by Brandon Barr
I refuse to be a miserable drizzle when I can be a light cutting through the storm clouds. Happiness is not burying your brain in the sand and saying everything is perfect. Happiness is turning your eyes away from the mirror and thinking of something other than your misery or misfortune. There are other people in this world with troubles of their own, and if you can turn your eyes from your hardships and see the delightful and good surrounding you, you can be the bringer of smiles and laughter to help put the afflictions of life in their proper place.
-Seethus’ journal, My Old Wrinkled Wisdom, page 892
Chapter Thirty
SAVARAH
A thrashing sound rumbled through the small tear-shaped valley near the base of the foothills. She clenched her teeth in anticipation—the creature was close now. The horse she rode fought hard to meet her demand for speed, abandoning safety for the fastest, most perilous path down the side of the hill.
She’d seen the large creature leave the ship. The animal was enormous. And it was hers to have, according to the gods. Her mount finally reached the valley floor.
Ahead, a tangle of trees and bush lined a small stream.
A tiger’s roar sounded from the brush, and Savarah’s hand went for her arrows and the bow she’d taken from Harcor’s home. He’d kindly abandoned it amidst the fighting that had taken place while she lay dying. Maybe one day she’d have the chance to return the favor and pin his heart with an arrow.
A long, sustained growl issued from the underbrush ahead. Suddenly, the leaves shook violently, and a bellowing roar ended in a desperate cat’s cry. Savarah slowed her horse. The animal snorted in agitation, having caught wind of a discomforting scent. She bent to stroke its neck, seeking to sooth it.
A bush erupted in front of her. Her horse reared back, flinging her airborne.
Savarah hit the ground on her back. She rolled quickly onto her hands and knees, crouching low. Her gaze pinned on the form of the animal before her. She’d only seen it from afar as it left the ship, but here, close-up, the animal’s size was unbelievable.
A shuddering motion came from its long snout. It was then she noticed the creature trapped in its jaws.
A black tiger.
The head of the tiger dangled from teeth that had pinched through the cat’s body like needles. The tiger’s body shuddered again. Then the huge creature lurched its head forward and the tiger disappeared within the throat of the beast.
Something about the head of the monster disgusted her. It had a reptilian quality about it. The rest of its hulking form was lined with sparse patches of wiry black hair. The creature looked like no animal she’d ever seen on Hearth.
The creature eyed her, its big, round pupils resembling that of an intelligent being.
A sudden vision came to her, stealing the breath from her lungs. She saw herself as though looking down from outside her body. At the image of her own head, hanging from the monster’s jaws, just like the black tiger, her blood dripping to the ground.
A chilling thought shivered down her spine.
Had the gods betrayed her?
She fought against the strange vision inflicted upon her by the creature. Savarah jumped to her feet, managing to remain partially aware of her surroundings. Again, the image shoved its way before her mind’s eye, and she fought for control of herself. She saw the world simultaneously through the lens of reality and the lens of her vision. She saw her bloodied body in the creature’s teeth and, like a superimposed image, the same monster moving fully out of the brush toward her. Moving fast. Racing straight for her.
She turned and ran.
The creature’s mental hold on her snapped, and she found her mind fully returned to her as she sprinted for the closest refuge. A tall, red-barked tree that was wider than her frame. In one leap, her foot found a low branch as her hands found a hold, and she scaled the tree like a frightened squirrel.
She heard the sounds of snapping and scratching just below her. Could the monster climb?
She turned at the noise. The creature’s snout hung a mere branch lower than her foot. It stood on its hind legs, forelimbs thrashing at the branches, claws shredding the trunk.
Savarah stared down at it.
There was no larger animal on Hearth. Her master must have purchased this animal—there was no other explanation for it being aboard the mercenary vessel.
Savarah wanted to look to the sky and spit at the gods, but she could not tear her eyes away from the terrifying sight below. The gods had healed her, and then thrown her to this creature like meat to a dog.
