by Paul Krueger
And somehow, she was going to do it all after two days without coffee.
Fuck. Coffee, she thought. That was what she could go for now. Warm, with some of the sweetened canned milk they’d started getting in their rations at the end of the war. The boost to her brain would’ve been nice, but at this point she just missed the taste of it. It was how she’d started almost every day of her life since she’d begun this fight. Its absence, more than almost anything else, had underlined for her just how far into the weeds she’d gone.
A distant rumble shook the ground beneath her feet. A blade of light slashed at her eyes. Her stomach tightened as she turned to face the source. There was no mistaking it: That was the southbound train, all right. She wasn’t completely certain it was the right train. But based on the train schedule she’d consulted at the station, this was the only one that could have been coming from Gorudo. It was a good ten minutes early, but if that meant ten fewer minutes shivering in the rain, she wasn’t about to complain.
A few passengers began to stream out of the station and onto the platform, though they still huddled beneath its bowed awnings. She caught snatches of them muttering to one another, mostly wondering why the train had come so early. But Tala was clued in when she didn’t hear the telltale screech of the brakes on the rails: The train was early because it hadn’t made any stops before, and it wasn’t about to stop here, either.
Despite the rain, her mouth instantly went dry. The train’s haste erased all doubt in her mind that this was the right one, but that presented a new challenge: How was she supposed to get on?
The train’s wake hit her like a wall of wind, nearly blowing her off her feet. She staggered to keep her footing, then gritted her teeth. She was in no kind of shape to do this, but she couldn’t see any other choice.
As the train sped past, she glanced warily at the bystanders on the platform. They were about to see a hell of a show.
She broke into a run, then threw out a hand behind her. “Dimangan!” she yelled, and resisted crying out as her brother erupted out from behind her. He stumbled on his first step, but picked up speed until he was easily keeping up with her.
“The train?” he shouted.
She gritted her teeth, unable to trust her voice, and nodded.
He shot her one look of warning, then nodded, picked her up, and hurled her at the train’s receding rear car.
She threw her arm out behind her and willed for Mang to withdraw. He disappeared in a flash of light, and she felt his spirit rejoin hers. It was reassuring, but only as long as she didn’t consider how fast she was hurtling toward the back of the train.
For a long moment, she hung in the air, legs and arms pumping desperately to give her as much lift as she could get. She kept her eyes riveted on the metal ladder rungs above the train’s back landing, praying as she sank to the ground that she would be close enough to—
Her right hand managed to close itself around a rung, but her left arm was still weak from her duel with Harada. The metal ladder was slick with rain, and her fingers slipped right off it. She tried to swing her feet onto one of the lower rungs, but her boots’ old soles were too smooth to get purchase. She was holding on to the train by a single arm, and already she felt its strength failing as she dangled mere feet from the speeding ground.
She screwed up her face with concentration. “Beaky!” she shouted, then sent him as strong a pulse of will as she could manage.
For a long moment, she felt nothing except the gradual slip of her fingers as her fist unraveled.
And then a beak closed around her ankle. Fighting the momentum the train had given Tala, Beaky flapped his wings as hard as he could. And with each passing second, he shoved her boot closer and closer to the ladder. Tala pulled with all her strength, as every muscle in her core lit up with soreness and pain.
Then relief flooded her as she felt her boot sole get a grip on the ladder at last.
Beaky released her, and she braced herself against the ladder to swing the rest of herself aboard the train. As her heart pounded against her ribs, Beaky settled on the back railing of the train and clacked his beak with disapproval.
Tala swung herself onto the landing, bending her knees to absorb the impact. “I,” she panted, “probably deserved that.”
Beaky’s head whipped around, slapping her palm with the flat of his beak.
“Ow!” Tala said, yanking her stinging hand away from him. She glared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Yeah, that too.” She reached into her coat and pulled out the heavy Tomodanese pistol she’d been given as a parting present. She was all too eager to return it to sender.
