by Amanda Twigg
“I’m not wearing a robe.”
“Can see that, smart arse. “Name, rank, de da, de da, de da. And don’t spin that weird shelk from last night.” He didn’t register the band on her wrist as a staff because the leaves had curled in on themselves, so they barely showed. “Well? Give it to me.”
Hairs stood on Landra’s neck, and tingling ran down her tender back. Sapsford’s narrowed-eyed scrutiny denounced her as trash and dared her to lie. She saw Jex’s anticipation of the answer quiver his aura.
What d’you want to hear, Jex? Not the truth, but it’s what you’ll get.
She straightened to attention as smartly as she’d ever done for Winton. How to declare myself? Chief elect? Nah, Dannet owns that title. Too old for citizen and never apprenticed at the academy. Can’t claim cadet and won’t be a Templer. Here goes. Take a breath.
“Citizen Landra Loni Hux, Hux Hall, Ring Sixty, Central City.”
Claiming her identity felt so right she didn’t care about the sentry’s furious expression.
“Shelk balls,” he said. “You’re determined to do this? You really want to be known as the runaway murderer?”
“I’m not a runaway.”
Sapsford hung his head and growled. “Just knew this would be a bad day.”
“You think this is bad?” Landra asked. “Try standing in my boots.”
Chapter 52
The siren whine dropped half a note.
“Time to move out,” Sapsford said. “Baker?”
One of the academy brats stepped forward and listened to whispered instructions. He locked the shaft up and then darted away. A messenger’s usual job was to pass information ahead regarding participant numbers. Today, Landra was certain he’d have more to say. A runner claiming to be the chief’s daughter didn’t come along every day.
Sapsford prodded her with the sword. “March.”
“Sir?” she said, pressing her heels to the floor.
“What now?”
She hesitated, stalled by his aggressive tone.
“Look,” Sapsford said, his hard eyes narrowing. “If you miss the big moment, my orders are to run you through and drop you down the nearest shaft. Do you want that?”
It would be the worst outcome for Landra. If she died without reporting, her sacrifice would mean nothing, so she blurted out her message, making sure to hit the most relevant points. “There’s a Templer plot to overthrow Chief Hux. I know who the ringleaders are and can tell you their plans. It’s vital that I report to the Warrior Fourth.” It wasn’t entirely true, but she needed to make it sound good.
The turbulent dance of Jex’s aura played at the edges of her vision. Shelk. Where were his loyalties? If it came to scrapping, she wasn’t certain whether he would come to her aid or fight with Sapsford. Wasn’t this why she hadn’t wanted him along? His differing brand of honor muddied everything she strove to achieve. He cut across sect loyalties to follow his heart. I bet you wish you’d never left the temple now.
Sapsford’s expression told a clearer story, morphing from incredulous to worried to weary. The bastard would rationalize her words into their least problematic form.
“I—” she said.
“No one believes you,” he interrupted. “And rolling over on Templer friends won’t help either. Don’t matter if you’re the chief himself. Nothing can save a swamper once they’re on the runner list.” He tapped his board with satisfaction, and his settled aura proclaimed the truth of his words.
“That’s not what this is about,” Landra protested.
“I don’t care. All you’re doing is making me mad.” He pushed on his sword, forcing the tip through her skins, and she trapped her next protest behind pressed lips.
There’d be no passing a message through this soldier, but she was in no state to take on three fully-trained men. Her situation was hopeless and not how she’d envisaged this going at all. The best she could hope for was to grab someone’s attention on the way to the Run. If the messenger did his job, surely there’d be someone there who she could tell.
The group moved off in silence to head through the base, but tightened aura limits couldn’t keep Jex’s accusatory emotions from Landra’s thoughts. The siren’s ominous greeting welcomed them to death, and she could barely believe it. Was this really happening? Shelk, shelk, and shelk. Despite her constant fear, the deep terror of facing a certain, gruesome end hadn’t gripped her before now. She’d presumed something would work out—a solution to this mess or a rescue. Through all she’d endured as chief elect, hadn’t escape appeared at the last moment to deliver her from death?
