The comment puzzled Flynn, who realized after a short time that he couldn’t relate. The next day’s events were not the source of his dread. “What are you expecting?”
“’Nother bloody war.”
The very words sounded dead as they rose from her smoky mouth. And Flynn knew it was a realistic prospect—however far they might infiltrate Terrias, the Reahv’li would be on them the moment they were spotted. Death would follow, but this wasn’t what bothered Flynn. These things were all in line with the plan.
“How do you sleep on nights like these?” he asked her.
Shea’s face lit up at the question. “Starters? Don’t think of tomorrow. Day after instead.” But for her bravado, her hand still shook like a leaf.
“Does that work?”
“Helps,” she replied as she took a final drag to calm her nerves. She rolled the cigarette out between her fingers, and went on. “Tomorrow will come. No help there. But after … pint with your mates. Good smoke. Roll in the sack. You know…” she concluded with a shrug. “Pleasures.”
“Something to live for,” Flynn finished.
“Right.” She pointed the extinguished cigarette at Flynn and then, remembering, tossed it to her makeshift ashtray above. Flynn hoped it was Shea’s last for the night, as he’d prefer her company without the smell of smoke between them; it masked her natural scent. “So what’ve you got?”
Flynn tried to find an answer for her. Rather than the future, he found himself looking to the past—his deceptions on Earth, his escape with Jean and Mack; Airia’s plea for renewed balance, which Flynn had desperately accepted to atone for his crimes. And now, with Poe deified and the confrontation with Renivar nearly before them, Flynn had no mind for it. There was nothing after tomorrow.
As he looked to Shea, trying to piecemeal some offering to placate her, he found himself entranced by the way she looked back at him. There was nothing significant about it—in fact, her expression seemed to be bordering on impatience—but he remembered that soldier he’d first seen in the courtyard of den Vier Manor, and the way she’d made him curious. It was an interest that hadn’t abated yet, and one he was coming to realize might not fade at all.
“Flynn?” Her strained tone jerked him from his trance.
“Lost my train of thought,” he confessed with an earnest smile. “You spend so long imagining what a day you’re waiting for is going to be like, that you don’t know what to do once you get there.”
“Meaning?”
“I expected—I don’t know, something transformative. To come out of this different and somehow at peace with myself. But whatever happens tomorrow, succeed or fail … live or die … I’ll still be the same. I won’t change.”
Shea shifted, her hand accidentally brushing against him. “No more than you have, you mean.”
“Not where it counts.”
But it wasn’t entirely true. He had changed, though not in a way he’d prepared for. The way he pined now for Shea’s companionship, it was like nothing he’d felt before. Flynn had many times played a part—he’d seduced and led hearts along, but felt nothing himself. The things he’d pretended to feel for Rebecca Saul were nothing compared to those he truly felt toward Alicea den Vier. The thought of this ending, that she might one day travel a separate path, disturbed Flynn in a way he wasn’t prepared to handle.
“I just know I don’t want to be alone,” he concluded.
She softly punched his arm, then set her hand back down. Another momentary brush.
“No danger, then. Got the lot of us at your side.”
“Tomorrow, sure,” he agreed. If we all come out of this alive. “But it won’t be that way forever. Some of you are going to leave. Some sooner than others. I can go anywhere, but how long will anyone follow me?”
She didn’t jump to answer. “Too far ahead. Few years’ holiday seemed the ticket when I deserted. No thought where I might land. Bit soon to look, I’d say.”
Flynn shifted uncomfortably where he sat. “I don’t like not knowing how things will turn out.”
By chance, or subconscious design, his hand had landed on hers. If it had been only an innocent mistake, he’d have withdrawn it immediately and drawn no attention to it. But he felt Shea’s hand warm his own and stayed too long before pulling away.
As Shea rubbed her hand, she looked at him, then back at it. “You fancy me?” She betrayed neither hope nor offense in the comment.
“If I did?”