She and Beaky exchanged a nod. She threw open the door and rushed in.
* * *
—
Dimangan gave her a fleeting look of understanding as she recalled him again, leaving her alone with the prince.
Well, Kurihara was on the floor, as was some other Cicada in white she hadn’t seen before. But Tala didn’t give a shit about them.
She ran, Jimuro at her side. Summoning and dismissing her shades so many times in a row was taking a toll on her spirit, but she forced herself to run just the same. She was so far down the path now, she was officially out of other choices.
“Your timing’s impeccable,” Jimuro said. “I’ve had quite a day.”
“Yeah?” Tala said, grabbing the handle of the door that would lead them back to the dining car. “And whose fault is that, then?” She immediately regretted it. Crazy as it was, she was actually happy to see him, and even happier that he was as keen to escape as she was. Why did she always fall back on snapping at him like this?
Jimuro tapped the door, and it sprang open at his touch. “I’m too glad to see you to have a good comeback.”
Tala grinned. “Your comebacks are shit, anyway.”
It wasn’t until they’d burst into the dining car that she realized she’d just smiled at him.
The first time she’d come through here, she’d dashed through with her head down and her borrowed mask on. She would’ve demolished anyone who got in her way, but no one in the whole dining car had even tried. Now, though, she burst back into the worst kind of target-rich environment: a relatively small number of hostiles, scattered among a few dozen innocents. One of them was beating out the dying remains of a fire, but the rest immediately turned their eyes right to herself and the prince.
Fortunately, she figured, Jimuro had juice. The Cicadas were fanatics, but they were fanatics loyal to him. If he ordered them to let him pass, they would.
Iwanbo reacted with a start when he saw Jimuro. “Your Bril—sir!” he said. “What’s going on? Where is Lord Kurihara?”
To his credit, Tala didn’t have to prompt the prince. Jimuro stepped forward and said, “There’s been a change of plans. Let these people go and let me pass.”
But Iwanbo’s gaze had strayed from him, landing squarely on Tala. “The slaver,” he spat.
“There’s no time for that,” Jimuro said as the word slaver sent ripples of whispers across the hostages. And more than a few, Tala saw, were beginning to eye the prince with more than a passing curiosity.
“Move it along,” she muttered to him in Sanbuna.
He nodded, then addressed Iwanbo again. “You heard my orders, Iwanbo. Do it.”
Iwanbo frowned. “I’m sorry, Your—sir. I can’t let you leave in the company of that barbarian. You have to—”
Tala moved like chain lightning. Iwanbo tried to snap his shotgun up and fire at her, but Tala brought her leg down on its barrel just as he pulled the trigger. The gun roared and spat flame at the floor, and with a scream Iwanbo collapsed, clutching at the bloody ruins of his foot.
The air filled with more shouts and screams. Some passengers hit the deck, while others fled to one end of the car or another. Tala cursed. The prince was her first priorit
y, but she didn’t want anyone getting hurt if she could help it.
Even if they’re Tomodanese, she added sourly.
Another Cicada whipped up a pair of revolvers. But before she could pull their triggers, Prince Jimuro was there. With expert finesse, he grabbed one gun and twisted it hard. The woman’s finger caught on the trigger guard and broke with a snap even Tala could hear. The gun fell off her broken finger, and Jimuro nimbly caught it by the barrel. The Cicada only had a moment to gawk at her own prince before he caught her under the chin with a fierce uppercut. She fell to the floor, her metal mask clanging against a table as she hit her head on the way down.
Tala gaped. He’d just attacked one of his own subjects.
To save her.
Prince Jimuro flipped the gun, caught it, and fired a round straight into the ceiling. “Get to the front of the train!” he shouted to the civilians, though they were already fleeing in both directions. But as Tala eyed the crowd heading for the front of the train, she saw something: a small woman in a white coat and fedora, pushing back against the crowd and heading for them.
