24
The Fugitive
It was a few days before the soldiers finally began adjusting to the sight of Cara and her wings. To her credit, the Goddess hadn’t taken to the skies in that time, though Erika sensed this was more to assuage her worries than their companions’ benefit. Even so, Cara’s actions still felt incomprehensible. The Goddess had still made her disapproval about their destination clear, refusing to give the slightest hint as to whether they were on the right path. Yet she had also kept her word.
If Erika had been in the Goddess’s shoes, with wings and the freedom of the sky beckoning, she would have fled at the first opportunity. But then, that was the point, wasn’t it? Erika was only human, not a fifty-year-old Goddess in the body of a twenty-year-old with wings. She couldn’t possibly hope to understand the forces that bound the Anahera.
At least the Gemaho had not been completely struck dumb by Cara’s wings, unlike their Flumeeren counterparts. Nguyen’s soldiers might have been stunned by the sight, but they hadn’t fallen to their knees in awe, and their shock had mostly passed quickly. There were only a few now who still lost their ability to speak in Cara’s presence.
Which was fortunate, as the going had become progressively more difficult with each passing day. While the snow line seemed higher this side of the mountains, the valleys they traversed had become progressively steeper, the terrain more and more difficult. And as they neared the soaring peaks, Erika found each inhalation brought less energy, as though however hard she tried, she could not quite fill her lungs. By the end of each day, her temples were pounding, and despite the warmth of the sun overhead, she found herself trembling whenever they stopped for more than a few minutes.
Dawn, on their fifth day since disembarking the ship, found them waking in a broad, U-shaped valley, snow-capped peaks towering all around them. Despite the cold, Erika rose from her sleeping bag touched by excitement. If her guess was correct, the home of the Anahera was close.
Shadow still clung to the valley as she pushed aside the canvas tent flap and stepped into the open. Several of the soldiers were already up and busy repacking their tents for the day’s journey. Erika was relieved their presence had spared her from carrying the heavy things.
A moan came from inside her tent and a few moments later Cara’s face appeared, tangled copper hair hanging across her face. Erika might have trusted the Goddess not to harm them, but it had still seemed prudent to keep her close in the night.
“Arg, Erika, the sun’s not even up,” Cara muttered as she crawled through the flap. “You know, if you’re going to drag me back to my parents, you could at least let me sleep in a little.”
One of her wings caught in the canvas and the Goddess cursed and had to contract the limb before she could pass. The movement dislodged several of her feathers and a gust of wind sent them swirling away. Absently, Erika snatched one from the air. The things still amazed her, their length, the depth of their colour. Shaking her head, she released it again. Despite her growing familiarity with the Goddess, the sight of those wings still sent a shiver down her spine at times.
Ignoring Cara’s complaints, she turned towards the remains of last night’s fire, only to find another of the soldiers standing there, eyes wide as he watched Cara finish clambering from the tent. Erika sighed—this was one of the few Gemaho who still hadn’t overcome his awe for the Goddess. Knowing it would be some time before he recovered his wits, she stepped around him and approached the ring of stones they’d placed there for seating.
Lowering herself onto her rock from the night before, Erika was relieved to see someone had already lit the fire for the morning. Stretching out her hands, she let the heat wash over her. Her eyes drifted to the way ahead.
Gravel slopes rose away from them, turning to sheer cliffs a few hundred yards up the valley, becoming a narrowing gorge that twisted out of sight. There was no way of telling whether the canyon would end in a dead end. Where they sat, they could still climb from the valley and continue along the ridge instead, but Erika didn’t relish the thought of climbing those treacherous slopes. If only Cara had been willing to take to the skies and scout the way ahead, she could have told them which was the best option.
Still muttering to herself, Cara lowered herself onto a rock nearby. Apparently recovered from his shock, the soldier stepped past her to attend to the fire, before pulling a pot from a nearby pack and placing it over the flames. Oats and a generous helping of water from an oilskin followed with a soft hiss.
