Fury of a Demon

by Brian Naslund

  “Take it,” Caellan said, holding it out.

  Vera hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  “There was no point in me toiling away for all those hours if you get stomped to mush by Osyrus Ward’s creature. Take it.”

  Vera ran her hand down one of the feathers. Felt the barbs.

  “You and I are of a similar size, which is lucky,” said Caellan. “Try it on.”

  The cloak seemed to automatically attach to the places where it met Vera’s bare skin—at wrists and along her neckline—tightening to her body with a strange tug that felt both natural and wildly foreign at the same time.

  Caellan gave her a long once-over. “It suits you, I think.”

  “How does it work?”

  “The barbs will open if you clench your muscles twice in quick succession.”

  Vera backed up. Tried it with her left forearm. The feathers prickled. Barbs extending like a cat’s claw.

  “I removed the paralysis venom from the barbs,” Caellan said. “Replaced it with the most destructive mixture that I have ever brewed. Funny, how easy it is to take a lifetime’s knowledge of healing, then twist it backward upon itself. Long ago, I designed it specifically for Osyrus Ward’s veins, should he have ever found me. I suppose I should have been more proactive. Maybe none of this would have happened.”

  “I have my share of regrets, too.” Vera put a hand on Caellan’s shoulder. “But once I get Kira to safety, I will kill Osyrus Ward. I promise.”

  Caellan nodded. She ran a hand down one of the cloak’s feathers. “There is one more aspect of this garment that you should know about. I’ve been too old to take advantage of it for quite some time, but the way those gassy Balarians talked about your propensity to jump off skyships, I think that you might find it particularly useful.”

  “What is it?”

  “When Osyrus gave me this cloak, he didn’t make it from scratch. He retrofitted an existing prototype in which he was pursuing a different goal.”

  “What goal?”

  Caellan smiled. “Flight.”

  73

  BERSHAD

  Dainwood Jungle, Southern Bank of the Gorgon

  After leaving Deepdale, Bershad and Felgor went to Dampmire, where they found Kerrigan. She told them where Ashlyn had gone, and what she was planning to do when she got there.

  Bershad and Felgor headed for the Gorgon.

  Bershad’s feet started getting torn up during the journey. He tried smearing dabs of moss into the wounds, but it was no good. The injection back at Deepdale had taken away his ability to heal. There was nothing to be done but wrap his feet in strips of cloth and keep moving.

  He also didn’t have the Nomad to help him locate the Jaguar Army, but he didn’t need her. Once they were within a few hundred paces of the river, there were bootprints and sign everywhere. Bershad slowed down. Motioned for Felgor to stay behind him and stay quiet. Then he started creeping through the ferns. He was stopped when he heard two wardens talking.

  “Why are you always putting coffee beans in your totems, Sem? Use steel like a normal person.”

  “Steel’s never brought anything but trouble into my life,” Sem responded. “Coffee is delicious and never hurt anyone.”

  “I dunno, didn’t Elden Grealor go to war with Cedar Wallace over coffee plantations a few years back?” said a third man.

  “Look, assholes. All I’m saying is that if there were forest gods protecting the Dainwood—which there ain’t, ’cause one look at the state of our fucking forest proves that, but if there were—their divine wings and haunches would be dusted with rich dark coffee grounds because coffee is the only good and pure thing left in this mess of a world, and I think they’d appreciate me making totems in their likeness.”

  There was a silence.

  “Did you just make that up?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “It was beautiful.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Seriously. We manage to avoid getting torn apart by dragons or grayskins you should become a poet. Specialize in coffee limericks or something.”

  Bershad stood up and walked out of the undergrowth. “Evening.”

  There were five wardens gathered in a circle, each man with a handful of mud and chain mail links for their mud totems. Except Sem, who had a handful of coffee beans.

  Those chain mail links and coffee got dropped in a big hurry. Weapons were grabbed and raised. Then lowered again when they saw who it was.

