Destiny's Blood

by Marie Bilodeau

  The silence was beginning to bore her and she felt too unsteady in her heels to walk very far. She glanced back at the shadows, where she knew her brother hid and waited, and felt some comfort in the fact that he would be even more bored than she.

  She still couldn’t believe he had talked her into this.

  “This is wonderful,” she mumbled as she readjusted her top. “Ardin is going to get all the fun, and all I’m getting are laser burns from too much hair removal. Just great.” She yanked on the top to pull it down, ripping one of the thin straps, and the shirt lowered even further on that side.

  She swore loudly, the sound partially covered by the familiar hum of an approaching land vehicle. She stood at the end of the sidewalk, waiting for the vehicle, forcing her disenchantment with the entire situation behind very fake eagerness. She couldn’t believe some girls actually were eager to make this kind of money.

  As the vehicle approached, she idly wondered what her father, the great Captain Malavant, would think to see his daughter dressed this way. She felt some pleasure at the thought of what punishment Ardin would have received for encouraging his little sister to do it.

  Her lips curled up and she threw her thick hair sideways. It glowed like fire in the dull sunlight. As two vehicles approached, she forced herself to remain calm, and suddenly felt more naked for her lack of weapons than her lack of clothing.

  Relief washed over her when she saw they were military vehicles, the covered beasts humming over their hover engines as they gracefully glided down the streets. The first one slowed but kept going, and she smiled and waved, although the dark bullet-proof windows betrayed nothing of its occupants. The vehicle was nearly past her when the driver hit the propulsion, and wind sent her skirt flying up. Her face became as red as her hair, and she bit back the urge to scream an insult that would make even the most ardent soldier blush.

  She feared the second vehicle wouldn’t stop either, which would lead to endless teasing from her brother, but its engines quieted and one of its side doors opened.

  A man wearing the grey outfit of a detention centre guard smirked at her, the laughter of his comrades piercing the silence of the street.

  “You need a lift, sweetheart?” the man asked in an accent she didn’t recognize. She guessed he was trying and failing to be charming. Nonetheless, she managed to smile.

  “No, but thank you!” She was surprised by how young and happy her voice could sound. She would need a strong drink after this. “I was, um, I was hoping perhaps I could inconvenience you to lend me some money?”

  Two drinks.

  “I want to head to Rigel,” she continued as the man’s eyes observed her body appreciatively.

  Three drinks.

  “I want to be a dancer!” Ugh. Dancers on Rigel were hardly reputed for cultural or classical moves. She had a vision of drinking her entire profits.

  “I might be able to help you with that,” the lead man said as he cockily stepped out of the vehicle. He was tall, which was good, but she couldn’t stop staring at his single eyebrow. She hoped he would interpret it as admiration.

  Maybe she could take part of Ardin’s profit for a couple more drinks.

  Avienne smiled and cocked her head back a bit, signalling to the alley behind her.

  “I’ll be right back,” the man called to his crew, as they laughed and jeered.

  Avienne put her hand on the man’s chest, stopping his advance.

  “I’m hoping, to, um, make a lot of money tonight,” she said, giving him a crooked smile which in different circumstances had sent men fleeing in terror.

  The man’s eyes lit up at the implication of spending an entire night with her, instead of just a quick back alley tumble.

  She would beat Ardin up, steal his money and head to the nearest bar.

  “Don’t wait up,” the man called back and, amidst their laughter, she heard at least one of his comrades mention that they would call in a temp to replace him, and to enjoy his early birthday gift.

  Perfect, Avienne thought, walking ahead so that he wouldn’t see victory flash in her eyes. The Destiny was ready to intercept that call and assure them a replacement was on the way, which Ardin would supply. Now all they needed was a uniform.

  The engines powered up again and the vehicle was gone. Silence surrounded them, and the instant they were within the sheltered, windless confines of the alley, she felt his hand reaching for what little her skirt hid. She whirled around, kneeing him. As he bent and gasped for breath, she elbowed him hard and sent him sprawling to the ground, unconscious.

