Combatant: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 3)

by Anderle, Michael

  "You don't want to be a soldier," Jordan argued now.

  "Maybe not for the rest of my life, but I can do better for Rodania right now by protecting it." Sol's look darkened. "My trust in my government has eroded over these past few months. I used to think they were incorrupt, altruistic." He gave a bitter laugh. "I'm not sure about that anymore, and I don't want to be party to helping them continue along this path. My government is how Rodania ended up in this mess in the first place."

  Sol's eyes fell on Eohne, who was standing at the edge of the terrace peering down. "Where are you going?" he asked.

  "How does a non-winged body get down from here?"

  "There are stairs, but I'll take you wherever you need to go," Sol offered as he and Jordan went to the Elf. "Why? Where do you need to go?"

  Eohne pointed a finger at the hole in the canopy directly below them, where she had thrown the harpy carcass. "Straight down there."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  While Sol took Eohne where she wanted to go, Jordan winged her way directly to Arth's showroom. Eohne said she and Sol would be gone less than five minutes, and they agreed it was okay to leave Allan's sleeping form alone for such a short measure of time.

  Pink tinged the sky as dusk settled in. Jordan couldn't wait to fall into bed that night. Exhaustion from the portal travel and the transformation that followed burned in every blood cell in a way unlike normal fatigue.

  She wondered if all this magic was having some adverse affect on her and Sol's DNA, the way plane travel exposes travellers to radiation. She supposed she could ask Juer, but she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. Sohne had already told her that magic came at a price; if it was radiation, or any other toxicity, for that matter, there were enough similarities between Oriceran nutrition and Earth nutrition that a diet rich in leafy greens, veggies, and fruits should help stave off the damage to their DNA.

  The small Middle Rodanian town of Crypsis came into view. Jordan drifted into town on open wings, catching any draft she could to buoy her up with the least amount of energy output. Her flying techniques had changed so much since she'd started training with the Strix soldiers. When she'd first gotten her wings, she'd powered her way around, not paying any attention to technique. She burned through her energy quickly, was constantly hungry, and her shoulders and back ached most nights. She had finally learned how to fly efficiently using wind and air currents as allies to serve her, rather than as enemies to overcome.

  She drifted to the street and closed up her wings as the soles of her boots made contact with the cobblestones. She walked toward Arth's shop without breaking momentum. An elderly female Arpak with small, dark green wings watched her graceful landing with an appreciative expression. The two Arpaks nodded to one another as they passed.

  Jordan smiled. She really felt like she belonged here. One thought led to another as the street passed under her feet, and she found herself contemplating her and Sol's living situation. He'd been so generous to allow her, Allan, and Eohne to use his space the way they were, but it wasn't a great long-term solution. She made a note to bring it up with Sol when there was an opportune moment.

  Arth's shop appeared at the end of the street. The display in front had been pulled inside for the evening, and Arth herself was locking the front door.

  Jordan broke into a jog and called out to the Nycht as she approached. "Arth!"

  The woman turned, and a smile of recognition broke over her features. "Well, hello!"

  "Remember me?" she smiled down at the Nycht; Jordan had forgotten just how petite she was.

  Arth's spray of dreadlocks had been cut off, and her hair had been cropped super short, making her look like a pixie. Her large, coal black eyes sparkled at Jordan, and her white teeth blazed from her face as she returned the smile.

  "Of course I do! Hard to forget a bright yellow Arpak with a blue dragon for a pet. Where is your little friend?"

  Jordan's shoulders slumped at the mention of Blue. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I'm hoping he'll be home by the time I get back."

  Arth nodded. "I've heard they're adventurous and independent." She dropped a small brass key into her pocket. "My shop is closed for the night, but I'm happy to open up again, if it's quick. Do you know what you’re looking for?"

  "I don't know if it'll be quick, but I need to present an idea to you. If there was an opportunity for you to do something great for Rodania, would you want to do it?"

