“Neither did Clae,” Okane muttered. “I just—I haven’t been Valens in a long time. I want to be called Okane now.”
Laura leaned back in the seat, still confused but yielding. “If you ever want to switch, just let me know. Valens isn’t that bad a name, but I’ll call you Okane if that’s what you want.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
* * *
The real bump in the road faced them as dawn spread dim across the horizon.
Trains ran along well-maintained tracks that had been cut into the landscape, altering the earth to ensure a level surface, but regular routes had no such care. Roads in the wilds went up and down hills with the roll of the land, helped along by the odd bridge at some points, though those weren’t nearly as well maintained as the train variety.
Or, who knew, maybe this one had been.
The road to the satellite town crossed a river, not a huge one but certainly wider than canals in Amicae. A bridge had once spanned the distance. The ends still sat on either bank, rising for a foot before dead-ending in thin air, the bridge’s rubble strewn in the riverbed and much of it washed away entirely.
“What do you think, Rex or someone else?” said Laura. “Somebody definitely tore that down.”
“Maybe the town? The train routes are one thing, but I don’t see what Rex could gain from this,” said Okane.
“This is the main port with Fatum, isn’t it? Cut supplies to them, and depending on how much Gin they have to help grow crops, they could end up starving. Easy pickings once Rex gets moving and attacking cities.”
“Surely they have enough food, though? It’s on an island.”
“A lot of cities specialize in certain things and trade for others. At least one of the islands focuses on clothes, so they don’t have much in the way of food production. That’s not our problem right now, though. We can worry about them once we’re back in Amicae.”
“How are we supposed to do that when the bridge is out?”
“Maybe there’s another one nearby?” Laura suggested. “If the satellite town knows about this, they might set up temporary crossings. Or maybe there’s a shallower spot. A shorter crossing.”
“I suppose it’s worth checking,” said Okane.
Laura drove off the road, trundling onto the grass and bumping over brush; the vehicle handled well on rough terrain, she decided, as she parked it in the shadow of nearby trees. Even Cherry and Grim hadn’t gotten up this early, so Laura didn’t expect anyone to come across the truck, but better safe than sorry. She and Okane split up, she going one way along the river, he the other. It didn’t look promising. As she walked, the ground rose and became uneven, the banks getting steeper and steeper, the surrounding vegetation thicker. By the time she finally stopped and considered that maybe this wouldn’t work, she’d reached a point fifteen feet above the water’s surface, and the opposite bank towered just as high. Even if she found a better crossing, the sheer number of trees blocked any path the truck could take. She doubled back, and found Okane waiting for her.
“Did you find anything?” she called.
He shook his head, hopeless. “It only gets wider. Another tributary runs into it from the other side, and then it hits a cliff. The drop goes as far as I can see in both directions, and I’m not keen on challenging a waterfall. But I found something worse.”
“Rexians?” Laura guessed.
“Tracks,” said Okane. “Enormous ones. I think there are felin on this side.”
With the amount of Sweepers and corresponding magic outside Rex’s walls, Laura wouldn’t be surprised if felin were closing in from every side; they might see the crusades as a buffet. But felin acted on any opportunity. If any caught wind of their truck, they’d be in trouble fast.
“Can you tell how recent they are?” said Laura, hurrying back to the truck.
“The ground was wet. I’m guessing it’s fresh.” Okane hopped into the passenger seat and heaved the door shut behind him. “I don’t suppose - - - had more luck on - - -r end?”
“None,” said Laura. She gripped the wheel, stared down the river before them. “Not unless you want to drive off a slightly smaller cliff.”
Doubling back and trying to find a different route was madness; they’d land themselves in the middle of pursuing Rexians or attract felin. Besides, there might not be another road to Fatum at all. They had no guide this time. They’d be lost in the wilds all over again.
Okane came to the same conclusion. He frowned at the water and said, “Do - - - think we could make it over in the truck?”