  “Nice job!” Ardin said as he stepped out, laughter lacing his eyes. He had obviously enjoyed the show.

  “I need a drink,” she said simply, and he handed her a small canister. She had never been more pleased to be predictable.

  When she had taken a good swig, he handed her a leather pouch with some real clothing in it, and he began stripping the uniform from the soldier.

  “I still don’t like that you’re going in there alone,” Avienne said, wondering how he planned to hide his long hair. It was not exactly standard uniform. But then, according to rumours, very little was done according to standard at Gullwing.

  “I’ll be fine,” he grunted as he pulled the man’s pants off. Avienne forced herself not to comment as she pulled her knives free. “Just stick to the plan and I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  Avienne nodded and walked into the darkness, wondering why in the world she had given the canister back to Ardin.

  CHAPTER 5

  Her head hurt. Her mouth tasted of copper. Her limbs were too heavy to lift.

  Moments passed before she could even feel anything aside from pain, and the first sensation to return was the cold of metal underneath her. Her coat was ripped and her left arm was uncovered, the flesh debating between pain and numbness.

  She took another few deep breaths, her ribcage only complaining where it hugged the hard ground. Another good sign. Broken ribs took dangerously long to heal.

  She managed to move her feet, slowly, pleased that nothing seemed broken there either. Her head ached, and her ears were still ringing, but her mind felt empty instead of assailed by visions she could not control or decipher. She must have passed out when the Kilita had tried to pull visions from her mind, and so escaped the torture she had gone through years ago.

  She sobbed in relief, her heart still pounding hard as memories receded slowly.

  It had just been a beating, and a beating she could deal with.

  She slit her eyes open, light clinging to the end of her eyelashes, little white dots breaking her bleak, blurred vision. She opened them all the way, only able to see metal, cold and blue from the light.

  She lifted her head, pain exploding at the movement, nausea clinging to her. The world tilted and cold sweat poured from the few limbs she could still feel. She waited a moment, gathering her strength, and then, eyes closed, sat up the rest of the way, crossing her legs to support her sore and tired body.

  The world spun a few more times, her discomfort centralizing in a line racing from her head to her stomach, her entire neck throbbing. She swallowed hard and breathed deeply, the world stabilizing again.

  She dared to re-open her eyes. She was still in the small metal room. Another deep breath steadied her enough to glance to her right; then, after several other deep breaths, her left.

  Metal. No chair, table, or even a protruding light. She guessed the ceiling must have some breaks in it where the light fixtures were kept, but the very idea of bending her head back to look for them made her neck throb.

  She sat and focused, as she used to do when she and Yoma had to wait for a guard to pass, or a store to close, or someone to look away. Thief’s breaths, Yoma used to call them, laughing as she acted out stealing a breath.

  Layela hadn’t found it funny, but she had understood. It was, in some ways, better to imagine you were stealing someone else’s breath than having your own breath stolen by your inabilit
y to act. Layela had always been better at that, the waiting. But now, she needed to get out, before they came back. She had no doubt the Kilita would break her mind again, and although she also knew she would tell them nothing, she feared her mind might not come back from the darkness next time.

  I know your last name isn’t Delamores. How had the colonel known? Did he have Yoma, too? Was she near, in a windowless metal room, hurt and alone? She tried to sense her, but her head only throbbed and her heart felt nothing beyond its own fatigue.

  Layela looked up at the door again, at the handle that kept it closed. It seemed a long shot, but what if they had believed it unnecessary to lock it?

  Ridiculous. But still... She imagined her sister scolding her for being a pessimist and not believing that the easy way out was actually possible. Layela felt both strength and bitterness at the words, wondering if that was what Yoma had done, leaving just when everything was finally settling down for the first time in their life. A vision that the Kilita had half managed to unlock from her mind teased her then. She had seen her sister’s face. But something had been wrong. Could that have been the vision that had kept her from sleeping soundly of late? And had the Kilita seen it as well? Had he managed to rape her mind again?