  “Lord Bershad,” said Sem. “You’re back. How was—”

  “Where’s Ashlyn?” Bershad pressed.

  The wardens all looked at each other. “Best you hear it from Willem. C’mon. I’ll take you to him.”

  * * *

  “You let her and Jolan take a fucking donkey cart to the Gorgon Bridge?” Bershad hissed.

  “She’s the queen of Almira,” said Willem. “I don’t have purview over her decisions.”

  “You could have talked her out of it.”

  “Not true. And even if I could have, it’s not like we’re swimming in other options here, Silas. If she can pull this off, it’s our best chance. Shit. It’s our only chance.”

  Bershad just shook his head, trying to think. He wished that he was still connected to the Nomad. She could fly ahead and find her.

  “Look, this whole thing is supposed to get started tomorrow morning,” Willem said. “Wait here and cross with us. If this works out, you’ll meet her at the Foxpaw river with the rest of us.”

  “No. I’m going after her now.”

  “She’s got a two-day head start. You’ll never catch her on foot.”

  “Not going on foot.” He started walking toward the river. “Need one of your rafts.”

  “Wait,” Willem said, following him. “You take a raft down the Gorgon now, you’ll get spotted by a patrol and blown to pieces. Maybe you can survive that, but I don’t like the odds.”

  “Silas actually kinda lost the whole healing from moss thing at Deepdale,” Felgor said.

  “Really?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m going.” He looked west. “Sun’s almost down. I’ll go at dark when the skyships can’t see me.”

  “You try to ride the Gorgon in the dark, you’re gonna get eaten by a River Lurker.”

  “Don’t care.”

  Willem cursed. “At least let me spend the time between now and nightfall trying to talk some sense into you.”

  * * *

  Willem tried. Didn’t do any good. As soon as the last wisps of sunset were gone, Bershad hauled the raft out of the canopy and headed to the water. Felgor picked up an oar and followed him.

  “Felgor, you’re not—”

  “Close your mouth, Silas. You want a chance at making it down this river at night, you need another oar. So it’s you and me on this. One last time.”

  Bershad looked into Felgor’s eyes. Saw that he wasn’t going to change his mind, either.

  “All right, Felgor. One last time.”

  They were just about to shove off when the rattle and clank of Simeon’s armor came down from the canopy.

  “You gonna try and come, too?” Bershad asked.

  “Fuck no. I’d sink that little thing. They’re still building one big enough for me.”

  “What do you want, then?”

  Simeon held out the shield and the spear.

  “Thinking you might need these more than me, where you’re headed.”

  Bershad took them. “Appreciated.”

  Then he shoved the raft into the dark water and started rowing.

  74

  VERA

  Almira, Atlas Coast

  Vera watched from the edge of the pine forest as Decimar and Entras made their way to her on horseback. The Blue Sparrow was hidden in the trees behind her, invisible from the sky or surrounding valley.

  Decimar and Entras dismounted as soon as they were past the tree line.

  “Get the mounts water,” he said to one of his men. “Damn n
ear killed ’em riding back from Floodhaven.”

  “You have news?” Vera asked.

  Her face was too recognizable in the capital for her to return. But Decimar and Entras were just two Balarian officers in an occupied city.

  “Seems we’ve missed quite the commotion. Vallen Vergun and Wormwrot got themselves ambushed by the Jaguars, but the story going around is that Silas Bershad, the Skojit, and Ashlyn Malgrave herself were all there. They tore Wormwrot a new one, but also managed to kidnap a living acolyte.”

  “That’s bad?”

  “Seems to be. Osyrus Ward’s pulled most skyships back from the outer territories and has them patrolling every inch of the Dainwood’s border. Apparently, they’re expecting some kind of attack.”

  “Interesting,” said Vera.

  “There’s something else,” Decimar said. “Involves your old friend, Silas Bershad.”

  “What?”

  “After the goatfuck by the warren, Vallen Vergun took the loss a little personally, because he flew into Deepdale with a crew of Wormwrot men and sacked the city.”