“This is a military vehicle, isn’t it? It’s built for these occasions.” Laura wrenched the wheel around. She didn’t have much confidence in the idea, but as far as she could see it was her best bet. She kept talking, trying to bolster her own confidence again as they approached. “Charlie was over the moon about the ones in Amicae. Interchangeable parts, can drive right over train tracks … The Amicae versions can go through water deeper than the tires. Ours are tough, so we can cross any terrain in any weather when going to defend a satellite town. If Rex is taking these all the way to Kuro no Oukoku, they must be pretty damn special.”
“So it’s actually meant for this sort of situation,” Okane checked.
“Exactly. We’re already at the shallowest part of the river, so it should be easy. Hang on.”
The tires met the bank, churning mud and bending reeds beneath them. The bridge remnants stuck out farther than the rest of the riverside, tiny spits of land that proved ridiculously soft but still stayed above water. Laura kept on it, so close to the bridge that the truck’s side scraped against it. The opposite bank matched this one; if she could make it to that spit, their time in the water would be halved. In the meantime, the truck fared well. Water reached only halfway up its wheels, and they kept a steady pace. They might actually make it. The truck had reached just over the midway point when the tires slipped. The rocks made it hard to steer properly to begin with, but Laura found herself out of control. She stomped on the gas pedal, but the engine only sputtered before cutting out entirely. She kept stomping it to no avail. She hauled on the wheel, but while the tires moved, it wasn’t by much and the only momentum they had now was the current.
“Rexian piece of crap!” she snarled, smacking the wheel and causing the horn to wail one sharp note.
The truck lost traction entirely, skidding downriver until it bumped into a sandbar laden with bridge debris. For a moment Laura sat frozen, convinced they’d be swept away again. When the truck remained still, she started to scramble up.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“What about Clae and the Gin?” said Okane.
“We climb back there and carry them out!”
Laura forced her door open. Water gushed in, flooding the floor as she climbed out. The loose canvas allowed her to find and grab the metal frame, using this and a small ledge on the side to shuffle above the water level. She pulled her pocketknife from her bag and jabbed at the canvas, starting with a bullet hole and ripping it open from there. With a suitable entrance made, she scrambled in. She grabbed Clae first, heaved him off the floor and back to the ripped portion, where Okane waited. He eyed the crystal, then the water below, grimaced, and dropped off the side of the truck. He sucked air as the water splashed up past his knees and plastered himself to the truck.
“You okay down there?” Laura called.
“It’s c-c-cold!”
He shucked off his coat, tossing it aside in the river and shaking all the more. Laura felt bad, but better to be cold than too heavy and dragged under.
“I’m pushing him out now, okay? You ready?”
“Yes!”
Laura gritted her teeth and pulled Clae higher, tipping him so he scraped his way out of the truck. Okane caught him and sloshed backward, giving her room to jump out. She cursed as the water soaked into her clothes, and in no time she shivered as much as her companion. Between the two of them they balanced Clae and waded toward shore. She ha
dn’t noticed the current before, but she could feel it tugging at her, hard and cold and threatening. If it could take a truck down, surely she wasn’t safe either. She smacked her amulet on one staggering step, and felt some warmth in her shoes as the two there activated as well. Keep me rooted as I walk, she ordered them, and immediately it became easier to keep steady. Okane didn’t think to use his amulets, but judging by the crackling sounds, his magic had kicked in to serve the same purpose. Still, it was slow going. It felt like forever before they made it to the opposite bank. After trudging up the slope and depositing Clae in the tall grass there, they doubled back. The truck tottered, but settled somewhat as Laura climbed in again. She passed one of the boxes of Gin out.
“Give me another one,” said Okane, shifting the box for a better grip.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Laura. “What if you’re too heavy? What if—”
“I don’t think the truck’s going to be here long, so the faster the better. I can use my amulets.”
“I don’t—”
“I’m lucky, remember? Just hand it over!”
“Ugh, fine!”
