Riders

by Veronica Rossi

Oh, shit.

  My hand.

  “Hand? Where’s my hand?”

  Texas glances at the floor. He tries to tell me something but it comes out as a burbling noise, then wet coughing, then he bends over and spits.

  We’re making such a bloody mess. I hope I don’t have to clean this up later.

  He straightens and tries to talk again, but it’s no better than last time and I can’t stop asking him where my hand is.

  Where is it, where is it, where is it.

  Worthless question but I can’t stop asking.

  It still feels like it’s part of me, only that I can’t see it.

  Between my question loop and Texas’s wheezing, I hear something else. There’s gunfire now. Outside this room. All over the cabin. Rounds are flying fast and furious.

  Wood-paneled walls are shattering and windows are shattering. Tremors vibrate into the soles of my boots—the seismic ripple of the activity right outside this room. The jig is up. Everybody’s in the fight now.

  Texas runs a sleeve over his chin, like, Okay. Enough of all this chatter. Time to get down to work. He kneels by the chair and pulls a flex tie from his pocket. He wraps it above my missing hand and ties it off, making a tourniquet.

  “Southpaw?” Texas rasps.

  Am I a southpaw. He’s been trying to talk for a full minute and this is what he wants to know. If I’m left-handed.

  I want to answer him, but I also want to howl until my throat turns inside out. I want to know if Daryn knew. I’m so sorry, she’d said on our last night in the hut as she’d squeezed my hand. Did she know? What I want more than anything is to get out of this chair and pick my hand up off the floor. But I just nod and say, “Yes. Lefty.”

  “Righty now, kid,” Texas says in his drowning voice.

  Righty now. I nod. Okay. Okay. But it can’t be that easy.

  Then my eyes pull past him, to the door.

  To Marcus, who explodes into the room.

  CHAPTER 56

  When Marcus sees what’s happened to me, he loses his mind. He instantly starts yelling and swearing. Calling for help. Cursing the Kindred. More out of control than I’ve ever seen him.

  It legitimately moves me. I have to put my head down because it’s the nicest thing he’s ever done for me, hands down.

  Hand down.

  My hand is still down on the floor somewhere.

  Marcus’s cuff is still on his wrist, which means we still have a chance. As long as we keep one, we still have a chance.

  People stream into the room behind him. One is a stocky man wearing a black beanie. He picks up my hand, takes a quick look at it, then gives it to a red-haired guy about my age and barks some orders. The red-haired guy listens, nods, listens, nods; then he flees the room like a thief.

  Black Beanie kneels beside me and opens a medical kit. He sprays something where my hand used to be, telling me that it’s under control, don’t rule anything out, reattachment is still a possibility.

  I don’t say anything but I’m not so sure, given the way I heal. The bleeding’s already slowing. My nerve endings and muscular tissue may have already decided to move on, without my hand. Even the pain is lessening. Something’s kicking in. Adrenaline or some internal defense mechanism has kicked in. I’m getting less shaky. Things are making more sense.

  As my arm is being wrapped in gauze, Texas is helped out of the room. Malaphar’s body is removed. The desk and chair where Cordero sat go next but I’m not clear on the urgency there. Is there some kind of office emergency?

  Then Beretta comes back in. He tips his head, giving me a look like, We pulled it off, kid, it could’ve been worse.

  Some part of me had begun to accept that he hadn’t survived, and the relief of seeing him is intense. He doesn’t look at the stump that’s part of me now, which makes the vote unanimous: he’s a human being of quality.

  The bandage is tied off and it helps. It makes the end of my arm look better. Tidier.

  I pull myself to my feet. I want to throw the chair against the wall, demolish it, but instead I wait for the room to finish taking a spin around me.

  There are seven, eight people in here now. Wedged in this small room. Standing on human and demon blood. They’re all Army. Strapped down with rifles. Pistols. Radios. Everyone is talking and listening at the same time.

  “Where is he?” I ask Marcus. “Where’s Samrael?”

  “Outside, with the rest,” he says. “Daryn, Jode, and Bastian are out there.”

  Information flows around me. The Kindred are digging in. Fighting for the other cuffs, of course. They won’t leave until they have them all.

