Hatred Day

by T S Pettibone

  She eyed the satellite cellphone, suspecting it was wired with a GPS, though he probably already knew where she lived. As she tucked the phone inside her satchel, a light clatter sounded on the floor.

  Hadrian picked up the gold necklace Atlas had given her, which had fallen from her satchel.

  “You speak Swedish,” he observed.

  “No.”

  “Why purchase something without knowing the meaning behind it?”

  “It was gift,” she said.

  He dropped the necklace in her hand, saying, “The inscription translates to: daringly dared, half of it won.”

  So that’s where Snofrid had heard the phrase. She wondered if she’d learned it from Atlas.

  Hadrian locked his claws behind his back and stood across from her. “Tell me why you were at a slave auction.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”

  “Wrong. Your face was seen by humans. That’s a security risk.”

  “My brother is a hacker. He wiped my photo from Oubliette’s database,” she explained. “As for the humans who saw my face, we planned to leave the city. But now, with the quarantine, I wear a gasmask whenever I leave the house.”

  Hadrian tapped the tablet with his claw and referred to the information on screen. “It says here that you run a supply store. What would you rather do?”

  She glanced at the file, disconcerted that he had so much information about her. Her palms grew clammy and she wiped them on her coat. His interest in her didn’t register as small talk. She felt like she was being analyzed, not as a person but as a thing. “I’d rather be a PAWN for one of the Mystish Governors.”

  “A Personal Assistant Whenever Needed? Most Governors exploit their PAWNS. Apply to be Lord Drakkar’s PAWN.”

  She immediately ignored this advice; in order to be the Mystish Lord’s PAWN, she’d have to be a highborn.

  “Sit and ask me a question,” he told her.

  She sat down slowly, keeping both eyes on him. “Did you choose to be a Commander?”

  “No. My uncle is the Skinwalker Lord. He prefers war over politics.”

  Snofrid did a double-take. Being the nephew of a Lord meant he was a Royaler. If she’d know this earlier, she would’ve acted far more respectful. All at once, she felt crude sitting across from him, like she’d come face-to-face with a mighty soul.

  Rising, she kissed his cheek in formal salute. “Saldut debokter.”

  His nose wrinkled. “I don’t accept greetings from halfbreeds. Pick up your mask and cover your Asian eyes before my Seer arrives.”

  Heat blazed in her face. “W-what?”

  “You have a human parent.”

  Snofrid turned on him in steadfast defense. “That’s a severe assumption, but it’s even worse to accuse it wrongly. I’m a pure-blood Mystish. My eyes are like this because of mutation.”

  “What a sad liar you are.”

  Snofrid contested the allegation. Yes, her eyes were slanted, but Desya would definitely have warned her that she was a halfbreed. Regardless, if any other high-ranking Inborns in Hadrian’s company undertook the idea that a halfbreed was amongst them—even though she wasn’t a halfbreed—the results would be far worse than reprimand.

  “The girl is a halfbreed?” a furious voice cut in.

  Snofrid put on her gasmask at the sound of Hessia’s voice. When she turned, the Seer was stalking toward them, dropping a half-eaten lizard to the floor. Pine needles clung to her black robe, which bared her breastplate, and rainwater crept down her bald head and ivory facial armor. Her hands were gloveless, showing her filed black fingernails. At the sight of the longsword in her hand, Snofrid groped for the pistol in her satchel.

  “The girl should be punished for coming into our presence as an abomination,” Hessia growled. “I’m a Halfbreed Hunter, Commander. Let me be the one to slit her throat.”

  Hessia looked to Hadrian for permission and Snofrid drew her pistol. In a flash, Hessia’s hands were around her neck, shooting boiling streams of paralysis through her body. Her knees buckled. She staggered, heaving wildly and clawing at her neck.

  “Release her,” Hadrian ordered. “Until my dealings with her are finalized, she’ll remain unharmed.”

  Hessia snarled. “If anyone in the Empyrean City learned that we employed a halfbreed for this mission, it might jeopardize the dignity of our mission!”

  “Dignity doesn’t concern me, only success. Now release the halfbreed, or I’ll tear out your tongue.”

