Inheritors of Chaos

by Barbara Ann Wright

  “And the drushka have brought in some hoshpis, so we have meat.”

  “And mead.”

  She grinned. “And mead, thank…” She’d been about to say the Storm Lord, old habit. “Goodness.”

  “Yep.” He drew out the word, and she thought she noticed a flush starting around his collar.

  “Hey.” This time, she did put a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you let me take care of these supply lists? I know you like the schmoozing part of being a mayor way more than this shit. I can find someone who loves to make fucking lists.”

  He laughed, and it seemed genuine, the flush disappearing. “Fucking lists, huh?”

  She snorted a laugh. “I hadn’t been thinking that, but sure. Marches can be boring, right? Gotta spread the love around, make sure everybody gets some.”

  He laughed harder, and she joined in, both of them snickering over sex jokes as if they were twelve again. It was the first real connection she’d felt to him in days, and it lightened her heart.

  “I’ll finish this,” he said, lifting the list. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with the drushka anyway?”

  “Yeah.” Pool wanted to speak with her, but Cordelia didn’t really want to go among her branches and surround herself with drushkan sorrow. It broke her heart.

  He nodded to where Pool’s tree stood beyond the palisade, and with a sigh, she stomped off, glad she could at least leave Liam on a happy note.

  The drushka were quiet in their tree. Pool sat on one of the branches just outside the bark cupola where she rode when the tree was in motion. She had her knees drawn up in front of her, and her crossed arms rested atop those as she stared at Gale. Her long hair fluttered in the wind, and her face was still, but this close, Cordelia could feel her turmoil.

  Cordelia sat beside Pool and mimicked her pose.

  “My thoughts are chaotic, Sa,” Pool said.

  Cordelia nodded. Even without their bond, she would have noticed that. “We’re all having chaotic thoughts right now. But Shiv will be all right, Pool. She’s a survivor.”

  “Ahya. I wonder if merely surviving an event is the same as moving past it. Her tribemate has attacked a queen’s tree and not by accident. Such a thing should have been forbidden in his deepest heart. How will my daughter live with that?”

  Cordelia couldn’t answer. Even Simon admitted he was stumped where Shiv was concerned. He’d consulted with Reach and other shawnessi after Lyshus’s parents were killed. He said something about drushkan DNA mixing with Lyshus’s unique telepathic abilities to fuck up everything the kid touched. And he was warped, too, if he was able to rebel against something that should have been in his genetic code.

  But being stranded in the swamp with a little psycho who loved her still made Shiv safer than anyone currently dealing with Naos.

  “We have to go into the mountains,” Cordelia said. “Even if Naos is lying about giving out metal, others will be going to see her, and who knows what she’ll do to them? Plus, there’s the fucking meteors to consider.” She sighed and scrubbed a hand through her hair. “I wanted to wait for her to come to us, but now I think it’s better to go in with our eyes open and our fingers on the trigger.”

  Pool didn’t look Cordelia’s way. “I have heard that my daughter’s former mate is also suffering. A sickness of the mind?”

  Cordelia shrugged. “Yep, everything’s shitty.”

  “Ahya,” Pool said with a slight wrinkle of her nose. “Liam once helped save my life. I will aid him if I can, for more than my daughter’s sake.”

  “I appreciate that. He will, too, I’m sure.” Maybe. Cordelia swallowed, feeling like an ass, but she had to ask. “About traveling north…”

  “You wish to ask me to come with you, Sa, to pit the might of my mind against Naos as I did before, and that will be easier if I am close to her.”

  Cordelia sighed. “I don’t want to put the drushka in danger, and I’m not quite sure what the fuck we’re going to do when we get there. At least she’s here on the ground, so if we need my astral form to deliver the payload, I won’t have far to go.”

  “Nettle wishes to go with you. I know her heart already. And Reach. She sees in you the face of her past love. Others wish to go for their human friends, and some will go simply for the spectacle. Before my daughter fled, I would not have hesitated, but Lyshus left me feeling…vulnerable.”

  Cordelia snorted a laugh and spoke without thinking. “You took your tree to war with the Shi, but one tiny child scares you?”

  Pool went still, and Cordelia thought she’d really put her foot in it, then Pool sighed. “The old queens would not have hurt the Anushi.”

  Yeah, Cordelia had forgotten that part. And Naos wouldn’t think twice about destroying a tree.

  “I know this Naos can strike from anywhere at any time,” Pool said. “I know I am no safer here than there. The mind knows, Sa, but the heart?” She waved a clawed hand. “It fears.”

  “We’ll do everything we can to protect you and the tree, Pool.”

  “If I die, there is no queen within my branches to succeed me.”

  Cordelia sat back. She hadn’t thought of that. “But hasn’t that been true since you gave Shiv her tree?”

  “Among the old drushka, when a queen dies, a new one is born to random parents. And the one who was born when the last queen died, the one who has been growing up a queen-to-be, assumes the new role of queen.” She spread her hands. “But since I live, no queens have been born, so I made Shiv, as you say, but I gave her a tree because…she longed for purpose. I thought, perhaps upon my death, she would assume both trees, but now…”

  “Your people will have to get a queen from the old drushka.”