The monster had grown quiet below her. Its head was cocked, and one eye looked up at her. An image flashed in her mind. A picture of her falling from the tree into the creature’s mouth. As she pushed the intruding thoughts away, she looked again at the monster. Its eye watched her, calculating and predative. The lips pulled back, revealing an arsenal of long, yellowing teeth.
Savarah climbed up higher in the tree.
Before long, the creature became weary of her, and began pacing around the tree trunk, sniffing the ground. Its head finally lifted, and it trotted away, up through the tear-shaped valley. She had a good vantage point from her perch high in the tree, and she finally looked away from the retreating animal and out toward the waste. In the distance, she saw a portion of the broken starship. The animal was moving away from the ship, deeper into the foothills.
When she felt it safe to climb down the tree, she hoped to find her horse again, then go and investigate the wreckage. She needed that horse for her ride across the wasteland.
Savarah looked at the smoke plume rising into the air. Nightfall was close. She began shimmying down the tree. No sense waiting any longer. She’d met the monster. Now, if she met the monster’s friend spoken of in the prophecy, she’d know either to stay clear or be ready to spill his or her guts with a flick of her knife.
Chapter Thirty-One
AVEN
The intense sunlight outside made the inside of the ship even darker. Slowly, Aven’s eyes grew accustomed to the shadows. He was standing at the end of the corridor that was lined with doors to the mercenaries’ personal quarters. Fortunately, this section of the ship was still right side up, so it was easy to make it to the room with the food under the bed. It was also fortunate that at least some electrical power was still working, allowing him to open the door. He quickly stuffed his pack so full that it was almost impossible to tie the top without losing some of the bounty.
Carrying his pack, Aven ventured back into the hallway. To the right was the way he’d come in. To the left, the corridor led deeper into the ship. He wanted to leave, but he wanted a lightning weapon more, so he turned left. The corridor ahead grew dimmer with each step. By the time he reached the junction that would take him toward the cell where he’d left Piz, it was hard to see.
Aven pressed forward into the shadows, moving as quietly as he could. Halfway along the corridor he paused to listen, thinking he’d heard a noise. But there was nothing. Slowly, quietly, he continued forward. What would he find ahead? Was Piz alive still? Where was Pike?
Aven reached out with his hands into the dark, sensing the end of the present corridor and the beginning of another. His fingertips touched the wall, and he recalled needing to turn right. The cell where he had been imprisoned with Pike was in a room on the left-hand side, and farther down was the holding pen where the kiehueth had been held. Somewhere in the corridor, he should find the weapons the mercenaries had dropped when the kiehueth got free.
Aven crept slowly down the corridor, his left hand tracing the smooth wall, his right hand feeling for any objects in his path. All he could hear was his own breath and the pulse of his heart in his ears.
He came to the open doorway of the room where he’d been locked up. He stopped and listened. He couldn’t see anything. The darkness was complete. No sound came from within. Maybe that meant Piz was dead. He almost went past, but he knew the mercenary’s only hope of getting out was the ke
y in Aven’s pocket, and it bothered him to simply leave the man to die in there. He needed to know for sure, but he also didn’t want to wander around in the darkness.
He knelt down and took off his pack, recalling something he’d stuffed inside earlier. He dug his fingers into an outer pouch and felt for the cold metal cylinder with a button on the side. Grasping it, he thumbed the button, and fire sprang out of the top of the cylinder. The flame cast an eerie glow on his surroundings.
Aven peered into the cell, bracing himself against what he might see.
The metal grate that was the cell door was twisted, torn almost completely off its hinges.
Aven stood, leaving his pack on the ground, and scanned the insides of the room. The shadows danced in the crimson light of the flame. Aven moved toward the gaping hole, wincing when a chunk of metal he stepped on made a loud screeching sound as it slid under his foot.
Aven ducked past the jagged metal edges and entered the cell, holding the flame up to help him see.
He was relieved to see nothing. There were no bodies in the room. Where was Piz? He crouched down, holding the flame close to the floor, and that’s when he saw the slick sheen covering the metal tiles. Aven knew what it was, but ran a finger in it anyway and drew his hand up beside the light. Against the flesh of his skin, the dark red liquid was sticky and thick.