Erika watched the man with amusement—he seemed to be studiously trying not to stare at Cara. Across the flames, the Goddess wrinkled her nose as she watched him, then rose and crossed to where the soldier was working, her footsteps silent on the loose stones.
“Arg, is there a reason for humanity’s obsession with oatmeal?” she asked, pouting slightly. Beside her, the soldier yelped as he finally noticed her presence at his shoulder, but Cara only went on: “I can’t imagine why you find it so appealing, it’s basically just grey mush.”
“I…I…sorry, Your Divinity!” the improvised cook gasped. He fumbled at the pot and almost dropped it into the flames.
“You should be!” Cara exclaimed, leaning forward and fixing him with a glare.
The man yelped and almost tripped over himself. Erika rolled her eyes. Just as the soldiers had become accustomed to her presence, the Goddess had grown used to their staring. In fact, now she seemed to take a certain amount of amusement from their awe.
“Oatmeal is perfectly acceptable, soldier,” Erika said before Cara made the poor man any more mortified. She turned her gaze on the Goddess. “If you’d ever made it to Mildeth, I’d have shown you a real breakfast.”
Erika immediately regretted opening her mouth as Cara’s face darkened.
“A shame,” was all the Goddess said, but the conversation died after that, and they waited in silence for the soldier to finish preparing the breakfast.
“Here, Archivist,” the man said finally, offering her a bowl of freshly poured oatmeal.
Nodding her thanks, Erika accepted the offering. She held her tongue when she saw it was just as unappetising as Cara had claimed. The man collected another bowl and turned his back from them to scoop another portion from the pot—or probably two, knowing Cara’s appetite—before bowing low and passing it to Cara. She took it with a smile.
“Thank you.”
The man hesitated, still looking nervous, before he finally blurted out: “Are you really a God?”
A smile touched Cara’s lips and she crooked her head to the side, eyeing the man. “What do you think?”
“I…” The man swallowed visibly. “You…you have wings.”
Cara glanced over her shoulders and gasped. “You’re right!” The feathered limbs lifted slightly with her mock surprise. “What does it mean?!”
The soldier swallowed again, shaking his head, looking at the ground. “I don’t know. We…I…didn’t believe…not like they do in the west. I don’t…know what to think.”
Erika chuckled to herself as she watched the exchange, but at the man’s last words Cara’s shoulders drooped and she looked away.
“Maybe I’m not sure what I am either,” she said at last.
The soldier stared at her for a moment, then finally he nodded, seemingly satisfied. He let out a long breath. “Enjoy your meal.”
He moved away at that, and Erika returned her attention to her oatmeal. To the man’s credit, he’d added dried apple and raisins. They gave a little flavour to her first bite. She ate slowly as the soldiers moved about, preparing for the day's march, until Maisie finally appeared from her tent. Erika waved the spy over.
“Enjoying the meal?” Maisie asked as she approached, nodding a greeting to Cara.
Her mouth full of oatmeal, the Goddess didn’t reply, and the spy chuckled. Turning to Erika, she raised an eyebrow in question. The spy didn’t need to speak for Erika to understand her question.
“I think we’
re in the right place,” she said, then reached into her satchel and drew out her map. “See these,” she said, pointing to the twin white spots on either side of the red star marking what they thought was the home of the Gods. She nodded to the peaks rising either on side of the valley.
The spy leaned closer, eyes wide. “We’re almost there?” she asked, scanning the map. Then her head whipped around to focus on Cara and she repeated the question: “We’re almost there?”
Cara looked up from her meal, scowled, but said nothing. Silently she scooped the last morsel from the wooden bowl and placed it in her mouth, then exaggerated chewing motions.
Erika rolled her eyes. “Ignore her,” she replied. “She won’t tell us anything useful.”
Maisie nodded. “But you’re sure?”
“I am.”
“Excellent!” Maisie exclaimed. “Then what are we sitting here for? Let’s go find the city of your Gods!”
