Black Recluse

by Anna Bowman

  He nearly lost his footing altogether as the airship lurched forward. Rayn was near the edge now, reaching for Solomand’s outstretched hand. His fingers clasped around hers and he yanked her onto the ramp. His arm tightened around Rayn, and he pulled them both inside, slamming the button to close the door before collapsing to the floor.

  The ramp creaked shut, closing out the dark night sky.

  “What took you so long?”

  Rayn rolled onto her back, tilting her head to face him. The blood had all but dried on her flushed cheeks. Wisps of red hair clung to the side of her face.

  Solomand felt sick. He managed a relieved smile.

  “You didn’t think I was going to leave you, did you?”

  Rayn’s eyes closed. The rise and fall of her chest slowed.

  “No.” She reached inside her vest and dug out the spherical map. “I was sure you’d come back for this.”

  She held it out, her arm laying on the floor.

  Solomand’s heart gave a painful wrench. Did she really think so low of him?

  For you, Rayn! I came back for you!

  He wanted to yell it out. But she wouldn’t understand. In fact, he meant for her not to—for her own sake. He forced a joking grin, in spite of the drowning wave of misery that engulfed him.

  “Of course.” He snatched it from her hand managed a playful look. “It was rather a lot of trouble to get, you know.”

  Rayn’s eyes opened, and she landed a punch on his shoulder.

  “Jackass.”

  She was grinning.

  Jank stood over them. He offered Rayn a hand.

  “Hey, Sol—ya want me to add Blackpool to the list of cities to avoid?”

  He helped Rayn to her feet.

  Solomand struggled to his feet.

  “Be easier to make a list of places we can go at this point,” he grumbled, limping away so neither of them could see the morose look he could no longer keep at bay.

  He locked himself inside the flight deck, and lay against the door, taking a series of ragged breaths until the smothering pain left and he could breathe once more.

  He made excuses to avoid her for the rest of the journey, occupying his mind at the helm, watching the wisps of white cloud pass by the nose of the airship as he checked the instruments were adjusted even though he knew they were. Even Zee was banished from the helm, left to help Jank in the engine room. His mind would not clear, and he felt like all the years of running had crashed into him all at once.

  Chapter 28

  Rayn

  Stars were bright against the clear dark of the sky—silvery light from the moonlit the fields. Her father was out. He always left when the riots broke out within the city walls. The City Forces were growing more brutal in their response. Rayn ran barefooted through the tall grass until she reached the wooden fence bordering their farm. Beyond it, the land gradually faded to desert.

  “Rayn, wait!”

  It was the boy. They were both older now, nearly fourteen.

  Rayn ran faster, but he caught up. He always did. He ran beside her.

  “He told me to look after you, Rayn. Please come back.”

  He spoke like running was no different than a walk. They were at the fence now, and Rayn paused, her hand on the rough wood.

  “I don’t need you to look after me.”

  She turned away, hiding the tears that threatened to fall.

  “I know you don’t,” he put a hand on hers.

  The warmth of his touch soothed the pain inside her. His smoky black hair hung over his eyes and down to his shoulders.

  “What if he doesn’t come back this time?” she choked.

  “Don’t worry. He will.”

  And just like that, she knew he would, if only because the boy said it was so. That was how she felt whenever he spoke. He'd lost more than she had, and he still managed to smile that way.

  “It’ll be alright.” He squeezed her hand. “Rayn storm.”

  Rayn’s eyes flew open, her heart pounding.

  Rayn storm?

  She sat in a cold sweat, feeling like a crushing weight had been dumped on her shoulders. What if being around Solomand and the others were influencing her dreams now? They were all she had left of who she was. She collapsed back onto her pillow.

  They had gotten back to Lubafell the previous night. Rayn managed to take a shower before collapsing into bed. She stared at the ceiling for a while. It was still dark outside. She decided it was time to pay Tristan a visit before anyone else was awake. She got dressed, leaving her revolver on the bed and crept up the stairs to his room.