She pulled the second Gin out and dropped it onto the box. The wood splintered and Okane staggered, but he kept his balance and, amid a chorus of cracks and pops, made for the bank again. With him gone Laura reached for Anselm. As she set hands on the crystal, the floor lurched beneath her. The bridge debris had dislodged, and now the truck washed downstream. The floor tipped—surely it wasn’t about to roll—and Laura flew into a panic. The magic in her amulets steadied her but also slowed her movement. She dismissed her previous order, grabbed Anselm, and rolled out the back of the truck as fast as she could. She fell feet-first, but hit hard enough for the water to splash up into her face. Her feet scrabbled for a hold on the riverbed, but here the water hit her at hip height, and the undertow tugged hard enough that she slipped entirely. Water closed over her head. She fought her way to the surface, coughing violently, but Anselm’s crystal weight bore her underwater, farther downriver, and her waterlogged clothes became far too heavy. She barely choked out a yelp before she went under again. She kept struggling, but her strength failed quickly. It was a godsend when she bumped into another pile of debris. She dragged herself up so she could breathe and clung to the rock and crystal, trying to figure out how to heave herself out without losing Anselm.
“A little help, here?” she panted, hoping she was loud enough to be heard over the roaring water.
She couldn’t see Okane but heard frantic splashing coming toward her. But it wasn’t Okane who stumbled through the water from her left. Grim’s boots dislodged rocks, impeding his progress. His hat, coat, and gloves were missing, his mouth set in a grimace.
“You people,” he hissed, grabbing Laura by the shirt and hauling her higher on the rock pile. Laura scrambled to keep her grip on Anselm.
“Watch it!” she squeaked.
“Drop that!”
“I can’t!”
“It’ll drag you under again. It’s not worth it.”
“We can’t lose him!”
She didn’t care if Grim saw Clae or Anselm at this point; they couldn’t be lost, no matter what. He tried to pull her up again, but when she kept clinging to her burden, he realized it was a lost cause. He switched position, plunging one arm under to hook the crystal, the other hand lifting her. His skinny frame held more power than she expected. One good yank brought her to better ground, and between the two of them they bore Anselm toward shore.
They were closer to dry land than Laura thought, and relief flooded through her as she saw Okane running down the bank toward them. Grim shifted his grip, from bearing Anselm’s weight on his forearm to taking the crystal in hand. A startled grunt was the only warning before Laura was dragged down by even more weight than before. She scrambled to keep upright, swinging the crystal into her side in an attempt to balance out. Grim’s grip had gone lax, and he plunged into the water.
“Grim!” Laura screeched.
“I’ve got him!”
Okane plowed into the river and lunged after the other man. Laura hesitated; only after he caught Grim did she slog to shore. She stumbled through the mud, teeth chattering like a windup toy. She dumped Anselm unceremoniously amid the grass and turned back to help as Okane waded through the shallows and onto land. He hooked his arms under Grim’s to pull the man out, and the Ranger’s boots dragged troughs in the mud. He dropped to his knees, depositing his load with a little more grace before checking for a pulse. Grim had been limp this whole time, his skin now paler than ever against the grass. Okane sat back on his heels, hands up and eyes wide.
“He’s not breathing! Laura, what do we do?”
Laura felt her own face pale and she dropped to the mud across from him.
“Grim? Hey!” She slapped his cheek lightly, but he didn’t respond. His eyelids didn’t even flicker. “Come on, come on, wake up! You can’t just—” Clearly he wasn’t waking, so she looked hopelessly up at Okane. “Do you know how to do rescue breathing?”
“I don’t even know what that is!”
Laura scooted closer, trying desperately to remember the films she’d seen. She angled her hands over Grim’s chest, but was that the right position?
“What are - - - doing?”
“Chest compressions!”
“What?”
“You have to—”
“Hey!” Laura’s head jerked up. A familiar horse crested the hill, carrying Cherry toward them at a trot. “You two? What are you doing here?”
“Do you know rescue breathing?” Laura shouted.