Despite herself, Erika’s heart throbbed at the thought. Stifling a groan, she levered herself to her feet and looked at Cara. “Well, are you going to sulk? Or join us?”
Cara rolled her eyes, but after a moment she set aside her bowl and made to stand. She managed to rise halfway to her feet, but suddenly seemed to lose her balance and pitched forward. Erika’s hand snatched out and caught the Goddess by the arm, steadying her.
“Are you alright?” she asked with a frown.
Cara nodded. She released Erika’s arm and tried to take a step, but immediately swung off-balance and staggered sideways instead. This time Erika wasn’t fast enough to catch her, and the Goddess slumped to her hands and knees beside the fire. Her wings flared outwards, the twelve feet of feathered limbs forcing everyone back.
“Cara?” Erika hissed, suddenly concerned. “What’s wrong?”
A moan rumbled from the Goddess. “I…don’t feel so well,” Cara croaked, even as she tried to push herself back to her feet.
This time her legs gave way completely and she pitched face-first into the rocks. Pale fingers clawed at the stones as Cara twisted on her side. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, becoming huge black circles amidst the amber depths. They darted around in her skull as she looked up at Erika.
“Why is it getting dark?” Cara whispered.
Heart clenched, Erika reached for the Goddess, but before she could reassure her, Cara’s back suddenly arched, a scream tearing from her throat. She started to thrash, arms and legs and wings hurling stones, forcing everyone back. Another cry rattled from her throat before she stilled, on hands and knees now, sucking in great mouthfuls of air.
“Erika…” Cara’s voice was barely a whisper now. “Something’s…not right.”
The Goddess’s face was a terrible grey when she looked up and sweat beaded her brow. Erika moved quickly, kneeling beside Cara and placing a hand on her shoulder, but the act seemed to offer little reassurance. With a final moan, Cara crumpled back to the stones.
“What’s happening to her?” Maisie whispered.
Swallowing, Erika glanced at the spy. She was about to say that she had no idea, when her eyes alighted on the breakfast bowl lying nearby. A sudden suspicion touched Erika and she swung around, searching the faces of the gathered soldiers. All stared at the Goddess with looks of confusion—all except one.
The young man that had served their breakfast stood at the rear of the soldiers, eyes wide, his face pale. He stared in horror at where the Goddess had fallen, a soft keening sounding from the back of his throat.
Without thinking, Erika leapt to her feet and rushed the man. The man cried out and tried to flee, but her hand was already coming up, the gauntlet bursting into life. Her victim screamed as his legs crumpled beneath him.
Enraged, Erika stalked towards the fallen man, palm extending, magic still pulsing from her gauntlet. On the ground, the soldier thrashed, mouth wide, veins bulging from the flesh of his throat. Reaching the thrashing body, Erika did not relent. Teeth bared, vision stained red, she thrilled in his suffering. He must have slipped poison into Cara’s food when they hadn’t been looking. Now he would pay…
“Erika!” Maisie snapped, catching her by the arm and dragging it away from her victim.
The soldier collapsed to the stones, gasping as though his lungs had just been released from a vice. Shaking herself free of her anger, Erika looked at Maisie, then the soldier. Blood ran from his nose, ears, and nostrils, turning his face to a scarlet mess. He lay on the ground moaning, unable to move, to see, probably even to hear. A few moments longer, and he would have succumbed to her magic.
A lump lodged in Erika’s throat as a sudden horror touched her. It had been so long since she’d used the magic, she’d almost forgotten the thrill of its power, the call to use it against her enemies.
“I’m sorry.” A whisper rasped from the man’s throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please!”
Looking at his pitiful form, listening to his pleas, Erika felt her anger rising again, but Maisie moved faster. A knife appeared in her hand and she crouched beside the soldier and placed the dagger against this throat.
“What did you do?” she hissed.
“I’m sorry,” the man repeated. He blinked, as though struggling to clear something from his vision, but the whites of his eyes had been stained red with blood. He would likely never see again. “The queen…she made me.”