  A man steps forward and regards me with a penetrating look. I remember myself and salute, fighting through another round of dizziness.

  “At ease, soldier,” he says.

  At ease. It seems like an impossible thing to be.

  Major Robertson’s decorated, has the look of someone who’s seen his share of combat. Nothing like this, I’m sure. But even this he seems to take in stride.

  “Malaphar fooled us all,” he says to me. His eyes move to Beretta. “We had no idea until Sergeant Suarez told us.”

  Suarez—that’s Beretta’s name.

  “We’ll have air support in twenty minutes, sir,” Suarez says.

  “Seventeen,” amends a guy wearing an earpiece.

  Marcus and I look at each other. What kind of damage can Ra’om, Samrael, Ronwae, and Bay do in that amount of time?

  The answer is: Too much.

  “Ready?” Marcus asks me.

  “Yes.” I’m ready to fight. But I didn’t just lose my hand—I lost the cuff. I don’t know if I still have my sword, my armor, or Riot.

  I don’t know if I’m still War.

  CHAPTER 57

  Outside, a battle is raging.

  I pause on the front steps with Marcus and adjust to the scene. Our cabin is one of a dozen on the edge of a wide field where the fight is occurring. Dense woods surround the field, tall pine trees that rise like black spires. Gray clouds hover around the granite peaks of the jagged mountains in the distance. Snow patches spill like paint over the steep slopes. The terrain reminds me of Jotunheimen—if Jotunheimen were dropped and shattered.

  “Wyoming,” Marcus says, sensing my disorientation. A familiar flurry of ash circles ahead of us, and then Marcus is running. He meets Ruin as she forms and gallops into the fray.

  Across the field, I see Jode and Lucent—a bright pair in the twilight. Jode is firing arrows at Bay’s monsters and Ronwae’s scorpions—a sight I saw constantly on our bluff—then my eyes pull to the black horse and rider. Sebastian is here. Bas, who was missing before. He’s here. And fighting. But he has no choice. One of the cuffs is on his wrist.

  I don’t see Samrael, but Ra’om is flying over everything—a massive dark shadow wheeling against the steel clouds.

  And there’s another addition to this fight. The US military force on hand isn’t significant in number, fifteen to twenty men, but they’ve dug into covered positions around the cabins and Humvees along the road, and they’re laying down some serious brass. My ears fill with the steady chug of M249 SAWs and the staccato pop of M4s. Never have I heard a more welcome racket. I see that Bay’s monsters are falling, but it takes a hail of firepower to break down the scorpions’ shells. My sword pierces their armor with much less effort.

  Then I see Daryn.

  She stands with a cluster of soldiers behind a Humvee. Her calf is wrapped with gauze. Our gallop from the burning bluff feels like it happened a hundred years ago, but has it even been a day?

  She sees me. She breaks away and comes running. Then she’s flying into my arms. As I wrap them around her what I feel is a plummet from incredible to incomplete.

  I don’t know where I end anymore.

  I don’t know how I still feel my hand, but not her.

  “Gideon.” She steps back, and her gaze drops to the bandage on the end of my arm. Her eyes go wide and she freezes�
��but I don’t.

  I take off, summoning Riot on the run.

  He comes up with a concentrated, furious burst of fire.

  I still have him.

  I fold in, and he sweeps me up. As we rise into the sky, it strikes me that Riot has become a bigger part of me than my hand, and I thank God he’s still with me. I don’t know what would’ve happened if I’d lost him.

  Bonded as fire, we’re something better than alive. In moments, I feel healed. Whole. There’s no pain anymore, no shame. I shed all of it. Then I feel Riot’s anger and his fear. He knows what’s happened. I feel him clinging to me as we soar down to the field. I try to shift, but Riot wants to keep me as fire. We’re untouchable like this. We can’t be harmed. But to fight I have to become human. Vulnerable and dangerous. I push and Riot understands. He finally relents and we lock in. Horse and rider, formed again.

  As we charge into the field, I loop the reins over my stump twice, ignoring the pain, fighting against it. Then I summon my sword.

  It materializes in my right hand.

  Righty now, kid.

  Hopefully the reins will stay on my arm, and I can fight like this.