Cherry drew close enough for confusion to be visible on her face, rapidly draining to horror as she saw what they knelt over. She kicked her horse faster, cantering swiftly to them, swinging wide so she could jump off. She stumbled while the horse wheeled back.
“What happened?” she demanded, checking Grim’s pulse and tilting his head back.
“He pulled me out of the river,” said Laura, fidgeting as Cherry started with chest compressions. “He was fine, but halfway out he fainted! I don’t know why or how, it just happened!”
Cherry’s response came delayed, she being too busy breathing air into Grim’s lungs. She switched back to chest compressions. “How long?”
“Maybe a minute?” said Okane. “I only just pulled him out.”
Cherry growled something in anger and worry, then pinched Grim’s nose and went back to breathing. Laura settled back, watching with a growing sense of dread as Grim still failed to move.
* * *
This gatehouse wasn’t the piece of art the last one had been. This was one of the surviving crusade pieces, made of stone with no latticework, no curved roof, no wood to speak of in its interior. It sat across the tracks like an ugly toad, its gate door gone and lower walls converted to allow trains through. The castle keep was only habitable from the second floor up, ground completely abandoned for walkways that stretched from keep to walls, metallic additions the original owners might’ve pondered at. Three people manned the gatehouse: a telegram operator and two beefy guards, who received no guests for months at a time and had no idea how to react when the motley group crawled in. The keep was equipped for far more than three, though, so Laura found herself in a barracks room on the third floor, sitting on a bunk and staring into space as she listened to Cherry’s voice on the other side of the door.
The woman’s voice sounded hollow, scratchy at points, as she explained their situation. Grim lay cold and motionless on a bed in a different room. Every time Cherry so much as mentioned his name her scratchy tone worsened. It was awful to hear, but Laura listened anyway. Her stomach flip-flopped, and she wondered, Did I sound like that when Clae died? Okane hovered by the door, cringing at her tone, but too restless and too afraid to sit still. The nonliving inhabitants of the room were on the cots farthest from the door, Clae on a mattress all his own while Anselm and the Gin were piled onto the one opposite. Cherry and her ex
tra horses had been able to transport them here safely, with one very obvious change.
During her scramble out of the river she hadn’t paid much attention to Anselm beyond keeping hold of him, but as soon as she went to retrieve him afterward she noticed an immediate difference. Anselm’s body usually curled into itself, covering a face twisted in fear, but he’d shifted so he looked more like he was peacefully sleeping. The crystal’s surface had smoothed out, his arms folded by his chest instead. Even the color of the stone had mellowed out into something brighter yellow. How this had happened she had no idea, and the sight was creepy. Laura watched him, almost ready for him to sit up and say hello, while Cherry continued talking. She said something about transporting the corpse.
Grim’s dead too. How could that have possibly happened?
One minute strong enough to pull two people out of a river, the next, stone dead? He might have had white hair but otherwise seemed far from old. Some inherited condition, perhaps, linked to his strange coloring? But then, how did Anselm change? Had Anselm taken Grim’s life?
“… to Amicae. We want to make sure he has a proper burial,” said Cherry. “Amicae’s been forbidding Rangers entry to the city, but this should be an exception. The only family he had lives in Amicae.”
“I don’t understand,” Okane murmured. “If Grim was a citizen, couldn’t he have gotten through the lines, when they brought us back?”
There was a knock on the door and he leapt back as if scalded.
“Excuse me?” came a reedy voice, much closer than Cherry’s. “May I come in?”
Okane looked back at Laura. She gave a halfhearted shrug. He eyed her a while longer, then opened the door a crack. There was movement beyond, and the sound came clearer.
“Oh, hello! I’m Clarence, the communications operator. I wondered if I could talk to you for a moment.”
The obvious use of “you” put Okane at ease, for some of the tension left his shoulders. A young man, with glasses so thick they blurred his features, shuffled into the room dressed in pseudo-regulation clothing: uniform pants and shoes, and an ugly mustard-yellow sweater and striped tie. He offered a bashful smile and a quick, self-conscious wave.
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