Erika’s heart turned to ice at the man’s words. The queen? She couldn’t possibly be here, could she?
Before any of them could question the man further, a horn sounded from above. Swinging around, Erika watched as thirty men leapt over the ridge above and raced down the slope towards them.
25
The Soldier
Lukys sat in the courtyard looking up at the starless sky, a pint of ale before him, the laughter of his friends all around. He joined in with them every now and then, if only to keep up appearances. Watching their merriment, it occurred to him that he was no longer their leader, that the authority he’d built as Romaine’s right-hand man had slipped away as he sat alone in the darkness. Lukys found he did not miss it.
A week had fled like the snow before the breath of spring. He and the other recruits had been put to work, though that was often no more than sitting on the riverbanks with a fishing pole.
The most strenuous of activity came when they cleared the buildings yet to be occupied by the Tangata. Thankfully any dead had been removed from the city long ago, but many houses were worse for wear after close to a year of unoccupancy. Coal stoves had cracked with the invasion of winter’s cold and had to be removed, while vines were busy invading through cracks and windows. At times the Perfugians were even asked to attempt basic repairs on shutters and rooftops. Then they would be joined by groups of Tangata who watched their actions with interest, Lukys assumed to learn from their human captives.
If that was the case, though, they were sorely disappointed, as the recruits had few such skills. They hadn’t been sent to the frontline to die because they’d been useful to Perfugian society.
Maybe that was why his friends laughed now, why their smiles seemed so genuine—they had finally found a place in society, even if it was amongst the strangest of people. They even seemed able to communicate with their Tangata through notes and actions, despite their obvious limitations.
Watching his friends embrace their new life, their new lovers, it left Lukys feeling excluded, as if there was something wrong with his resistance to Sophia. It wasn’t that he did not find her attractive, in a lithe, Tangatan manner, or even that he did not like her. She had surprised him with her sweetness. The image of her baking bread each morning was such a sharp contrast to the monsters he’d always imagined the Tangata to be…
…perhaps that was the source of his reservations—not that he did not find her attractive, but that he did. She had taken him captive, stolen away his freedom. Human or Tangata, he should loathe her.
Instead, he found himself lying awake each night, tossing and turn
ing in the giant bed, thinking of Sophia sleeping alone on the sofa. Of the pain he glimpsed in her eyes each morning when he found her with her bread.
It was galling.
“You’re looking grim.”
Lukys looked up as Travis sat across the table from him. Most of the others had been washing up after their afternoon on the riverbanks and Lukys had been enjoying the peace in the courtyard. He forced a smile.
“Didn’t catch anything today.”
His friend chuckled. “Fish not biting? Ah well, rest day tomorrow, no point stewing over it.” He lifted his mug and clinked it against Lukys’s.
They drank and Travis laughed again, then gestured around the courtyard. “Who knew our damned Sovereigns were hiding this from us all this time?”
“You think they knew?” Lukys asked, surprised.
Travis’s eyebrows lifted into his mop of light brown hair—there were certainly no barbers in New Nihelm. “You think they didn’t?”
Lukys’s eyes drifted over the groups of Tangata standing nearby. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” he mused.
His friend said nothing at that, and when he looked back at Travis, he found the other man’s gaze fixed on him. He swallowed, worried he might have given away his secret, but after a moment the Perfugian waved a hand.
“Ain’t that the truth,” he said, then leaned across the table. “So, what’s it like?”
“Huh?” Lukys asked, mug halfway to his lips.
“Being able to hear them,” Travis explained.
Lukys quickly dropped his eyes to the table. That was one secret he had been unable to keep. The other Tangata had soon learned of his ability from Sophia, and often came to him when they wanted to convey something to their partners. It seemed a novelty to them, to be able to communicate with Travis and the others without using notes. For Lukys, it was slightly mortifying.
“I…” he stammered, unsure how to progress. “It’s…different.”
Wrath of the Forgotten: Descendants of the Fall Book II Page 19