  She wrapped on his door, but there was no answer. Thinking it was too early, she started to leave when the door opened. Tristan met her with a cheery smile.

  “Good morning, Rayn.” He leaned on his cane. “Do come in.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled, closing the door behind her. “I was afraid I was the only one awake.”

  Tristan sat on his bed and motioned her to a chair next to him. “

  I hear you had quite the experience in Blackpool.” He shook his head. “I am glad you made it back in one piece.” He coughed into his hand. “How may I be of assistance?”

  Rayn gulped. “Remember when you said to tell you if I thought of anything else?”

  “Of course,” Tristan’s eyes narrowed with interest.

  “I think my dreams might be memories.”

  “Really?” Tristan raised one eyebrow. He leaned forward on his cane, his brow furrowed as he listened to what she had to say. She told him about everything; about the boy, about who she thought was her father and the recent development, which she believed to be her new memories blurring the old.

  Tristan rubbed a hand across his forehead.

  “Do you know the boy’s name?”

  Rayn shook her head.

  “No. I always wake up before I find out anything.”

  “Quite intriguing…”

  He rested his chin in his hand, tapping an index finger on the side of his head.

  “Do you think they’re memories? Or nonsense?”

  Rayn was afraid to hear his answer.

  “Allow me to do some research.” Tristan appeared distant. Her face fell, and he smiled at her. “Cheer up, Rayn.” He walked to his bookshelf, relying much on the support of his cane. “I have all the research of Dr. Galin Highcourt, who…officially engineered the solution.” He ran a bony hand along the spines of the books before retrieving a thick, black one. “His work is quite brilliant.” He heaved the heavy volume onto the bed and sat down again, looking strained. “One of the foremost minds in the medical field to this day.”

  Rayn frowned.

  “Not a great invention for someone of such a great mind.”

  “Well, you know, all the best minds are enlisted during a war…most believe they are doing good.”

  He brushed his hand over the cover of the book and sighed.

  “So.” His blue eyes gleamed with mischief as he changed the subject. “I hear you met Lady St. Sebastian.”

  “Who?” Rayn’s eyebrows squished together as she squinted.

  “Minuet.”

  “Oh! Her!” Rayn could not suppress a look of disgust.

  Wish I’d have killed her!

  Tristan burst out in a good-natured laugh.

  “It seems that you and Solomand have the same impression of the Lady.”

  For some reason, the picture of Minuet and her corsets brought back the barroom escapade, and Rayn frowned.

  “Funny, I guess Solomand has a much lower taste in women.”

  She tried to brush the memory from her mind.

  “Oh no.” Tristan leaned forward on his cane. “Solomand Black had only one love, and he never will have another.”

  He said it with an air of finality that made Rayn believe him. She wondered what sort of woman would capture a man like Solomand’s heart.

  “Tell that to the hookers in Blackpool,” she said, rubbing her forehead.

>   Tristan laughed again.

  “Don’t let him fool you. His behavior is a front to find information. He does rather hate not knowing what Minuet is up to. Airmen tend to talk more than they should with nightly companions.” He winked at her.

  Rayn wondered why this made her feel better. Solomand had said as much, but Tristan she actually trusted. She grinned.

  “Solomand said you should give me a history lesson when we got back.”

  “Did he now? I shall have to clarify on what history he was referring to. He might get unnecessarily high-strung if I address unwanted topics.”

  He leaned over, his breathing becoming more strained.

  “Are you alright?”

  Rayn lay a hand on his shoulder. She thought back to her troubling conversation with Solomand where he refused to acknowledge anything was wrong with Tristan.

  Tristan looked tired.

  “I’m fine…but I should rest.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Everything will be alright, Rayn.”

  Rayn knew it wouldn’t, but she nodded and rose to leave.

  “Thank you,” she managed to say.