  Hessia freed Snofrid with a hiss, her skin flushing like a ripening apple. Snofrid sank to her knees, gasping, and cupped the blistered ring around her throat. A tornado of rage swirled inside her, making her burn to strike back at the Seer. Lawfully, they needed proof to punish her. This was wrong. She hunched over at the compulsion to vomit.

  Hadrian stared down at Snofrid. “Stand up,” he said. “Then tell me how you knew Neko Aberthol.”

  “He was my friend,” she choked. Water leaked from her eyes as she wobbled to her feet. “I’ve known him since I was little.”

  Hadrian, seeming satisfied, stood and paced toward an arch mounted with beast sculptures. “Follow after me.”

  Snofrid had healed, but her anger still festered. She hastened in Hadrian’s wake, reluctant to be left alone with Hessia, who lurked on her flank; the curved shadows of her nails were like claws, making her appear much like a demon readying to devour her. Snofrid pressed herself to calm down. She couldn’t think clearly. A few days, she urged herself. If she could somehow withstand Hessia for a few days, she’d be so far from Hollowstone the Seer would never be able to find her.

  Tugging at her sleeves, Snofrid followed Hadrian through the arch. What she saw on the other side of the arch brought to mind an Inborn history book she’d once read and a spur of wonder eased her disquiet.

  The chamber was lofty; Inborn architecture often was. Pillars adjoined a grey stone fireplace with an ornate mantle, and crossways, three arches led out of the chamber, into sprawling passages. A peaceful pool glistened at the heart of the refectory; rainwater trickled down the walls and in rivulets along the floor before draining into the pool. Antlers dotted the furniture like thistles, stone beast heads snarled from the walls and glass lamps flickered from the ceiling.

  Ten Dracuslayers—the special forces of the Inborn Army—lolled about the chamber, chatting, working on computers, studying graphs, or spitting fruit seeds onto trays from a distance. Most were shirtless, exposing arms and chests of hard muscle and scars; the rest wore low-necked, sleeveless robes. All of them had single-strips shaved above their ears and unit-number tattoos inked on their left knuckles. When Hadrian entered, they leapt to their feet and formed two uniformed rows down the center of the chamber.

  “At ease,” Hadrian said. He rested his boot on a chair and unfastened the buckles. “A seal will form below your ankle after the Covenant is raised,” he told Snofrid. “Take off your left boot.”

  She crouched and untied her boot laces. Thankfully the seal would disappear several moments after the Covenant took effect, so she wouldn’t have to worry about hiding the mark from Desya and Lycidius. She tried to ignore the stares of the Dracuslayers as she jostled off her boot, but their looks cut into her with the power of a blade; rather than as a comrade, more than one regarded her in the same way as the slave-owners had.

  At the table, Hessia cracked open a vial and distributed pink powder evenly among thirteen goblets. The liquid inside sizzled, then bloomed into a cloud of black smoke.

  “The spell is already prepared,” she called. “Choose your glass.”

  Snofrid picked up a goblet and sniffed the beverage; it carried the aromas of wine, honey, mugwort and pimpernel.

  “The rules have been set down and agreed upon by both parties,” Hadrian briefed, swiping up a goblet. “The only additional detail is that the girl and her family will have freedom from the city as her reward.”

  The soldiers busted into riotous laughter; Hessia
threw her head back, hissing a hideous laugh. Snofrid frowned. She knew they were ridiculing her for something; she could only imagine they were getting a much larger reward.

  Hadrian continued. “The covenant will follow the standard guidelines. Whoever breaks his end of the bargain will be tortured by his worst fear. Each partaker will do his duty until the welx is destroyed.” Hadrian turned to Snofrid. “Agreed?”

  Snofrid felt the gnawing fear of last minute hesitation. She wanted to save her family, yet she was terrified of every one of these people. To be bound into a Covenant with them seemed like more of a risk than taking up guns against the Swangunners.

  He cocked his head. “Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Duty over fear.” He tipped his glass and drank. The soldiers raised their goblets, repeating the phrase “duty over fear”, while Snofrid followed with a single sip. The spell gushed down her throat, poking her innards like a thousand needles. When it reached her foot, it burned and she curled her toes. Below her ankle the flesh bubbled and swelled until a circular scar formed. Her muscles unwound as the pain faded. She glanced at Hadrian’s foot and then the other soldiers’. An identical circle branded each.