It was a transparent evasion; they both knew exactly what he meant.
“Wouldn’t go there. Done things, both of us.”
“What difference does that make?” he asked.
“Too much alike.” She seemed almost amused by this. “Seen enough of you to know the stories true. Don’t hate you for it; won’t pretend you’re all decent either.” Flynn hung his head, admonished by this rejection. “Chin up,” she said, raising his head with her finger. “Not the only one who’s damaged. Killed eight ’fore we met, number’s climbed since. Blood on my hand’s blood on yours.”
“So even during your time on the front, you’ve never—”
“Laid with a few mates, aye,” she said. “Cold comfort when you think you might die. Not looking now, and not what you want anyway.” She shook her head, smiled. “Both bastards, our own way, made as we are.”
She smiles. Hides her guilt that way. The voice had intruded without welcome; Flynn winced, startled, but betrayed nothing of what was going on inside his head. Too proud to be won over. Doesn’t think so hard when things are rough. Cut at her heart. She’ll cling to you when it breaks.
Flynn stood up suddenly, taking a few steps away from the statue.
“Not trying to hurt—” Shea started.
“No, I just—give me a minute,” he replied as he massaged his temples.
Flynn wasn’t used to being denied what he desired; this just happened to be the first time it involved the love of another human being. And while it might have been too soon to use the parlance ‘love,’ it suited this moment.
She sat quietly behind him, fondling her cigarette case and thinking of lighting another.
And why can’t I have her? he asked himself fleetingly. If he were to break down Shea’s emotional barriers, none of his friends would recognize his technique. The only one with whom he had shared what he could do and just how he did it was Zella—and she was gone.
But for all her flaws, Flynn respected Shea. If she could be torn down so effortlessly, it cheapened her and everything he admired within her. And if she only loved Flynn because he might convince her it was all she deserved, it wasn’t genuine or worth having.
Perhaps it could be done, but Flynn resolved then to never find out. He reached back his hand for her.
“It’s late. We have a busy day tomorrow, soldier.”
She studied his hand for a moment, finally satisfied that he harbored her no ill intent. With her acceptance, Flynn pulled Shea to her feet, and released without delay. The warmth of her touch lingered, and he put the feeling away with everything else that would go unspoken.
*
The noise of the crowd outside woke Zaja long before the sun or her companions could. She wasn’t pleased to be up so early, her eyes sore from only a few hours’ rest, but after the night she’d had, she wasn’t eager to go back to sleep. After tossing the bed covers onto Jean, who snored on obliviously, she looked out the window long enough to remember that Chari had been part of a church, and the crowd outside was likely her former flock.
As Zaja stumbled wearily into the hall, she saw Chari through a crack in her bedroom door, sitting on her bed, cleaning her rifle. She gave no sign of notice and Zaja elected to leave her be. As she walked down the hall, her muscles waking up from their stiffness, she looked past Flynn and Shea—asleep on opposite ends of the couch—to Poe, who sat on the floor near the window, his head bowed and his eyes shut.
For a moment, it seemed she was the only other person awake in the hou
se. When she went near the window to peek out the curtains and get a better look outside, Poe’s head jerked up. Zaja gave a small gasp of surprise; she hadn’t realized he was awake.
“Got bored?” she asked after she caught her breath.
“It’s been a quiet night,” he replied in a soft tone. “You should be resting.”
“You too,” she said with a yawn. “Big day.”
He shook his head. “I haven’t the need.”
“Too anxious?” she asked as she sat beside him. But the look on Poe’s face was not that of a man running on little sleep or suffering for a lack of it. He seemed as alert and awake as the night before. At seeing this, she gave a sheepish, “I guess not, huh?” and curled up where she sat.
Poe took a deep breath; even this action came off forced and unnecessary. “I’ve felt a sense of stasis ever since I emerged. I needn’t feed. Breathe. Nor drink, nor rest.” Poe brought his hand to his face, pressed his fingers against his skin. “I touch my flesh and it is still supple and pliant. If cut, I bleed, though the wound mends eagerly.”