“Hey, that you, Sapsford?” a voice sounded in the corridor ahead. Three guards and one diseased swamper waited for them at the next intersection.
“Ho, Grendeck,” Sapsford shouted back, and the groups converged.
“Don’t usually see you with runners,” Grendeck said with a chuckle. “Wanna take my swamper on and give me a break?”
“Not likely. You can take mine.” Sapsford nodded in Landra’s direction. “Got my hands full with this one.”
“Who’ve you got?”
“Trouble. That’s who.”
Grendeck grinned. “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your rightful duty. We’ll go together.”
The cheerful banter couldn’t have been more annoying. These men weren’t walking to their deaths or dooming the entire base population to a bloody fate.
Glad you’re not here to see me fail, Gramps. Why wasn’t Gallanto here? She hated her stupid magic that came and went as it pleased. The only powers she could rely on were seeing auras and exploding things when she felt grief. She didn’t want to use either today. Was it too much to ask to report and then die?
Each step brought her nearer to Ring Ten. She visualized new ways to meet her end—a sword though her gut, her face cleaved by an axe, a dagger plunged through an eye, or her head lopped off. Sometimes, she imagined Thisk delivering the blow. At least he’d make it quick. Much worse was the thought that Dannet might work the Run now.
Was it like this for you, Mother? How did you stay brave?
Her heart pounded to a drummer’s rhythm, with reality sinking deeper into her consciousness with every stride. Her body trembled, and she worried that bravery would elude her in the end.
Not fitting for a chief elect. Get a grip. I chose this, but I thought… What had she thought? She’d expected to be rescued. Did Father know where she was? Had he refused to intervene?
For the sake of the people. Blah!
The closer they got to the starting line, the more knowing glances turned her way. Soldiers poured out of doorways to view the procession. Everyone who worked or lived close to Warrior Hall recognized the death march as part of the Run, and a following gathered behind to track their steps. Pointed stares, shared whispers, and finger pointing informed Landra that this was far from normal, and she was the cause.
“About time justice found you, Hux,” a voice shouted.
She flinched and stiffened her spine. There was anger in the gathered crowd, and it was directed her way. She couldn’t blame the onlookers. If she’d not known the whole story, she’d have believed the same lies—runaway, traitor, and murderer of the Warrior Third. Gods. Maybe she did deserve this.
Sapsford spun on the trailing group, his sword swinging to meet the followers, but they stopped in their tracks and no one owned up to the taunt. He returned to Landra’s side. “Shelk, girl,” was all he said, and they walked on in silence, each member of the group consumed by their own thoughts. Jex’s pallid aura displayed his bowel-loosening fear, Sapsford’s shades had deepened with tension, and her own tainted aura was still, as if frozen in place. She was locked into actions that she had no way to avoid. How had she failed? How had she gotten this so wrong?
A few rings out from the start line, the curving corridors became familiar, and faces she knew appeared in the crowd. She stared ahead, having no stomach for facing old trainers or Hux Hall staff. Her perip
heral vision picked out Winton’s aura in the crowd, but she quickened her step to pass him by and refused to turn. Everybody’s here to watch my disgrace.
“You really the Hux runaway?” Sapsford asked?
The title still stung, but was she supposed to explain her abduction now? She nodded a stiff acknowledgement.
“Shelking shit balls!” He shook his head. “Don’t change a thing for me, though, you being the chief’s daughter. Remember that, and we’ll get this job done fine.”
“I still need to talk to the Fourth,” she said. “I’m no Templer trying for an easy ride. Please get a message through before the Run starts. Let me end with an honorable sacrifice.”
Silence followed her request. Sapsford chewed his bottom lip, all humor gone from his demeanor. “I’m the one giving orders today. Being Hux won’t save you. There’s plenty of people here who think this is a fitting end for your crimes. Finish the walk, so I can be done.”