  Like wildfire, her fury consumed her and she was at the door before her body realized she was moving. Her hand grabbed the cold handle, she held her breath and slit her eyes and pulled. Nothing. The latch was tightly locked, and the door wouldn’t open from this side. Not without more of her instruments, anyway, and there was little in this room to work with.

  Her anger dissipated, replaced by exploding pain in her head. She backed up slowly for a few paces, her hand behind her touching the cool metal, and she let herself slide against it, feeling her anger and frustration dissipate into hopelessness. She had hoped to find Yoma, possibly save her, and save her flower shop at the same time, but now...

  Now she was alone and desperately afraid, and wishing Yoma had never left her side, and that both of them could be sitting in Sunrise Flowers, enjoying their success and the sheer comfort and security that everything was going to be all right, and that all battles had been fought and won.

  She closed her eyes and let the tears come, moaning softly as every muscle ached and cried for relief. That was a dream for another life, it seemed.

  i

  The overhead lights flickered at regular intervals, shutting every fifteen seconds for barely a breath, by Ardin’s count. The stale air, laced with the smells of sweat and urine, pointed to an equally faulty ventilation system.

  Wonderful.

  Ardin almost turned around at the sight of the excretion-decorated wall. Only the wrath he would have to face from Avienne stayed him. It was only fair. She had kept up her side of the bargain.

  He checked himself as he was approached by a high-ranking officer and saluted as he recognized the insignia of a colonel. Sweat lined his stiff collar as the colonel scrutinized his long auburn hair.

  The colonel’s eyes darkened with barely a pause in his stride. Ardin released his breath in relief and continued on his way while debating the proper mix of soldierly conduct and guard ease to inject into his walk.

  That there was a colonel here wasn’t good. It more than likely meant that a complement of higher ranking officers, the colonel’s entourage, milled somewhere within these walls, as well. Ardin gritted his teeth, wishing he could justify leaving Destiny’s drunken navigator behind.

  The lights kept flickering as he entered another cell block, the acrid smell of vomit alerting him that he was probably in the right area: the all-night drunken rampage zone.

  He carefully stared into each cell for the all-too-familiar lump, grateful at least that this section wasn’t currently being patrolled. Of course, considering how easily he had fooled the guards into believing he was a replacement guard and giving him the jail keys, this likely wasn’t the most well-guarded place from which he had ever had to break Lang out.

  He heard the navigator’s snores as Captain Cailan’s mantra, “Our duty is to our own,” collided with every excuse he pondered giving for leaving Lang to rot in this stinking hole. There was never any doubt that “our own” was the small crew of the Destiny, which had travelled the stars for almost as long as Ardin could remember, only making berth when supplies or bounty demanded it. But time, sickness and ill luck had left them with too few qualified to run the ship, so the captain had recruited a cocky middle-aged navigator by the name of Lang Locks. Of course, by the time they learned he was a drunk and a derelict, he knew too much about their illegal activities to be let go. And even though he was difficult to deal with whenever they made port, Ardin had to admit that the man was bloody good at what he did.

  Which, of course, is only proving to be more annoying, Ardin thought as he spotted the familiar lump on a cot. Ardin cast a wary glance down both ends of the deserted hallway. The other cells were mercifully empty.

  He pulled the metal key from his belt, the outdated system a blessing: no monitor would advise the guards that someone was opening a cell out of schedule. The door groaned and creaked as he pushed it aside, and Ardin cringed as he listened for incoming soldiers. Thankfully, none of them seemed to believe an opening cell door worthy of attention, and Ardin felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the disgruntled colonel.

  “Come on, you lousy lump of liquor,” Ardin hissed. He grabbed Lang’s shoulder and flipped him over. Lang’s eyes widened as he slowly blinked away the heaviness of sleep, and on the third blink his brain kicked into action.

  “Aaaaaaaaaahhh!” he screamed. Ardin jumped back in surprise, then approached him again, fist drawn back and eyes intent on the thick jowl.

