The Sin Eaters

by Aaron Summers

  A new siren sounded. He could hardly hear it over his hammering pulse. His heart beat its own thunder in his chest. Fen turned back to the door.

  Three more oni arrived to help their crippled friend. Fen felt the place inside his chest that should feel fear. It felt like many things, like staring into the lion’s gaping maw, like all the days and nights with worthless legs, like when Hemanta drew her knife and when he stood again, not like when Jonah died but when Lundoo told him of the man’s long suffering, like his father’s forgotten face, like all the moments wasted trying to find Camdzic, like his mother’s simple abandon when she left him for her endless hunt, and of so many years nourishing a peace that could never have existed. But that place did not feel like fear. He stepped through the door.

  Fire exploded from a lone oni’s hands. Fen felt a hammer collide with the thick flesh of his scarred ribs. Guns, like the cowardly bear hunters used. He crouched and sprang at his attacker, landing and driving his palms into the guard’s chin in one movement. The neck snapped. These dragons died so easily. Two, he thought as he remembered how to count. The first had flung lightning at him at the Duma and died for it. Now he had slain two.

  The others stood together. One fired eight times and continued firing as the pistol clicked empty, empty, empty while he tripped over his companion. Fen was already gone and around the chamber. The oni swung a foot around, targeting Fen’s thigh, and connected. The foot bounced. The demon helmet muffled the scream. The shattered ankle dangled.

  His companion took advantage of the distraction to drive his knife deep into the intruder’s chest. Its tip buried in plated bone. Fen brought his left hand up to hold the oni’s arm in place and swung his right fist around and down, shattering the arm. The oni collapsed. He palmed the helmet and twisted. Another neck broke. Three.

  The hobbled oni dragged a ruined ankle to a hallway. Fen plucked the knife from his chest and flung it. Had the black armor failed, the demon would have died with a knife in its spine. The blade clattered away. They vanished down a hall as the door sealed.

  Someone sobbed. Fen spun. The first oni with the ruined knee was crawling towards a flashing panel.

  “Kai quanzi,” Fen growled as he pointed to the ceiling.

  The oni dragged itself up the terminal. The pistol was drawn and firing before Fen saw him move. Four bullets found a new home in his left shoulder, adding to the constellation started years ago by the lion. Fen howled as he flung himself at the crippled guard. His mountainous elbow found the oni’s chest. The armor collapsed. Four.

  The room was quiet again. Blood raced in his ears. He felt his heart beating faster than it ever had. He swallowed, tasted metal, and tried to look around the room as his eyes rattled in his skull. The air crackled. The chamber would be destroyed if the hammer still worked. It had punched a hole in the earth itself when the lying demon called Wuwei gifted it to them at the Duma. He would add Wuwei to the count of Dragons he killed with his own two hands.

  A red light flashed on a screen. He stared at it for several seconds, not understanding what caused a wall to glow. The light called to him. He limped across the room. His body was relaxing now. The oni’s hard kick did more damage than he thought. His leg could hardly bend. Blood flowed from the deep knife wound and bullet holes in his chest. The bullets still filled his wounds. He felt their lead scratch against the bony scales he long suspected had grown inside him. He would have died without the evolyutsiya. He would have died without his childhood illness. He would have died without his pain.

  He gasped. The air tasted alive. This was a more exciting arousal than any contest, any woman, any hunt. This was right. He was born for this and reborn each of the many times in his life that he had failed. Why did they fear the little snakes who called themselves Dragons? They were soft folk in worthless armor.

  The screen flashed a symbol like a yellow wheel on a black flag. He glanced at the wall and saw the same symbol painted there. He scratched at the screen. His fingertips found a panel’s seam. He ripped the panel away. A wheel waited inside. He tried to pull it but it would not yield. He tried to spin it clockwise but it would not spin. He tried to spin it the other direction. It began to move.

  Daylight carried the screams of a fading battle into the room. He spun faster. A hundred spins seemed to lower the platform a mere hand’s width. He continued spinning with both hands until the crack opened wide enough for Suzerain to peer inside. He sniffed but found no lightning. The hammer was destroyed. His warriors scampered off the platform, into the chamber, and through remaining open doors into long corridors. He continued lowering the platform until it sank into the floor.

  He turned back to the armory with its black cache as his peoples flooded in. This was the end of this place. He should be happy, but as he considered the armory, he knew he could not be, not yet. He leaned against the doorframe as he counted. There were twenty-six hammers in the room with spaces for fourteen more. One had to be the wreckage on the platform. The rest were used to commit the genocide at the Ten Finger Duma.