Aven pictured clearly what the creature had done. It had broken into the cell, and whether Piz was conscious or not, had consumed him.
“Don’t cry, farm spit,” said a voice.
Aven leaped to his feet. He turned to face the voice.
“Don’t cry for me. It’s all right. I’m still alive.” Pike’s face was like a ghost’s in the glow of the flame. He stood in the opening of rent metal, an indistinct shadow of a form.
“Have you seen it?” asked Pike. “That thing?”
“Yes,” said Aven, peering into Pike’s face, searching for something—he didn’t know what. Aven couldn’t see Pike’s hands in the dark. Did he have them behind his back?
“It didn’t find me,” said Pike. “Went right past me. I wiped a dead man’s blood on my clothes and lay down with the bodies. When we crashed, I nearly broke my neck. Hurt my leg bad. You look like you’re in good shape.”
“I was strapped in,” said Aven.
Pike appraised him in silence, his eyes unreadable in the dim red light.
Aven feigned a friendly tone. “I think we have a good chance, the two of us together. I have a pack full of food there on the ground beside you. There’s a forest we can head for. All we need is water and—”
“Shut it!” interrupted Pike. “Don’t pretend to be nice to me. I’m not going anywhere with your voice whining in my ear. You aren’t good. You aren’t some hero. You’re a coward. You left my sister to burn and die. And my mother. My father. Now it’s your turn, Aven, you gutless rat. You’re gonna burn.”
In the pale light, Aven saw Pike’s hands swing into view. One of them gripping a lightning gun. Pike held it up to Aven’s chest, his lip trembling, eyes brimming with emotion.
“Baron Rhaudius isn’t my father. Damn him. Damn my blood. I never loved him. I tried. I thought I could, but…” His words choked away in a trembling grimace. “Gar was always my father. Blood doesn’t mean shit! He treated me like a father should. A real father says, no, and don’t go down that path. Rhaudius, whatever I wanted, he gave me, and it all felt empty in the end.”
The words Pike spoke were human and real. Aven might have felt true sympathy for him, but even in his sad words, something dark and corrupt lingered in his tone and tainted his sweating face.
“Do you know what you took from me, Aven?
Pike’s eyes bored into him.
“Redemption. You took away my chance at redemption. My true father died with my last stinging words ringing in his ear—words I said to cut his heart. I was going to go back, Aven! You killed him before I could ask forgiveness. When you burned my family, you burned my road to redemption.”
Aven stood there shaking. The raw accusation burned inside him. It wasn’t guilt or remorse driving Aven now—it was rage.
I tried to save them!
The shame that had scarred Aven’s heart ever since that night felt as if it were finally fading. Who was Pike to accuse him of burning his road to redemption? It wasn’t his doing.
Aven raised his head to stare into Pike’s eyes. “You talk of redemption,” said Aven, “but I don’t believe you. All I see is a bitter and unforgiving child. You can’t blame me for your choices. It’s not my fault you waited too long to change.”
Pike’s head swayed, the shadows moving and morphing across his face. “I hate you, Aven.”
He touched a button and the end of the lightning weapon lit with swirling energy, bathing the room in a cold blue light. Rage and pain contorted Pike’s face.
Aven braced himself. “You think killing me is going to make you feel better?”
Pike’s brows slanted downward into a muscled knot. “I think it will.”
Staring at the blue tip of Pike’s weapon, something in Aven’s spirit rose up suddenly. If he was going to die, he’d die fighting. He wanted to live, to make a new future for himself. He had the farm he’d dreamed of. It was all he’d ever wanted, and now Pike wanted to take that away.
He had to kill this monster. He had to end this once and for all.
Aven switched off the lighter and placed it in his pocket. He spread his hands to the sides, palms open, fingers extended out. “You’re giving up, Pike. Don’t surrender. You said you wanted to change, that you wanted to go back to your life before the Baron. Killing me won’t accomplish that.”