  On her way down the stairs, she ran into Solomand. He looked more of a mess than usual with his shirt untucked, one sleeve rolled up and his hair more uncombed than usual.

  “Rayn…” he took a step back. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah,” Rayn said. But the aches and pains were still there, reminding her she had come very close to not being fine. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Solomand came closer. Rayn did not stop him when he ran his thumb along her scabbed cheek. He scowled.

  “No idea. That, Rayn, is why we don’t fool around when we’re hanging off a tower.”

  Rayn placed a hand on her hip.

  “You’re trying to draw attention away from the fact that you're terrified of heights.”

  “I’m not terrified of heights,” Sol insisted. “I was terrified of...” His gaze dropped, finishing the sentence with difficulty. “Getting anyone killed.”

  “It’s not like you were trying to get me killed.” Rayn crossed her arms. “I thought you were more worried about your over-the-top compass thing, anyway.”

  Solomand’s jaw tightened.

  “I wasn’t.” A grimace lingered on his face. “Have you thought about what I said earlier?”

  “About what?” Rayn rubbed her sore arm.

  “Grishtanburg.”

  Why did her stomach tighten every time she heard the name of that city?

  “Are you saying you want me to leave?”

  Her hand moved to the stair railing and tightened.

  “No!” Solomand moved forward, then stepped back again. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? And there’s nothing more I can do to help you, aside from securing you passage there. I thought you would want to go.”

  He was sincere now, and for some reason, it bothered her more than when she knew he was lying.

  She didn't speak at first.

  I don’t. But, why don’t I?

  She never had friends in Port Ashbury, and if there were any before that, she couldn’t remember them. Not knowing what she would find in Grishtanburg made the choice more difficult.

  “I do,” she lied, biting her bottom lip. “It’s just, I’m not sure I’m ready.” They had made a hell of an exit from Blackpool, anyway. “Besides, how are we supposed to get back to Blackpool after how we barely got out the last time?”

  She wondered why the thought brightened her mood.

  Solomand’s face fell.

  “Got a point there.” His eyes bore into her, searching. He ran a hand on the back of his neck. “The thing is, we’re about to get into something dangerous here. I’ll fill everyone in later. You can decide then whether you want to go or not. I’ll find a way to get you to a safe port if you decide to go.”

  Rayn tore away from his gaze.

  “Sounds good.”

  She hurried past him and outside to get some fresh air. Almost to the door, she realized she’d left the medallion in her room. For a second, she debated on leaving it. A few weeks ago, she never would have parted with it for a moment. Now, was it really that important? Her mind was enough of a mess. She shrugged and turned back to get it. But, when she stepped into the hallway, she ran into someone, she at first thought could only be Will.

  “Sorry, Will...”

  She looked up, her eyes bulging. It wasn’t Will. This man was at least as tall and broad-shouldered, but light-skinned and, unlike Will, frightening. His eyes narrowed into a threatening glower. A spider tattoo poked up from his collar.

  “Who the hell are you?” She backed away, hand going to the gun, which wasn’t at her side.

  More growling, than speaking, he muttered a jumble of Slavik words. Then, running a hand on the base of his neck, he said, “Ivan.”

  Chapter 29

  Solomand

  Dragging his feet as he walked into the room, Solomand sighed and settled on the foot of Tristan’s bed. Tristan looked up from the book by Dr. Highcourt.

  “Sol, why so glum?” He let the book fall into his lap. “Having second thoughts?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” He buried his face in his hands.

  “Oh, come now. Of course, you do.” Tristan’s cheerfulness seemed exaggerated, even for him. He leaned forward. “I have some information that you will find of keen interest. Some good news, along with some bad, I’m afraid.”

  “I can’t take any bad news.” Solomand groaned.

  “But you shall most definitely want to hear the good.”

  Against Solomand’s desire, Tristan told him about Rayn’s dreams.

  “So, she does remember…” Solomand took in the news, an unfamiliar feeling overtook him. Something he had not felt in a long time—hope.