  These people chose to inflict their hateful rage thirteen times on his people. Thirteen times, they decided to slaughter whatever lived. Thirteen times, they tried to ensure no Suzerain survived.

  The white-hot rage sputtered. He collapsed on the floor. Great heaving gasps broke into sobs. The sobbing wracked his aching ribs and then continued. Hot, wet, childish tears streamed down his face. They dripped into puddles at his filthy bare feet. He wept until he could weep no more.

  Omduro appeared beside him. The beautiful boy’s face was slashed in many places. One slash ran from his hairline across his eye to his chin in a ruination of his lips. Fen ran his hand along the crimson tatters. The boy grinned despite the wound.

  “You are hurt,” Fen said.

  “As you are. At least I stand.”

  “What… what is happening?”

  “You must see! There is a whole place buried deep below us. Like a Duma tent inside the world. It is like the old cities. We have not found the bottom. What is…?”

  Omduro’s eyes had found the waiting armory.

  “They make the hammer here.” Fen paused. “We will find that in the city below.”

  “Make… make… I… we must kill them all!”

  He turned to call for help. Fen grabbed his arm.

  “No. We are not like them. Find whoever will surrender.”

  Omduro snatched his arm free.

  “They killed Camdzic! My sister is gone! The Duma is shattered! Fen Enkidu, the Berians want war. We cannot slow them. These hollow devils made a fake peace while we lived beneath the stars!”

  He was crying now. Fen watched his tears wash into the open slashes that would define his new face.

  “Omduro. You know me well. We are…” he looked back at the silent hammers. “We are not like them. We do not make things like this. We sleep beneath the skies and make children and tell stories. We leave others be. They make these things. We will… we will return these devil toys to the devils who made them.”

  “I… do not… I do not understand…”

  “You do. Call for help. They are heavy. Find whoever will surrender. Give them shelter. We will take these to the surface where the sun shines. We will find the places where these Dragons hide. We will give them back their weapons. The Suzerain Beneath the Sky do not want them.”

  He looked back into the room. The stark white light cast shadows on the empty racks. This would be the eulogy for all the Suzerain whose life these weapons stole.

  “We will give them lightning.”

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Imagine working on something strange, complex, often ill-structured, and abstract for almost a decade. Then think about trying to thank all the wonderful people who’ve helped me make this book a real thing. If I somehow miss you in this process, let me know. I didn't mean to.

  To my wife, first and foremost, thank you. You’ve listened to me talk about this story in all
its versions for a long, long, long time. My best friend's perspective has never steered me wrong. I love you.

  To my family – My mom and dad, for teaching me to love reading, how to write, for meticulously combing the book for grammatical errors, and for listening to my weird ideas. My brothers, for reading, listening, and helping me decide things when I couldn't do it myself. Especially to my youngest brothers – you always let me tell you stories. This story is a direct descendent of those stories. I miss you, Chris.

  To Clara Ember – It exists! You’ve been part of this for a good long while. Thank you for all the help.

  To Eleanor - You've been helping me structure written words since the times of Shakespeare. Thank you.

  To Ward - We've been at this a while now. Thanks for reviewing the endless drafts. I look forward to reading your novel, soon.

  To Nick Key - your concept art took ideas in my head and made them real, which helped me make the story better. Thank you.

  To Chersti Nieveen - Your professional editing inspired me to rewrite the entire work. I'm much happier with this version. For your guidance, examples, and detailed feedback, I will always be grateful.

  And to anyone else - if writing a novel is something you want to do, do it. There have never been better tools, better knowledge, and better people to help you do it. Thank you again for reading my novel.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Thank you for reading The Sin Eaters. It’s the only book I’ve ever written. I’m working on its sequel, The Earth Shakers, and hope you’ll read it soon.

  The Earth Shakers continues the stories of Eliza, Fen, and Charlie as their lives weave apart and together again towards the unknown future of the world.

  A century after Charlie's fatal launch, a seasoned, influential, and deeply cynical Eliza struggles to support a world ravaged by the technology-hunting lightning storms that will dominate the whole planet by the time of Fen’s birth another century in the future.

  Fen's conflict with the Forty Dragons provokes a response for which the enraged chieftain is unprepared. Will the young Suzerain remain unified in the face of more violence than they can imagine?

  Charlie's life, an almost-forgotten memory, holds the key to the survival to the old and new kinds of humans.

  And the world continues to change.

  Aaron Summers live in Birmingham, Alabama with his wife and trio of pups. Ten years in the making and with more rewrites than he can count, he's happy you read his first novel and looks forward to sharing more of the only story he's ever wanted to tell.

  Visit amazon.com/aaronsummers to learn more.