She pondered this for a time. “Yetinau drank,” she pointed out.
“Extensively,” he agreed. She wasn’t sure if he was comforted or not. “I suspect I might still engage in mortal activity, at my choosing. But as a being whom humanity’s survival is tethered to, it seems my survival in turn is assured.”
In spite of the conversation, Zaja found herself leaning tiredly in Poe’s direction. Deification had done nothing to diminish his body heat, and she pressed close, soaking it in.
“You were already gonna outlive me,” she told him sleepily.
“By many decades,” he agreed as he rubbed her head. “Now centuries, at least.” She was content to lie there and soak in the silence, when Poe added a somber, “I’m sorry.”
Zaja rolled back enough to look him in the eyes and say, “Don’t be. I was teasing. I always knew this was how things would go.”
“Even so … more than any of us, you at least should be spared this den of horrors we prepare to face.” She didn’t voice a response, but found a soft spot in Poe’s pant leg and drove a fingernail into it. He shifted from the pain, but said nothing.
Don’t sideline me, she thought with contempt.
Poe opted to change the subject. “What has you awake so early?”
“Bad dream,” she replied.
In it, she’d woken up without the sounds of the crowd outside, on their way to the cathedral. It was later in the morning, but there was a gloom out there that made it less sunny than it should be.
Jean was already gone, her side of the bed grown cold. Still waking up, Zaja made her way into the hall, where Chari’s door creaked open, its bed equally unoccupied. The kitchen and living room were no different, but the attic door was wide open. Before approaching the stairs, she noticed the curtains had been left open as well.
It had snowed in the night, and the streets were a brilliant white.
When Zaja climbed the stairs, she came to an empty room with portraits of Einré Maraius painted all across the walls. There was nothing else but a note on the floor, an apology for leaving without her.
At that point, Zaja had wanted to cry. Now, in the waking world, she laughed, and Poe asked her why.
“They left me a note,” she explained without any other context. “It’s funny ’cause no one here can write in Omati.”
Poe gave a small chuckle, though Zaja was unsure he found anything funny. The chuckle gave way to a small sigh.
“Even should I see another millennium, these next years to come will be the most important in my life,” he said.
“Talking like you’ve already won,” she said with a yawn.
Zaja expected Poe to make some bravado statement of his skill as a warrior, his role as an assassin, or just the fact that his opponent was still an old man who was tied down. What he said instead surprised her.
“I cannot afford to think as though I will not.” He gave another pause, then continued, “In the years to come, I must restore an upended circle of gods, dismantle Renivar’s worshippers, and return them to their worlds of origin … and I must make good with my comrades as well. They saw me this far, and their lives have become fleeting compared to mine.”
“It’s a lot to do,” she said. “Will you have the time?”
“I needn’t sleep, remember?” he replied with a smile. “All I have is time.”
She envied Poe, however much she didn’t want to. It wasn’t for the many decades he would see that she could not, but for his ability to use the time he had to the utmost. As weakness set into Zaja’s body, she would be able to do less and less, her contributions falling to nothing as others took care of her. She felt the early stages of that debilitation already coursing through her.
While Zaja would have preferred to show nothing of her vulnerabilities, a small whimper must have escaped, for Poe brushed her hair consolingly. His words came faintly to her as she sank back into much needed rest, “What we have to share seems such a small span of years. But come what may, Zaja DeSarah, I shall be with you at your end.”
*
Jean was unsure what time it was she’d awoken. It had been some hour or two earlier, and she’d spent the intervening time in bed staring at the contorted pattern of the ceiling
grain. At first, she thought it was just déjà vu that had her so preoccupied, but at some point, she realized it was the familiarity of the place.
“Normally runnin’…” she murmured to herself. “Never ended back at the same place twice.”