  “Yes. But that could be good or bad depending on whether you intend to ignore my advice and go forward with your ill-conceived ideas of martyrdom.”

  The accusatory tone was still in Tristan’s voice. Solomand willed Tristan’s intrusion on his cheerful mood away. He had probably known Sol would react this way, and more than likely told him so he would change his mind. Would he? Solomand wrestled for the idea for a moment. He was beginning to have doubts on what to do when, like a clap of thunder, the bad news dawned on him.

  “But, if Rayn remembers, sort of, then maybe…”

  The color drained from his face.

  Tristan gave him a short nod.

  “I’m sure it’s fine, Sol. I wouldn’t even call it bad news, as such. However, I should like to speak with Will.”

  Sol’s hand jerked as he ran it through his unwashed hair. His mouth felt dry. He sprang up and dashed from the room, a look of doom plastered to his face.

  He walked into the hall as Rayn was backing away from the towering figure, reaching for her gun, which wasn’t there.

  Oh.

  He forgot. She didn’t know about Ivan.

  Rayn spun around. “Solomand!” Her eyes trailed from him back to Ivan.

  Sol cleared his throat, rubbing one shoulder in an attempt to look nonchalant. “This is Ivan. He’s one of us.” He tried to sound casual. Ivan gave him a stabbing glare, muttering in Slav something about not playing any stupid game, and Solomand was pretty sure another Kree insult. He glared at him for a moment, thankful Rayn didn’t understand. It was no wonder she was startled. Sol had only known Ivan to ever look like some sort of half-starved wolverine with a migraine.

  “One of you? I thought you said Tristan was the last of your crew.”

  Solomand raised a finger. “Almost,” he said timidly. “I said almost. You haven’t seen him because he’s been locked in the basement—recovering, I mean.”

  Why the hell did I say that?

  Solomand cringed.

  Rayn’s jaw hung open.

  “In the basement? What. The. Hell. Solomand!”

  He eased a step back as she came toward him, unsure who was the more terrifying, Rayn or
Ivan.

  “Normal people don’t keep anyone locked in a basement!” She gestured toward Ivan. “Especially if they happen to look like their favorite pastime is murdering someone with an ax.”

  Ivan did have that look about him. But, for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched. Was he actually trying not to smile?

  “Sorry.” Sol cleared his throat and was careful to keep his distance. His voice was timid when he spoke. “He really only wants to kill me, though, so you’ve nothing to worry about.”

  Rayn threw her arms up.

  “I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one who doesn’t know anything!” She shook her head, giving Solomand one last glare of disbelief before storming away. “In the basement—honestly!”

  Solomand breathed out.

  That could have gone worse, I suppose.

  He stared at Ivan, both hands on his hips. “Who let you out, anyway?”

  Ivan puffed his chest out. He had shaved and was looking almost himself again.

  “Will give me passcode while you were gone.”

  “Well that wasn’t the best judgment on his part, was it?” Still, Ivan didn’t seem particularly homicidal at the moment. “I’ll talk with you later.”

  Sol didn’t so much push past Ivan as slither along the wall as far away from his as possible.

  Will was walking towards him.

  Why the hell is everyone about this morning?

  Always the ideal soldier, dressed, shaved, ready to go, Will offered Solomand a smile.

  “Everything alright, Sol? You’re as jumpy as Jank.”

  The Olbian was the one source of steadfast rightness in all the mess that never seemed to end. Will was alright. He had to be.

  “Tristan wants to have a word with you.” Sol breathed out, leaning against the wall. He dug in his pocket for a cigarette and offered one to Will.

  “Sure thing.” Will took it. “Anything else wrong?”

  “Well…” Solomand let the smoke fill his lungs, then exhaled. “You want to tell me why Ice Man McMurder face is wondering around The Castle? He scared the hell out of Rayn.”

  “Oh. That.” Will took a drag on his cigarette. “Tristan’s orders.”