  Marcus and Ruin fall in beside us, and together we make for Bay. With her monsters and Ronwae’s scorpions flanking her, she’s making a push toward Jode. He could shift and soar away with Lucent, but the demons have found a weakness. They’re directing their attacks on the people by the cabins. Jode, who wields the bow’s matchless range and power, is policing the entire battlefield. Marcus glances at me as we gallop closer. He knows it, too. If we lose Jode, we lose everything.

  Reaching one of the beasts, I plunge my blade into the hump on its back. I swing again, inflicting a grazing blow on another, and Marcus is there to finish it with the scythe. We move through the clearing in tune, lethal as we fight. Marcus moves toward Jode, but I work toward Bay. By taking her down, I hope it’ll call off the rest of her beasts, or at least stop the creation of more. It’s our best shot. We can’t beat an enemy that keeps regenerating in number.

  The fog of battle settles over me, and I become instinct, reflex, reaction. The moments blur until one of Bay’s beasts comes bounding at me from the left. Then it hits me—I can’t parry or block to my left. I have a weak side now.

  “Gideon!” Marcus yells.

  Time slows as I recognize that it’s Bay—and that she’s coming with every bit of speed and power she possesses. She leaps, fangs bared, her claws slashing. I call to Riot urgently—to fire.

  I’m too late and she slams into me. My left arm wrenches against the reins. I rock back, but I don’t fall from the saddle. Bay tumbles off me as Riot kicks, but she isn’t giving up. She slashes with long claws, tearing at Riot’s hindquarters.

  Riot roars. He goes ballistic beneath me, his body lighting up with flame. I try to send him all the way to fire, but he’s seized by terror. He doesn’t listen, and Bay won’t let him go. She rips my horse’s thigh open again as he kicks and bites. I feel him buckle beneath me, his legs giving out. I swing at Bay, but I can’t turn enough to reach her. I need the sword in my left hand, but that hand is gone.

  I’m about to launch myself onto her when I hear my name shouted.

  Across the clearing, Sebastian’s seen Riot and me in trouble. Shadow is in a gallop as Bas spins the scales above his head. He launches them. They fly true, whirling, trailing smoke, and nail their target.

  Bay topples to the dirt, kicking and thrashing, the scales looping around her neck. She reaches for them in panic, pawing with her claws, but the scales have twisted and locked.

  Released from Bay’s claws, Riot leaps away. He accelerates in powerful thrusts, mindless and wild from the attack. I slip my arm from the twisted reins and throw myself off the saddle. I land, stumbling, staggering, my balance off, my arm flaring with an ache that wants to consume me. I taste blood on my tongue as I push against it. Finding my forting, I walk to Bay.

  She’s still writhing on her back as I reach her, but she’s hooked one of her claws under the chain. In seconds she’ll untangle them.

  She won’t get the chance.

  I toss my sword up to reverse my grip. Frenzied howls break out around me, and her beasts look to me with their soulless eyes. They already know it’s over. I bring my sword down and plunge it into her heart.

  Bay shudders and stills, her eyes going flat. Her monsters fall to the earth and scream like their hearts have been skewered, too. In seconds, they’re all silent.

  That’s four. Four plus one horde.

  We’re at better than fifty percent, but it doesn’t feel like it.

  Samrael should count for extra. Ronwae, too.

  Ra’om, too. Dragons should count for double.

  I look up. Soaring above, Ra’om spews a furious burst of fire. I know he’s seen Bay fall.

  Kneeling, I unfasten Bastian’s weapon from Bay’s thick neck. Try to. Harder with one hand. I twist and untwist the links of the scales, trying to get five fingers to do the work of ten. How many things will be harder now? Not the time to think about this.

  As I try to unlock the scales again, I sense a shift in the battle’s quality. It’s quieter without the snarl of the grizzly beasts. And there’s no more gunfire. The Army force is out of ammunition. Not a surprise. They couldn’t have anticipated a battle against demon hordes in Wyoming.

  I’m not mounted, and it’s made me vulnerable to the scorpions. Marcus and Jode converge on me. I reach down and tug on the chain again, to free the scales. Bastian needs his weapon. They untwist, and I pull hard. They finally slide from beneath Bay’s head, but instead of relief, dread hits me.

  If Sebastian needs his weapon, he can just call it back.