Still, things were different this time. Mack wasn’t by her side, and wouldn’t be found in the kitchen cooking up a tasty meal.
They had a mission. It was time to get up.
“Countin’ a head short,” she noted when they convened in the living area.
“Zella has taken her leave,” Poe replied, looking to Flynn. “Hasn’t she?”
Flynn nodded. “She and I spoke last night before she departed. Zella has chosen to recuse herself from what’s to come.”
“Uncommitted to the end.” Chari shook her head in disappointment.
“Danger that way, isn’t there?” Shea asked, as she fastened her scabbard to her belt. She had abandoned her old cutlass, taking the Searing Truth in its place. “Renivar’s lackeys on her tail?”
“Zella eluded them for years before she met me, and the head will be cut off the snake within days,” Flynn replied. “We’ll be drawing their attention in the meantime. She’ll be okay without us.”
Something about Zella’s departure nagged at Jean, who thought it odd that if Flynn had spoken to her, he wouldn’t have convinced her to stay. The topic did not quite die there, but Poe’s confirmation that she’d left the house in safety did not suggest foul play, and she let the worry leave her mind.
“So, we gonna get movin’?” she asked. “Day’s not gettin’ any younger.”
“Does anyone even know what time it is on Terrias?” Zaja followed.
“If we’re fortunate,” Poe said, reaching for the pouch with the key, “we shall have the cover of night to shield us.”
Without further ado, he approached the attic door and plugged the key into the keyhole. Curiously, Poe’s hand remained in place.
“Cold feet?” Jean teased.
“It’s stuck,” Poe replied.
“Oh!” Chari leaned in and pointed at the lock. “You have to jiggle it a little.”
“Ah.” The door unlatched, creaking open. They climbed the stairs in single file. Jean, at the rear of the group, caught Chari by the shoulder before she followed.
“How was it, comin’ back? Miss yer old home at all?”
“Nope,” Chari replied, and followed their companions without another word.
“Okay, then,” Jean said, pulling the attic door shut behind them.
The stairway climbed a single story in a spiral, and let out into a cluttered room full of dusty crates and cobwebbed idols. The rift connecting
to Terrias had already opened, and Jean reached the attic room just in time to see a crate that had occupied its space fall through, disappearing without a sound.
“Not important, hope,” Shea said.
Through a small window, Jean could see the locals going about their business, oblivious to what was about to transpire here, and on worlds beyond.
Flynn turned to face the group.
“The Reahv’li have no idea this pathway is open, or that this is where we’re approaching from.” He turned to Poe. “What we don’t know is whether Renivar will know when you arrive.”
“Should I sense him upon our arrival, I will inform you all right away,” Poe promised.
“A little luck, and we might make it through Yeribelt and to the front doors of Borudust Castle undetected,” Zaja said hopefully. “No one else has to get hurt. There are good people there.”
“Fuckers want us all dead, Zaj,” Jean replied.
“Everyone … has their flaws,” she countered sheepishly.
“We may not have that luxury,” Chari told Zaja. “Despite your hopes. Our prerogative should be an urgent advance before Renivar’s forces have a chance to regroup.”
“Last time we confronted Taryl Renivar, we were ambushed, separated and unprepared,” Flynn concluded. “This time, we’re bringing the fight to him. However this ends, nothing will be the same.”
With that, Flynn stepped aside, and Poe moved to the fore, the first to take the decisive steps. Zaja and Chari followed, then Shea, who gave him a fleeting glance before heading on through.
Jean lingered with Flynn for one final moment. They had come far together, and had but a little distance left to cover. She didn’t know how much longer they would have each other’s company, but she wanted this last, certain endeavor to be the one that wrote their names in the stars.
She cracked her knuckles and smirked as she told him, “Let’s fuck some shit up.”
And they stepped through to Terrias, together.
Killers, Traitors, & Runaways: Outcasts of the Worlds, Book II Page 39