  “We have a debriefing, master,” Hessia told Hadrian, setting her goblet on the table. “Lord Alcander will contact us at 2220 hours.”

  “Assemble in the briefing hall.”

  Snofrid waited until the Dracuslayers had funneled from the room before catching up to Hadrian in the atrium. “You told me you’d show me a way out of the city. Where?”

  “In the sky.” His cassock swished as he faced her. “The Lords know Neko Aberthol was killed in the city square. They’re sending a Sky-Legion to bring down the shield and execute Chancellor Leathertongue.”

  Her feet cemented to the floor as she abruptly realized why the soldiers had mocked her. Cobwebs of restraint blew from her body, making her words emerge crisply and harsh. “Then my family and I would have been free without your help.”

  “Yes,” he admitted, his tone remorseless. “But your capacity to be manipulated is a fault of your failure to ask questions.”

  “You’re a cheat!”

  “No. I merely identified your naïveté as a weakness and used it against you. To do so isn’t cheating. It’s strategy.”

  She steeled her anger this time. Of course he’d tricked her, just like the trafficking ring had tricked her in Gehenna. She could have requested the restoration of her and Desya’s honor as payment, but that window had closed and it was her fault. Having no memories did make her naïve. She wouldn’t be so trusting any longer.

  “Why is the Sky-Legion coming to avenge Neko Aberthol?” she asked quietly. “Was he someone important?”

  “He was one of the Crowning Five.”

  Her mouth parted in disbelief, but he didn’t appear to be lying. The Crowning Five were the Inborn heroes who’d made the crossing from Armador possible.

  “You know little of our history,” Hadrian observed, “and even less about your friends.”

  “When will the Sky-Legion arrive?”

  “After the welx is destroyed.”

  “That’s over two weeks away,” she protested.

  “You weren’t planning to leave before then, were you?”

  “No, of course not. But thousands of us could be dead in two weeks.”

  “Millions more will be destroyed before the war ends,” he guaranteed. “The shield won’t fall until the welx is destroyed. It works for us: it confines the beast.”

  She studied his face; it was dark, like a moonless night. Clearly this mission was far more urgent than she’d been led to believe, for its outcome wouldn’t only determine the fate of Desya, Lycidius and Jazara, but of all the Inborns captive in Hollowstone.

  The Demented Scholar

  You’re alive,” Jazara chirped when Snofrid emerged from the bathroom the next morning. The girl wriggled from her blankets, stuffed giraffe in hand, and bounced off the bed. “I would’ve stayed up, but after you sent me words, I got tired.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Snofrid gave an encouraging smile, and traded her toilet slippers for a pair of leather house slippers. “Did Dez or Lycidius come in here?”

  “Lycidius stuck his nose in twice and I told him you were on the potty.”

  “Both times?”

  “Uh…” Jazara twirled her finger in a ringlet. “Yeah.”

  “Well, as long as he wasn’t suspicious,” she put in, though she was sure he’d been suspicious. “Thanks, Jazara.”

  “Easy peasy.” The girl rummaged through her suitcases until she’d found a green corduroy jumper. “I packed five green outfits, but you got to help me pick the best one.”

  “Sure, let’s have a look.” Snofrid knelt beside the suitcase. “Why green?”

  “For Neko’s Venethereal. Green’s the Necromancer color if you don’t remember. Dez told me people are gonna come this morning and celebrate his life.”

  Snofrid looked at the door; she’d just noticed the echo of clinking glasses and droning voices in the kitchen. “It sounds like a lot of people came.”

  Jazara nodded slowly. “Neko was grumpy all the time, but he was never mean to people who didn’t deserve it.” She chose a jade-green dress with ruffles from the stack of clothes. “I’ll wear this one,” she sniffed, “cause it l-looks like his h-hair.”

  Snofrid wrapped her into a hug. “Neko didn’t die for nothing. He’s saving a lot of people.”

  Jazara’s eyebrows quirked into a frown. “W-what do you mean?”

  “I mean we’re not going to die in this quarantine.”