They emerged into a light at the corridor’s end, and the concourse opened before them. Shouting drowned out the siren’s call, but she ignored it to lock her gaze onto a raised ceremonial plinth. Decked in Warrior colors, it looked like the one she would have climbed for her chief elect ceremony. Today, three chairs lined up on the platform. Chief Templer Vellion sat in the first, and Dannet occupied the second.
Thank shelk.
Her relief that Dannet was here to witness the ceremony rather than fight in the Warrior lines loosened one of the knots in her gut. Her brother had matured, and his sprouting Warrior hair displayed Hux coloring. An array of emotions fleeted through her thoughts—sadness, envy, love. Most of all, relief. However she died, it wouldn’t be on her brother’s sword or knife. Are you wearing the Collector, brother?
The question fled her thoughts when Chief Hux strode onto the platform to take his position behind the third chair.
“Father?”
Landra couldn’t move, and her word dissipated in the tumult. She saw his gleaming ceremonial uniform, proper stance, and formal expression, but his tight grip on the chair back and pale whirls disturbing his azure aura betrayed pain. He’d been here many times and once before with Mother.
I’m doing this to you again.
Sapsford pushed her a few steps forward, so they cleared the crowd. Waist-high barriers penned the onlookers a safe distance away. Who knew what desperate Souls might do to regular soldiers? Another step forward, and a distant line of battle-armored Warriors came into view. Honed swords glinting and polished axe heads at the ready, they looked magnificent and deadly. Every one of them wore their long Warrior hair in fighting style, with the top section tied back to display their insignias. With shoulder spikes declaring them ready for war, the sight would have terrified any army.
Fearsome. Terrifying. Wonderful.
Jex grabbed her arm and squeezed tight enough to break through her reverie. “Lan?”
Landra wanted to support her friend and offer comfort, but she couldn’t speak.
Chapter 53
Sapsford herded them toward an open area where runners congregated. Arriving late meant they tagged onto the back of the group. It didn’t make for the best view, so Landra stretched to search the crowds for Thisk.
Word of her appearance must have flown through the city on glider wings because gawkers swarmed behind barriers and spilled out into corridors. She couldn’t remember so many soldiers watching before. There was no way to single the Fourth out from the throng, but what was she thinking? Her mentor would be positioned on the Run, sword ready and killing in his heart. She gulped, trying to shift the knot in her throat. Panic couldn’t come yet because there was a job to do.
Sapsford pushed his charges through the group toward a simple painted line on the floor. She’d seen the mark before and had walked over it during city travels. It had never held more meaning than it did now. One side denoted safety; the other offered death. This was where her end began.
Nodding to the guards on the starting line, Sapsford sheathed his sword. “Thank the mist I’m done. Can’t say it’s been a pleasure.”
“What about the Fourth?” Landra asked.
Sapsford grimaced. “He’s too busy for runners.”
She balled her fists, frustration tightening every muscle in her body until pain registered in her damaged back. More twinges came from places that she’d forgotten were injured. “What’s the point of sacrificing my life if I can’t get a message through?”
“Not my problem,” Sapsford said with a shrug.
What? You idiot. The Templer attack would be everyone’s problem and sooner than he knew. “Don’t you realize Warrior-kind will suffer because you failed to relay my message? Deaths are coming, and they’ll be on your head as much as mine.”
“Shut the shelk mist up. And here’s some news to take to your grave. I did what you asked, for all the good it did either of us. The Fourth wasn’t interested and gave orders to my commander. I’ve a reprimand on my record, and no one’s interested in your fanciful tales, least of all the Warrior Fourth.” Sapsford marched away, leaving her to gape.
Landra’s head lightened, and her aura paled. Thisk? Thisk? She understood him not throwing his lot in to save her, but refusing a report was… Am I so worthless that my words count for nothing? It didn’t make sense. You said you respected me. Surely… Time was running away, and failure loomed. This can’t be happening.