  “Deepdale? He got past the Blackjacks?”

  “Used the same kind of beacon we did, although his wasn’t a total piece of shit. But that isn’t the craziest part. Bershad actually came back. Alone. And he unsacked the city in a hurry. Rumor is Vergun’s either dead or turned into a grayskin himself.”

  Vera chewed on that. Hard to say whether it impacted their plans one way or another. “Between that vicious bastard being dead or turned grayskin, you have to hope he’s dead.”

  “Agreed.” Decimar looked back over the valley. “Not sure where this leaves us in terms of getting Kira out of the city. Only reason we got this far without trouble is because Ward has all his eyes on the Dainwood. But if we try to drop you into Floodhaven like last time, we’re gonna get spotted on the first pass, and destroyed when we come back through to retrieve you.”

  “There’s only going to be one pass,” said Vera. “On the pickup.”

  “How’s that going to work?”

  “You’re going to drop me off from above. Very high above.”

  “You’re really gonna trust your life on some feathered cloak?”

  “I’ve been testing it while I waited for you.” Vera motioned to the tall pines behind her. “It works.”

  “Swooping off a pine tree and jumping off a skyship that’s half a league up in the air are two different things.”

  “Don’t forget the narrow window that I need to slip through on my way down.”

  Decimar just shook his head. “Crazy fucking Papyrians.”

  He squinted at the sky.

  “Clouds are coming in. If you really wanna do this, tonight is the night.”

  Vera nodded. “Agreed.”

  * * *

  The air above Floodhaven was cool. The wind almost nonexistent. That was good, because despite Vera’s outward confidence to Decimar, she was nowhere near sure this was going to work. The fewer variables the better, since any one of them could kill her.

  “Well, we’re just about here,” Entras called, working the pedals and lulling the Sparrow into a fixed position. He kept his hands on the controls, making small adjustments to their levitation mixture levels to keep them still. “Doesn’t seem like anyone’s spotted us.”

  Vera examined the old acolyte’s mask in her hands. Decimar had found it in one of the lower holds of the ship and cut it to fit her. He’d also reinforced the skullcap with an extra layer of steel, per Vera’s instructions. She pulled it over her head and tightened the straps. The mask smelled of leather and chemicals and made it difficult to breathe, but something with the tinted glass actually made it easier to see at night. Any scrap of light was amplified, and any structure or building was alight with a golden glow around the edges.

  As much as she hated Osyrus Ward, there was no denying that some of his inventions were useful.

  Vera hopped onto the gunwale and looked down, scanning the clouds below. Between the little breaks she could make out the winking, white-blue lanterns that illuminated the four towers of Castle Malgrave. They were almost directly underneath her.

  “By Aeternita, even looking at you on that ledge makes my stomach turn,” said Decimar.

  “C’mon, Decimar. What kind of a skyship captain gets queasy from heights?” Vera asked as she fastened the cloak to specific points on her wrists and ankles.

  “Last I checked, I was still a lieutenant. We’re afforded sensitive stomachs.”

  She looked at him. “Consider yourself promoted, then. Captain Decimar.”

  Decimar sucked on his teeth, then consulted the watch on his bracer. “How long do you need?”

  “Come through at four o’clock. We’ll still have the advantage of darkness.”

  “By your orders.”

  She gave him one last look. “If I’m not there … don’t let Osyrus Ward have this skyship back. Become a pirate or something. The first skyship pirate of Terra. Suits you.”

  Before Decimar could respond, Vera jumped off the gunwale.

  For the first three seconds, she kept her arms flat against her thighs. Legs together. Body gaining momentum and speed as it plummeted toward the earth.

  She pierced the clouds. Castle Malgrave came into view. Vera spread her arms and legs apart.

  Since the cloak was latched to her wrists and ankles, that created two big pockets that trapped the wind and slowed her descent so that she was able to tilt her body and start spiraling downward rather than falling, moving the way a hawk rides a thermal into the sky, but reversed.