  Arth's eyes narrowed. "Of course," she growled. "I have never seen Rodania in such a state. Everyone is battening down the hatches, complaining about the government, afraid for their lives and property." She shook her head and clucked her tongue. She brightened immediately though, and Jordan was reminded vaguely of a big, bouncy ball. "I saw you fighting those blasted birds,” Arth told her. “You were so brave, you and the other soldiers. I am so proud of my brothers for what they are doing."

  "Your brothers joined the Strix army?"

  The Nycht nodded. "They are good men, both of them. They have no reason to save Rodania." She glowered. "It has not given them any reason to be loyal."

  Words stalled on Jordan's tongue as a suspicion crept up.

  "What are the names of your brothers?"

  "Toth and Caje."

  Jordan gave a laugh of amazement. "Are you kidding me?"

  "No. Why? I mean, I guess you know them, too. You train under them, right?"

  "Not just that." Jordan clasped Arth's hand. "Toth has saved my life at least twice, maybe more—–and he saved my father's life, too. He is amazing!"

  Arth chuckled. "Saving lives. That sounds like Toth, alright. He's the best." She snugged her black scarf up under her chin. "So, what can I do for you and Rodania on this fine evening?"

  "Can we take a few minutes inside, and I can explain? Please?" Jordan gestured to the shop. "It's kind of an emergency, and I think you're going to want to talk through a few details."

  "Sure. Okay." Arth dug out the keys she'd recently deposited in her pocket and reopened her shop door. "Come on in."

  The shop was not the way Jordan remembered it. It smelled the same, of oil and metal and smoke, but all of the inventions she remembered––the clock, the radio, the gun––were gone, replaced by different ones. Now there was a long-necked electric lamp, a cherry red Vespa parked in the middle of the floor, an antique foot-operated sewing machine, complete with the Singer logo on the back of it, and many other things.

  "You've been busy, Arth!"

  Arth set down her bag. Her wings fluttered and tightened as though she was a touch on the chilly side. It was cool in the shop. "I turn over inventory quickly."

  Jordan gaped at the perfect replicas, amazed at how like the real thing they looked. "You really are just what Rodania needs right now," She grinned at Arth. "Where do you do your work?"

  "In the back room. Would you like to see?"

  "Yes, please. And I think it best if I show you this idea away from the windows."

  Arth led Jordan through an archway, to a room with tall ceilings, multiple tables, and tools Jordan couldn't even begin to recognize or comprehend. Among tools, piles of sheet metals, and jars of mysterious, sparkly shavings, there were books and scrolls haphazardly stacked and shoved into open wooden trunks and scattered over tables. Arth pulled shut a sliding door, dividing the shop from her workspace.

  Jordan stopped in front of a long wooden table. "Can we use this? I have a sort of hologram to show you."

  "A hologram? How intriguing." Arth cleared away the jars and books, making way for Jordan's presentation.

  The Arpak went about setting up the metallic panels according to the instructions Sohne had included. Her hands were growing clammy as doubt crept at her edges, the way it always did when magic was involved.

  What if the magic fails? What if Sol and I did something wrong when we did the first part of the spell?

  She worked slowly and precisely, trying to keep these thoughts at bay. The panels stayed erect until Jorda
n had laid out every piece, even though there was no visible force keeping them up. She stepped back and took a breath. Arth hovered at her elbow, watching with as much attention as a child seeing the circus for the first time.

  "But this is some kind of magic, no?" Arth breathed. "How do you know how to do magic?"

  "I don't have a clue what I'm doing, trust me." Jordan pulled the jar of charcoal powder from her bag and unscrewed the cap. "I was instructed by an Elf, but I'm just crossing my fingers that this actually works the way it’s supposed to." Jordan read the last instruction and cast her gaze about the shop. "Do you happen to have a hammer with a metal head? A small one?"

  "Of course. I have dozens." Arth went to a tall wooden cupboard and swung the doors open. Inside were hundreds of tools, each sitting neatly in their own holder or cup on the shelves, or hanging on pegs inside the door. "Will this do?" Arth held up a short hammer with a small bronze head in the shape of a mushroom.