She staggered, strength and resolve beyond reach. A knot tied in her stomach, and sick settled in her throat. In the middle of a concourse full of soldiers, in the presence of family, and with Jex hanging tight on her arm, she’d never felt so alone or betrayed. Dark aura lines waved across her vision, and she thought she would faint. Chief elect? What were you thinking, Father? A guard’s staff pushed her back into place.
“I should have stayed in the temple,” Jex whispered. “I’m scared.”
Consumed by grief and nursing an unhealthy dose of panic, she plastered fake assurance on her face. “Only a mud slug wouldn’t be frightened. Stay close to me, and I’ll look after you.” Help you to die quickly. She regretted that Jex had linked his fate to her actions more than she could express.
Her stomach lurched again. Jex was going to die, she was going to die, and it had all been for nothing. I’m sorry, Father. Thisk. Gramps.
Her bowels churned, making her fear further disgrace. She’d seen soldiers defecate on the start line before, but it was from fear rather than the misery of failure or abandonment. The possibility of being judged a coward shot steel up her spine.
She lifted her chin, and meeting Dannet’s gaze nearly broke her again. Their glances engaged, and his face held all the love, passion, regret, and fear that she’d witnessed at their last parting. He’d grown into his role, and a dutiful mask covered his distress. It reminded her of the expression her father often wore, but his aura spoke to her heart. The swirling mass of emotional blue shades mimicked Father’s, but it had a paler intensity. She wanted to call to him, hug him, but she couldn’t think of a less dignified way to meet her end, except for shitting on the line. The thought gave her purpose.
History might record my life in derogatory terms. That doesn’t mean I can’t finish well.
Pinching her lips together, she mustered every scrap of control she could find to nod goodbye. Instead of responding, his jaw tightened and his gaze slid to the platform. Was he crying?
No, no, don’t do that. I’ll be brave, Dannet. Please don’t break. I’ll be… Shelk.
She switched her gaze to Father, begging for help. Did Chief Hux recognize his son’s anguish? Did he even care? It shocked her to see a similar pain tracking through his aura, though he hid his grief behind a stoic mask. In one glance, she recognized love, agony, and duty in his churning patterns. He didn’t deserve to watch a second family member die young on the Run.
For once, she revelled in the magic that allowed her to see his regard. If indulging her Soul sight had achieved nothing else, at least she’d developed
a better understanding of aura patterns. Love rolled, pain juddered, and Chief Hux displayed a turbulent mixture of both. “Oh gods, I’ve seen those patterns before.” Did you always love me, Father? His unflinching outer demeanor betrayed nothing, but his feelings shone through to her heart. She mourned the shared moments they’d missed, and now would never know, but her new understanding provided strength. Your love will support me through what I must do, Father. It will help me die well. Thank you.
“Runners, to the start line,” a husky voice commanded.
Landra’s heart rattled faster, and Jex tightened his grip.
“Do I fight or run?” he asked as they moved up.
Her raw emotions couldn’t stretch to niceties. “Stay with me.”
His hold on her arm slackened, and he pushed himself free. Landra didn’t want to face Jex’s rejection, but her betraying gaze turned up. His jaw slid sideways as he licked his dry lips. “I know you’ll want to fight, Lan. Good for you, but I’d rather run at the Warrior line so it’s quick. Dead is dead.”
She gasped, but there was no point making a grab for him or trying to change his mind. She put her boots on the line and came to attention. With all links to her base life severed, she readied to run.
The siren stopped.
Chapter 54
All crowd noise subsided. Jostling unsteadied Landra as the runners huddled together. Many were underdwellers in various stages of decay, adding a rotting odor to the shelk perfume wafting up from her hair. She respected their efforts to accept soldier deaths. A few well-groomed soldiers congregated, too, including a three-bar veteran who’d donned an official dress uniform and a decorated cloak. He assumed a proud position at the group’s head and came to attention, a representative of the Run’s true purpose. His aura radiated calm. She wondered if her mother had undertaken the death charge with such grace.
“Runners, to your places,” the line guard ordered.