“Stop talking,” said Pike, his face rigid.
“Who do you want as your father? Gar or Rhaudius?”
Pike took a step forward. Aven saw how he favored his right leg. That would be the injury he’d spoken of. It might give Aven an advantage.
He took a step back toward the corner of the cell where the drain was. Where the metal lever controlling the water flow was. Five turns and he could have the lever loose in his hands.
Aven knew he was playing a deadly game with Pike. Aven’s advantage was that he was in his right mind, his thoughts clear, while Pike was a mess of emotion. If Aven was given an opportunity…some kind of opening to slip past Pike’s guard…he felt certain he could kill Pike, despite any pity he felt for him.
Aven said softly, “Can you put yourself in my shoes, Pike?”
A sneer broke across Pike’s pale lips. “If I did that, I’d beat my head in with a hammer.”
“I loved your family.”
“And they loved you,” said Pike. “You were my replacement. You were a friend for Harvest to talk to. Mother and Father had a new son to be proud of. Stole their hearts, you did. Then burned them up and left me with their ashes.”
Aven recoiled at those words. “I never replaced you. Don’t lie to yourself. They would have wept tears of joy if you’d come back.”
“I was going to!” screamed Pike.
“But you didn’t!” shouted Aven, then took a long breath. “You were living behind the Baron’s gates, oppressing your own family and your own people. No matter how you feel now, you still chose that.”
A burst of blue energy shot from the tip of the weapon. A giant fist seemed to slam against Aven’s chest. He collapsed onto the floor. The pain receded quickly and Aven sat up, breathing hard, his chest muscles sore and tingling. He knew a secret about the weapon that Pike didn’t seem to know. The power could be set on high or low, and judging from the receding pain, it wasn’t set to kill.
Pike stared down at him, as if searching for some kind of answer.
“What if you could still change?” said Aven. “What if Gar could see you right now?”
“You’re just a worm trying to wriggle away. This is what you deserve.”
“You’re not thinking clearly,” Aven said fiercely. “You wanted Gar to forgive you, but you won’t
forgive me. You won’t let it go. You’re holding what happened against me, even though you know I’m not the one responsible. You know the kind of man Gar was. He would have taken you back with open arms! He loved you despite the pain you caused him! Why can’t you forgive me the way he would have forgiven you? Why can’t you forgive me when you know what it’s like to need forgiveness?”
Pike’s eyes dropped to the blue swirl of energy dancing at the tip of his weapon. Aven felt the energy take him again in the chest. He dropped back to the floor and acted like he’d been hurt badly by the blast, huddling on his hands and knees and moaning in pain. But while he did so, he was getting his legs under him, coiling like a snake ready to strike.
Slowly, Aven looked up. Pike’s brow trembled, wet hair matting the deep creases of his forehead. Then he grimaced and shut his eyes, as if pinching away an inner pain. In that moment, Aven surged forward.
Aven lunged up, just under the blue flame tip of the weapon and rammed his shoulder into Pike’s gut. Aven drove forward, sending both of them crashing to the floor.
He landed on top of Pike and heard the clatter of the weapon skidding away on the metal flooring. Instinctively, Aven tried to go for it, but Pike’s hand clamped down on his right arm. Aven jerked hard and rolled, tearing free of Pike’s grasp. He jumped to his feet just as the blue light at the tip of the gun went out, leaving the room shrouded in utter blackness. Pike’s wheezing breaths sounded nearby. Aven moved quickly, hands reaching blindly for the lever. The lightning weapon would be useless to him. He didn’t have enough time to figure out how it worked. Pike would be on him before he did. The sound of Pike searching around for the weapon brought with it a sense of panic.
Aven’s hand moved across the wall, feeling for the lever. Then his fingers struck the cold metal, and Aven spun it quickly, loosening it.
Five turns and the heavy piece of metal came free in his hands. Aven pivoted around, the lever raised in his right hand. There was no sound. He stepped forward, in the direction he thought he’d last heard movement.