follower of a Beast.

  Aven watched and waited. He still had no idea how to work the weapon in his hands.

  CHAPTER 33

  SAVARAH

  Running at full speed, she neared the closest piece of torn spacecraft, jutting out like the hind quarters of a severed lizard baking upon the sand. The ship’s rear portion was spread wide, extending out like legs that bent down at knee-like joints connected to long silver cylinders.

  Cautiously, she slowed as she neared the opening of the ship and reached out to stroke her horse. She whispered a command and patted it twice on the neck. Leaving her animal behind, she removed her bow and arrow. If there were mercenaries still aboard, they would have weapons to rival both her skills and her arrows.

  The sand between the two torn starship pieces was covered in scraps of metal and plastic fabric, some of which blew and crinkled softly in the wind. The sun was just slipping behind the horizon when Savarah glanced back and forth between the two open halves searching for signs of stirring within.

  It would have been far more prudent to wait until nightfall and approach the ship in the dark, but she’d been rash because of the disgusting creature she’d already tangled with, and she was eager to be on her way.

  Thus far, the gods had only proven themselves to be fools. If they healed her for the sport of watching her go head-to-head with that monstrous animal, then what else might they try to do? Did they truly care about Isolaug’s death, or were their motives impure and Meluscia’s people deluded?

  She approached the aft section of the starship, bow raised, eyes searching for the slightest movement. Ragged metal hung in strips, but there were no visible traces of movement within. It would be easy enough for someone inside to see her while remaining unseen in the dark.

  But if the ship had supplies of food...or weapons...