  Vera focused on the King’s Tower. Located the tall, narrow window that marked the entrance to Kira’s chamber. Focused on it as she spiraled around the tower. Once she was closer, she got a short glimpse of the giant acolyte standing in front of Kira’s dome.

  Right where I left you.

  Vera wrapped around the tower one final time. When the window came back into view, Vera snapped her arms and legs together, which turned her into a human arrow.

  She crashed through the window headfirst, using the acolyte mask as a battering ram. There was a shock of impact and a wrench in her neck, then she was through the gap. Vera spread her arms and legs again, slowing her descent enough so she landed on the hulking acolyte’s back instead of splattering herself across the ground.

  The acolyte grunted. Reached up to pluck her off his back as if she was an annoying mosquito. But Vera tightened every muscle in her body twice, causing the poisoned barbs in every feather of her cloak to straighten and sink deep into his gray flesh.

  The acolyte’s skin swelled around each barb—boils rising like bubbles from a thick soup. His arms tensed, fingers splayed out wide.

  “Intruder,” it rasped. “Intrud … intr … in.”

  His entire body began to convulse. Fingers doubled back on themselves like peeled plantains. His face started to swell and bloat.

  He screamed. His spine arched and his belly and chest burst open. A wet bundle of metal parts dumped onto the floor. Some of the gears and levers were still working—rotating the broken pieces in jerky, incomplete circles.

  Vera climbed off his corpse. Pulled off her acolyte mask and took a deep breath in, only to find the air reeked of rot and bile and acid stink. She managed not to vomit, but just barely.

  Vera took out her seal. Said a silent prayer that Osyrus hadn’t changed the codes. She slipped it into its corresponding slot, which prompted the now familiar series of clicks and snaps and unlocking metal pins. The thick metal door released from its lock and opened. A cloud of humid, jungle-thick air poured from the opening.

  Vera went inside.

  In the time that she’d been gone, Osyrus Ward had added significantly more machinery to the room. Everything was out in the open, siphoning Kira’s blood from her body and running it through a series of vats and spinning centrifuges that led into the ceiling.

  Vera removed a glove. Put a hand on Kira’s cheek.

  Her skin
was still clammy and cold. A dirty yellow film crusted the edge of her eyes, since nobody had been around to clean her up. That gave Vera a swelling storm of anger in her chest and stomach. Made her want to run the halls, turning the rest of Osyrus Ward’s creatures to rotting heaps.

  Instead, she removed the three vials of liquid from behind her breastplate and rolled Kira on her side. There were fresh scars over both of her kidneys. Some kind of surgery had been done.

  “Black skies,” Vera muttered.

  She shook her anger away. Took a breath. Then she injected each vial of tonic into the place Caellan had specified along her spine.

  Nothing happened for a minute. Then two. Then three.

  “Come on, Ki,” she whispered. “You can do this.”

  Four minutes. Nothing.

  “Please, Kira. You have to wake up. Please.”

  She kept counting the seconds on her wrist bracer. Lost track of them somewhere around six hundred.

  Then Kira’s turquoise eyes shot open, wide with panic. Her back arched. Toes curled.

  “Stay calm!” Vera said, relief washing over her. “I’m going to take you off the machine.”

  Vera unhooked the hoses from Kira’s chest, then she pulled out the metal ports. Watched as the wounds healed seconds later, leaving nothing but a small scar against her skin.

  Vera helped her sit up. Kira took a slow, long breath.

  “Vera,” she said. “You took a bath.”

  Vera couldn’t help but smile. “How do your legs feel?”

  Kira wiggled her toes. “Weak. But they work.” She shivered. “I’m cold.”

  Vera had expected that, seeing as the bandages Ward gave her barely covered her nakedness. She pulled a cotton shift from inside her cloak and helped Kira put it on.

  “I’m getting us out of here. Decimar is going to pick us up in the Blue Sparrow, but nobody can see us leave. Understand?”

  Kira nodded. “Yes.”

  * * *