  Lang’s screams stopped, but their echoes continued down the metal halls. His groggy, bloodshot eyes took in Ardin’s raised fist.

  “Why don’t you just leave me here,” Lang slurred as he rolled back over.

  “Because you are, unfortunately, part of the crew,” Ardin sighed. “And besides, we’ve already paid you for the full upcoming year. So unless you’d like to pay us back the money…”

  Ardin was cut short as more snores charged forth from the navigator.

  “Of all the bloody useless…” Ardin grabbed Lang’s right arm, jostling him half awake, at best. The navigator muttered, but didn’t scream again. Ardin was disappointed. The feel of his fist on the large jowl would have made him feel better.

  Ardin took a deep breath, regretting it immediately. The stench of cheap ale assaulted him. He supported Lang, grateful that at least the drink had long ago emancipated the extra fat on the large man — all but a round belly that swelled like a pregnant woman’s beneath his ragged clothes.

  Ardin cast a wary glance down both ends of the corridor, dragging Lang out and awkwardly shifting his weight to close the door. The old door screeched again, but didn’t lock, simply bouncing off the latch.

  I must need to lock it with the keys.

  “Bloody ship, bloody crew,” Lang began muttering, and Ardin feared he would fully waken, which would definitely give them away. He pulled the door just a bit further, where only a tiny gap would alert onlookers that it was still open.

  That and the fact that I’m dragging this big lump out of here, he thought as he began the long walk through the first corridor. On his way in, he had spotted several service corridors that led to a docking port. If the security proved to be as efficient there as at the main gates and in the complex itself, escaping unseen should be fairly easy. Of course, if Lang could manage to walk on his own, escaping would prove to be even easier.

  Even if he prided himself on being physically fit, Ardin’s shoulders soon tired under the dead weight of the drunk. As they reached the service corridors and as Ardin began to suspect that no guards were even on duty, Lang moaned and Ardin dropped him and stepped away without a second’s hesitation. Lang lurched on all fours and ungracefully coughed twice before vomiting all over the metal floor. Ardin covered his nose, and resisted th
e urge to kick Lang in the stomach. Well, it served him right to be sick like a dog, but it would have been nice of him to wait until they reached the Destiny so Ardin could actually find gratification in it and not simply worry about getting caught.

  “That’ll teach me to buy ale from a Corrarian trader,” Lang huffed between heaves.

  “That’ll teach you nothing, you lousy lout,” Ardin replied with none of his usual vigour. He was too busy keeping an eye out for any guards.

  “You’re probably right, Ardin.” Lang replied, his voice old. “You’re probably right.”

  “Come on, old man,” Ardin gently said. Lang was only in his early forties, but a lifetime of drinking had left him with wrinkles and paper skin that clung to his bones, making him look more like a man of eighty. Lang pushed himself back up with Ardin’s help, and the two set off again at a faster pace, the navigator managing to partially support himself.

  “I think we can get out this way,” Ardin said as they turned down another service corridor, metal door after metal door, lined by metal walls and flickering lights.

  They had just entered the corridor when the light turned red and alarms rang loudly. Up ahead, stark metal dividers descended from the ceiling.

  “So that’s where their security budget went,” Lang muttered.

  “No time to reach it,” Ardin grunted. He fumbled with his keys at the nearest door, practically lifted Lang and threw him inside. The metal latched in place behind them just as voices began shouting and the security barrier was being raised to allow the guards access.

  Ardin took a deep breath. The soldiers tried the door only once before moving on.

  “Ardin,” Lang said softly, and Ardin turned around and saw a young woman, her back to the wall, her head lulled onto her chest. He wasn’t even sure she was alive.

  “Blood and guts,” Ardin hissed as he approached her, putting his fingers gently on her neck to feel for a pulse. It was there, it was strong, and at his touch she shifted and moaned.

  “I can’t carry both of you out of here,” Ardin cursed, feeling bad for the girl’s fate, but knowing he had other priorities at the moment. Besides, for all he knew, she was a child killer.