  "Looks like it."

  Arth handed the hammer to Jordan, who closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer that the magic would work; otherwise, she'd destroyed her father's newest acquisition for nothing.

  She tapped the panels, which were now all connected, and the workshop rang with the clear ping of a small bell. Jordan then tossed the charcoal into the space created by the membranes. A cloud of dust filled the box, but as the women watched, the particles began to vibrate, arranging themselves into lines. The map of the gun took perfect shape before their eyes, each nook and cranny and piece outlined with the vibrating charcoal dust.

  "Well I'll be…" Arth's eyes grew wide as saucers. "It's a weapon!'

  The charcoal lines solidified and began to glow with a beautiful violet color.

  "This is a model of an antique gun from Earth," Jordan explained, her heart pounding with elation. It worked! "It's to scale, and it's just what Rodania needs to help fend off the harpy attacks. It was originally modified for aircraft, but we can mount them to the ramparts and towerheads around the city."

  Arth's jaw dropped. Her face took on a soft purple, cast in the light of the weapon. "You want me to reverse engineer it?"

  "Can you?"

  "That depends. Can I touch it?"

  Jordan nodded. "The Elf said you can dismantle it piece by piece if you need to, so you can see the exact shape of everything that is needed. Oh." She rummaged in her bag for the printouts. "I also have these for you." She handed Arth the sheaf of crumpled pages. "Sorry they're a little wrinkled. They've come a long way."

  Arth snatched the sheets like a starving woman. She rifled through them, her face growing more and more excited. "Bronze. Wood. Aluminum." She chewed her lip, her brows drawing together, her eyes darting back and forth along the pages.

  "It's not the most sophisticated weapon out there," Jordan said, apologetically. Arth's concerned expression made her feel the need to explain. "But it's all I had access to on short notice."

  "Where did this come fr-–"

  Arth blinked and shook her head sharply once.

  "Nevermind, it’s better I don't know.” She looked from the pages clutched in her hands to the glowing map of the gun and back again. "But this gun can be mounted to point upward?"

  "That's what I understand, yes."

  Jordan's heart gave an unexpected ache. Dad would have loved to be a part of this.

  Rodania was in real danger, and that was terrifying, but the fact that Jordan was being proactive made her feel stronger, more in control, less afraid.

  Now the gun was in Arth's hands.

  She watched the Nycht make calculations in her head, biting her lip.

  "Potassium chlorate," Arth mumbled. "Sulfur. Hmmm."

  "Do you have the things you need?"

  "I don't know yet." The engineer walked around the gun. "Making the molds is the easy part; it’s the ammunition that may prove difficult. Especially in the quantity that…" She straightened. "How many of these guns do you think we need?"

  "As many as you can manufacture, as fast as you can manufacture them. And there's no mount shown here—–the gun didn't come with one—–so you'll have to invent one."

  Arth made a masculine sounding grunt. "I don't do factory output. I'm a one-of-a-kind girl." Her brow wrinkled.

  Jordan held her breath. "But…? There's a ‘but’ in there, right?"

  "I know some of the boys down at the metal shop on the south side of Lower Rodania. They'll likely jump at the chance to make something other than speartips, daggers, and buckles. Question is, can they do it? You understand there is no one on Rodania who handles ammunition like the kind needed to outfit these guns?" Arth leveled Jordan with a look. "This is ambitious. We're going to need help; not just with convincing the metal boys to mobilize, but they'll need to be paid, and they'll need to be pulled off whatever they're working on now. I need…"

  The Nycht and the Arpak looked at each other.

  "Toth," they said simultaneously.

  Arth nodded. "I'll go talk to him. Tonight. If anyone can swing the funding and handle the mobilization of this, it’s my big brother."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The sky was a black maw by the time Jordan returned to the tower apartment, but light was burning in the windows. She landed on the terrace as her jaw creaked with a yawn.

  "Hello?" Jordan called as she took off her satchels and loosened her vest. The armor had taken some getting used to, and she definitely felt protected by it, but at the end of a long day, she wanted nothing more than to take it off and wear something light and airy.