Tala whipped up her gun, ready to fire on her, but the woman had already raised a hand and shouted, “Kou!”
Tala did a double take as a white rat-shade materialized in front of her. “Jimuro!” she shouted, moving to put herself in the rat-shade’s path. “Beaky!”
Black feathers collided with white fur as the two shades fell to the floor in a tangle of wing and fang. She felt Beaky’s ferocity in her own heart, but she had to leave him to his own fight. She hefted her gun—
“Don’t shoot!” Jimuro shouted. “She’s a princess!”
“And I thought one of you was bad enough!” Tala snapped, but she lowered her gun anyway. Jimuro was right. She couldn’t risk a diplomatic emergency right now. Her top priority was getting Jimuro off this train.
The princess—Shang, now that Tala had a good look at her—stepped farther into the light. “You are interfering in official Li-Quan business, brave soldier,” she said in slurred Tomodanese. She staggered back a step, then caught herself. “I must insist the Iron Prince come with us.”
“ ‘Us’?” Tala glanced around for signs of any other Shang. “I don’t see an ‘us.’ ”
The Shang princess’s expression turned ugly and dark. “I need the Iron Prince alive, soldier. I saw your handiwork in the woods. I have no qualms about avenging it on you, especially if you visited similar atrocities on my partner.”
Tala couldn’t make heads or tails of what that all was supposed to mean. “This one talks even more than you,” Tala said to Jimuro.
“That’s what I said.”
“Soldier,” the princess cut in, and now her voice took on an uncertain edge. She swayed where she stood, like a dry reed in the wind. “I will allow you to leave this train alive if you can give me your assurances that you’ve left my partner Lee Yeon-Ji unharmed. Is that clear?”
“I don’t know shit about your partner!” Tala snapped. “And I don’t have time for you.” She aimed high and fired off two rapid shots. The lights above the princess’s head exploded in sparks, and she recoiled. Tala yanked at Jimuro’s arm. “Go!”
But then she felt the familiar tingle of spirit energy rejoining with her body, and the pactmark on her chest pulsed. She glanced over her shoulder. Her heart sank. Beaky had discorporated. In the corner of her vision, she saw a white blur as the rat-shade scrabbled over dining tabletops and came to a skidding stop on the hard wooden floor. Its tail lashed and its fangs flashed as it stood its ground, barring their way out.
Tala glanced this way and that. She didn’t want to summon Mang, not for this. She was already on her last legs. But that left her with a human opponent she couldn’t shoot, and a shade she couldn’t beat one-on-one. Tough as she was, you needed to be someone like Kapona to take on a shade by yourself.
The memory of that last night aboard the Marlin hung in her head. And just like that, Tala knew what she had to do.
She swiveled herself so that she was facing the princess, leaving Jimuro squared off against the rat-shade. “Jimuro,” she muttered. “I’ve got this.”
Jimuro peeked over his shoulder. “What are you—?” he began.
But Tala, the memory of Private Kapona fresh on her mind, charged straight for the Shang princess with a shout.
The princess started, but she was too unsteady on her feet. In a second Tala was on her, a hand on each of the princess’s shoulders, lining her up for the perfect headbutt.
Tala saw stars and spots with the impact, but the princess collapsed like a pyramid of mah-jongg tiles. In an eruption of black light, her rat-shade disintegrated. Just as Tala had suspected, she’d taken some kind of head injury, probably a concussion. She wouldn’t be out for long, Tala was sure, but it’d be enough for she and Jimuro to make good their escape. Yet somehow, despite the secrecy of their mission, this woman had found them. That meant Tala couldn’t just leave her lying there.
She hefted the Shang princess and nodded to the walk-in fridge. “Get the door.”