  Why hasn’t he?

  As I lift my gaze and look for him, I see Shadow first, halfway across the field.

  She’s rearing and shrieking as several scorpions keep her from reaching Sebastian—Bas, who is on his back, pinned beneath one of Ronwae’s massive claws. Bas is completely immobilized. Even if he called his scales, he couldn’t use them.

  Samrael stands over him, watching me like he’s been waiting.

  Stillness descends over everything. My vision tunnels. Everything fades except that point in the field: Ronwae pinning Bas. Samrael watching me.

  They are a hundred paces away, but every detail is clear. Every sound. The strain on Sebastian’s face at the pressure of the scorpion’s claw. Samrael’s satisfied smile. The quiet rattle of Ronwae’s stinger.

  I sense Jode and Marcus dismount and join me.

  And Daryn. Daryn comes to my side, her gaze fixed on Sebastian.

  Ronwae’s multitudes draw around us, keeping us from moving.

  None of us is moving.

  Only Ra’om moves—a shadow drifting in the sky above.

  Samrael lifts my cuff in the air. “I need the other three, Daryn,” he says. His voice is ruthless. “Unlock them and bring them to me. Or I’ll continue to remove them myself.”

  “No.” Daryn shakes her head. “And they won’t help you, Samrael. Even if I brought them to you.”

  “Will you help me?” he asks.

  Daryn doesn’t answer.

  “I think you will,” Samrael says. He turns to Ronwae, and motions with his hand. “Go ahead.”

  The scorpion’s claw moves away from Sebastian, and then the stinger whips down. It strikes Sebastian on the chest. It stays there as the tail muscles flex, and I can almost see the venom moving into him. Then the stinger goes up and Bas sags against the ground.

  Daryn is screaming. We’re all yelling. Jode is the only one still in his right mind. He steps in front of us and holds us back. We can’t stop this. It already happened. We can’t stop it.

  Then I hear Daryn speak words I never thought she’d say.

  “I’ll do it!” she yells. “I’ll give them you!”

  Samrael smiles. “I thought so.” On the ground by his feet, Bas is gasping for breath. “Better hurry.”

  As Daryn co
mes to stand in front of Marcus, thoughts crash through my mind.

  What are we doing?

  How can we do this?

  How can we not?

  “Give me your arm,” Daryn says. Her eyes are distant. She’s somewhere else. She’s trying to get through a situation where every possible outcome is terrible.

  Marcus’s face is tight with anger as he extends his arm.

  Daryn reaches out and frames the cuff with her hands. Her eyes drift almost closed. Soft, warm light builds within her palms. Gold, like her. And the cuff around Marcus’s wrist loosens. It dissolves into pale ashes. Into a small tornado, circling Marcus’s arm.

  There is no wonder or awe on Daryn’s face as she steps back, the ashes moving with her. Only focus. A focus that’s beyond. She brings her hands together and the ashes consolidate, until Marcus’s cuff is re-formed and pressed between her palms. She slips it over her wrist. Then she moves to Jode and begins again.

  Under her guidance, her control, his cuff becomes a brilliant circle of light, and then transforms back into the cuff, resting in the palm of her hand.

  I don’t feel surprise as I watch her. The barriers of what’s possible broke down when I first folded in with Riot. And I always knew there was something more to her. The feeling that’s building inside me is dread.

  I’m so sorry.

  What did she mean? What does she know?

  Daryn slips Jode’s cuff over her wrist. It rests next to Marcus’s.

  Only Sebastian’s cuff is left now.

  She glances at me, and walks away. As she strides to Sebastian and Samrael, I tell myself it wasn’t good-bye I just saw in her eyes.

  She reaches them and kneels at Bas’s side. Ronwae has backed off. There’s no need to restrain Bas anymore. Even from where I stand, I can see that he’s starting to convulse from the poison.

  Daryn runs her hands over his forehead and it seems to steady him. Samrael stands close as she takes Bas’s cuff, but his eyes are on me. He knows what it does to me, seeing him so close to her.

  When Daryn has Sebastian’s cuff, she stands and Samrael hands her mine.

  She has them all now. All four.

  “Do it,” he says. He tips his head to Sebastian. “Quickly, if you hope to help him.”