  "In here," Sol called, his voice sounding muffled.

  Jordan listened. "Where?" She peered into the bedroom. Allan's form lay still and sleeping where he always was. Sol and Eohne weren't in the bedroom.

  "In the closet."

  Jordan wandered through the kitchen, bemused, seeing piles of fabric, boots, blankets, and wooden trunks scattered on the floor behind the small kitchen island. The door to the closet was open a crack. She pulled it open all the way.

  Eohne was crammed in the back of the closet, wearing a strange looking set of goggles and fine leather gloves. Her thick dark hair had been pulled back and piled up on top of her head beneath a kerchief. A second linen kerchief was tied over her mouth, and a heavy butcher's apron covered her body. The overall effect was both frightening and funny; she looked like a mad surgeon, or perhaps a steampunk serial killer.

  Many small vials were lined up in front of Eohne, filled with liquids in various shades of gray, and sporting hand marked labels. Each bottle, save the one Eohne was currently working with, was stoppered tightly with a cork.

  The small space was illuminated by lanterns that were hanging on pegs and nails that had been haphazardly hammered into the walls. Sol hovered just inside the closet door with a kerchief over his mouth.

  He turned to put an arm around Jordan.

  "What are you guys doing?" she asked warily.

  "Eohne is making medicine." Sol pulled his kerchief down.

  Jordan watched the Elf. "Is it radioactive? Why are you wearing a hazmat suit?" She then looked back at Sol, who was holding a sheaf of small squares of paper and a pen in the hand that wasn’t on her; his fingers were stained with black. "And how come you're not in a hazmat suit?"

  "She only just let me in. I've been helping." Sol gestured to a hole in the closet door, which looked as though it had been gnawed by a rat.

  "Where did you get all this stuff?"

  "I went to visit Juer with a list from Eohne. He let us take what we needed from his stores."

  "Nice guy, your uncle," said Eohne through the fabric over her mouth. She didn't take her eyes from what she was doing.

  "It ain't pretty," Sol gave Jordan a heart-stopping grin and squeezed her, "but she's pretty sure it'll help your dad." Sol bent toward her and sniffed. "You smell like grease. I like it."

  Jordan laughed, but her mind skipped over the humor and latched onto what Sol had said.

  "It'll help my dad?"
Jordan's heart began to run like a little rabbit in her chest.

  Eohne pulled the linen away from her face and lifted her goggles. Her face was damp with sweat, and her hair curled in tendrils at her forehead. "The worst is over, but I'm not done yet." She lifted one of the small vials containing a clear liquid. She held up a second, also of clear liquid––crystalline in the lamplight––and poured one into the other. "I still need to cut the poison into another thousand parts." Eohne stretched her neck from side to side and pressed her shoulders down. "At least."

  "Poison?"

  "Sohne's message," Eohne began. "It was shortly after the harpy attack that your dad started to list his inventory. It was the harpy poison that woke him, I'm sure of it. It didn't even have to touch him, just be in the vicinity. Sohne's message was cryptic, but it made perfect sense to me. I need to make a mild medicine from the harpy's venom. There's probably an easier way to do this, but I don't want to take the time right now to invent it. I'd rather just do what works."

  Jordan swallowed. "You think harpy venom will wake my dad up?"

  She watched as Eohne continued cutting and pouring, cutting and pouring, each time taking a fresh vial from a trunk on the floor and setting the full one in the tight line of bottles on the closet shelves. These small vials already filled every shelf above Eohne's head.

  "Even Juer thinks so," said Sol. "I thought it was weird at first, too, but he agreed with Eohne after hearing her story of the harpy attack, your dad's partial arousal, and Sohne's message that poison is also medicine."

  "It's just a matter of dose," murmured Jordan.

  "That's right," Eohne smiled. "Now, if you wouldn't mind helping Sol make about a thousand more of those labels, I'll keep working."

  "Can you come out of the closet?" Jordan asked as she backed out of the small space. "It's stuffy and kind of smells like something died."