Jimuro looked as if he wanted to object, but clearly he wasn’t feeling up to second-guessing Tala at the moment. He tapped it, and it slid open. Unceremoniously, Tala tossed the princess inside, then nodded to Jimuro. The prince looked reluctant for a moment, but nonetheless he tapped the door again, then held his hand on the lock for a moment once it had sealed shut. “I fused the lock, but broke the air lock. She won’t escape, but she won’t suffocate, either.”
This Shang princess’s well-being was about as low on Tala’s list of priorities as anything, but she needed to be helpful now. “Good enough,” she said. “Let’s move.”
When they charged into the rear passenger car, Tala raised her gun skyward and fired off another shot, which was enough to scatter the frightened passengers in their way. She heard Jimuro calling out apologies as they passed, and suppressed the urge to grin again. Once was quite enough for today.
Then at last, they reached the baggage car. All she had to do was summon Mang one more time, and they’d be home free. In fact, they’d even gained some time thanks to the train’s swiftness. She had to give Kurihara credit for that, at least.
But then Jimuro whispered, “No.”
Silhouetted in the far doorway—the door she’d ripped open on her way in—was a tall, gaunt man in a sodden coat the color of the night sky. His long black hair hung lank from grease and rain. The stolen pactmarks studding his torso pulsed in a hundred different colors. His lips peeled back, and his guttural voice formed words that fell from his mouth like rotten teeth.
“Give him to me.”
Before Jimuro could do anything, Tala grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved him back. She pointed at the man in the purple coat and called, “Dimangan!”
As the shade’s massive shape solidified, their attacker’s eyes narrowed. “The abomination,” he growled in Sanbuna. Glowing shapes erupted from his fingertips, solidifying into three shades clustered around him: the snapping turtle, a tiger, and a bear—the black-and-white kind from Shang.
But by then, Dimangan had already re-formed and dropped into the crouch of an angry hound. “You again, huh?” he said to the man in the purple coat. “Guess I didn’t hit you hard enough—!”
The tiger-shade pounced, wrapping its huge jaws around the arm Dimangan used to block it. Its teeth sank straight into his flesh, and the wounds began to spark bright magical energy as they closed up. Dimangan roared with pain and thundered forward, grabbing the tiger-shade’s body and slamming it down on the spider-shade that had tried to creep past him.
Jimuro couldn’t stop staring at the chaos unfolding. The tight quarters gave Dimangan a slight advantage, since only one or two shades could come at him at a time. But tough as he was, he wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever. Eventually, the magic keeping him corporeal would exh
aust itself, and Jimuro didn’t know how long it would be before Tala could summon him again. They had to get out, now.
“Back this way!” he said, pointing to the doors through which they’d just come. Beyond lay the dining and passenger cars, with Kosuke and the others. He didn’t know where he stood with them at the moment, but he surely knew where he stood with this man, and it made his choices rather clear.
He expected the sergeant to resist, but she didn’t hesitate. “Hold the line!” she shouted to Dimangan as she and Jimuro broke for the door.
Her brother bellowed in reply, but his words turned to a shout as the bear-shade reared up and clawed four wide slashes across his chest.
Tala didn’t look back. She gritted her teeth, and a faraway look settled in her eyes, but her strides were steady.
Jimuro cast one last fleeting glance at Dimangan’s wide, muscled back as he disappeared through the train doors again. The sight of him fighting so fiercely against overwhelming odds, just to protect Tala…even now, as they fled for their lives, all he could think of was his sister Fumiko, and the doomed rescue mission she’d led for him.
He lengthened his own strides. He wouldn’t let another sibling’s sacrifice be in vain because of him.
He whirled around just as they reached the doors. “What are you doing?” Tala shouted.
“Buying us more time!” Jimuro said, kneeling. He placed his hand on the metal join that tied the baggage car to the rest of the train, and poured his spirit into it. It groaned and creaked as he bonded with it, its iron stubborn in its desire to keep its shape.
But Jimuro was more than iron, he reminded it. He was steel.
The join broke with a loud clang, and suddenly the baggage car receded into the dark.