  A shrill ringtone warbled from the corner, halting her train of thought. She cast a dreaded look at her satchel; the unfamiliar ringtone meant that Hadrian was calling.

  “I’m sorry, Jazara, I have to get this,” she scurried to answer the phone. After digging it from her satchel, she slipped into the bathroom. “Hello?”

  “You’re local, halfbreed, so you should know the Alley-Out-of-the-Way.” It was Hessia. Her tone was cutting. “Where is it located?”

  Snofrid wished she’d use her tactical resources to locate the hidden Inborn shopping village instead of bothering her. But maybe bothering her was the point. “It’s in Toddy Common.”

  “Where in Toddy Common?”

  “In a gastropub called the Red Oxygen Bar. Go to the attic. An attendant will show you the hidden entrance from there.”

  Hessia purred something to someone in the background. “My master has sent you files on the Dracuslayers you’ll be working with,” she continued. “Memorize their proper titles and ranks before your first briefing. It will be on Thursday at 1900 hours.”

  The call ended.

  Snofrid wedged the phone into her pocket, jangling the keychain. The Seer would have to put in a little bit more effort if she wanted to rattle her.

  “I’m gonna go eat food,” Jazara said, peeking through the door. Her tears had dried, but her eyelids were veiny and enflamed. “I’ll save you some umeboshi.”

  “Before you go, can I ask one more favor?”

  “You don’t remember people and want me to be your whisperer?” Jazara guessed.

  “Wow.” Snofrid wondered if her thoughts were written in her eyes.

  “I’ll be your whisperer if we sit by Dez.”

  “Deal.”

  “Awesome. I’ll be waiting with the umeboshi.”

  Once Jazara had gone, Snofrid put on the only green-patterned dress she owned and then gazed out the window of her loft. All the rooms were bursting at the seams with guests, most of whom she didn’t recognize. The sight was a bit overwhelming, and she had to walk off her nerves before joining the Venethereal.

  Downstairs, the elderly reclined on couches before the fireplace, swirling their wineglasses and gabbing in melancholy tones. Tiny children darted about, flinging seaweed at Threearms and slapping one another with the cushions; the robot twirled from one end of the room to the other, offering ci
der, wine, Sake and whiskey to the guests; occasionally, it took a low bow if it was thanked.

  Snofrid spotted Desya standing beside Jazara at the irori hearth, a bottle of Sake in hand. He was cooking cream stew over the fire, while chatting with a group of people, who, by their haircuts, appeared to also be bluecoats.

  She made a beeline for him until an impatient voice called, “Snofrid!” Following the voice, she locked eyes with a rosy-cheeked girl as she broke from a group of somber-faced teenagers. She moved with intent, in a floral-patterned dress that bared her freckled arms. She wore her brunette hair in a fringe.

  “That’s Caviah,” Jazara whispered, suddenly at Snofrid’s side. “She’s a vegan. She has a lot of friends and her dad’s a vestment banker.”

  “Thanks,” Snofrid said, assuming she’d meant ‘investment banker’. “I thought I was going to have to do the slip.”

  “Easy peasy.” Jazara planted her hands on her hips. “But I’ll be real. Caviah likes you, but even more than that, she wants to kiss Lycidius.”

  “Where’s Cid?” Caviah asked Snofrid, her nose flaring in frustration. “He’s not in the garage or the washitsu. Did he leave, or something?”

  “I don’t know,” Snofrid answered.

  Caviah rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Seriously, Snofrid, you’re never a help.” She grabbed a glass of wine from Threearms and rejoined her group.

  Snofrid felt certain that Caviah had never been her friend. She did a detailed sweep of the room but couldn’t find Lycidius amidst the commotion. She felt his absence potently, as if all the sunshine had been sapped from the room.

  Snofrid mingled with the crowd. Jazara whispered the names of numerous other guests before she was confident enough to go her own way. There was Marcus Hobb, a friendly Hematic who day-lighted as a fireman while covertly working with Desya in the Hematic Cell; there was Elko Deventer, a Skinwalker conartist, who sold bogus jewels to humans—and loads more.

  Snofrid finally reached Desya at the irori, Jazara skipping at her side. The girl hopped onto a chair and made different-shaped ears above his head with her fingers. Snofrid squeezed into an open space at his side.