  “With old ways and old values.”

  “But,” Cordelia said, “they’ll get new tribemates, too, and you’ll all…flow together again or something.” She tried to tamp her awkwardness down, but this was all beyond her, and Naos was hanging around her thoughts like a ghost. “Come on, Pool, you’re just…in a funk.” That seemed a callous way to describe Pool’s only child running off with a psychopath, but any words were better than shaking Pool, which was her next best idea. “This happens to humans sometimes; you start to think about everything that’s wrong with your life or that could go wrong, and pretty soon, all you can think about is potential disasters. You have to do what you can to shake off that feeling, or you’ll just sit here paralyzed.” She grinned and touched Pool’s shoulder. “And you’ve got it better than most humans. Your drushka can help you move past this.”

  Pool chuckled. “You are partly right, Sa. We drushkan queens cope with our long lives by sharing our experiences through our drushka, but if I do not know how to think about my daughter, my drushka certainly will not.”

  “So…maybe don’t share that with them, but you can share it with me and Simon. He’s got a longer life ahead of him than me or you. What you can add to his knowledge might help drushka for generations.”

  Pool cocked her head. Finally, she stood, effortlessly pulling Cordelia with her. “You are right about that, Sa. It was a thought I had not had. And perhaps after I have distracted myself fighting Naos for you, I will think of a way to help Shiv.”

  Cordelia barked a laugh. “Oh, you’re going to fight her for me, huh? Very generous of you.”

  Pool wrinkled her nose. “Ahya, I am a slave to helping humans win their battles.”

  “Like that one I helped you with not long ago. You know, defeating the entirety of the drushka and their queens.”

  “You are owed for that, I suppose.” Pool knocked her arm lightly into Cordelia’s, and Cordelia felt her amusement, her teasing. Drushka didn’t keep score. Cordelia wondered if that was supposed to be Pool’s impression of a human. The drushkan sense of humor could be a hard one to grasp, though she’d heard many drushka say the same thing about humans.

  So now they had an army to march on Naos. At least something was starting to go right.

  Chapte
r Eleven

  Horace walked through the plains, his friends arrayed around him. It was a pleasant day, except for the fact that they were marching toward the mountains and what could be their doom. It should have made him nervous, but even after all his sparring practice, he was still looking forward to another fight.

  It had been a nervous two days. Cordelia had told him they were finally heading out, and Horace had been seized by fierce excitement. He’d grabbed Simon and hauled him to Pool’s tree for a round of lovemaking so passionate, they’d both been left breathing hard and grinning from ear to ear.

  When they’d first set out, Horace had been happy still, holding hands with Simon as they walked. Even through the first night of camping on the plains, Horace hadn’t lost his smile. He’d sparred a little with Cordelia and Jon, and they’d all been laughing.

  Then Naos had appeared in his dreams, the same nebulous presence who’d once neatly severed his telepathic connection to Cordelia and swatted him away as if he was of no more consequence than a gnat.

  Now, on the second day of marching, he couldn’t stop thinking of her, wondering if he was ready and wishing it were all over. It would be so much better if they could only walk faster. He glanced back. Pool’s massive tree followed at a slight distance, enough so that the walking humans wouldn’t be crushed by its roots. Horace would have loved to be aboard it so they could hurry to the party, but Patricia didn’t want to ride, afraid of being trapped, maybe. And Liam didn’t want to leave her on her own, and Simon and Cordelia wanted to be close to Liam, and Horace wanted to be close to Simon, so they walked, and it was starting to feel as if they’d never get to the mountains.

  When Patricia had attacked in Gale, Horace thought that spelled an end to this alliance. But Simon and Cordelia had accepted the brain damage story. He still didn’t buy it, a side effect of his new desire to look for trouble, he supposed. He couldn’t wait to do a deep scan on Liam, certain he could fix whatever had happened inside that brain no matter what Patricia said.

  He watched the others walking through the grass. They had to go around ravines and ditches that Pool could have stepped over. Everyone seemed more subdued than they’d been on the first day, but no one complained. Maybe he was the only one in a hurry to fight a mad god. And the rolling hills were pleasant with the soothing waves of the green grass and the stark white of the rocks standing out like stars. They’d passed Wuran’s clan on the way, and Samira had left them there, wanting to go after Lydia. She and some of Wuran’s trackers sped away on ossors, and Horace wished he could have gone with them. At least they were doing something besides walking.

  “You can ride, you know,” Simon said from Horace’s side.

  “Hmm?”

  Simon chuckled, and Horace looked around to find him smiling. “You keep looking at the tree.”

  “I’d feel better if we were all aboard.” Before Simon could argue, Horace held up a hand. “I know, I know. She wants to walk, and you have to be down here to keep an eye on her, and I want to be with you.” Simon squeezed his hand, but Horace frowned ahead to where Patricia walked with Liam. “If she acts up, the tree will catch her faster than we will.”

  Simon stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I hope to prevent any ‘acting up.’”

  “She’s a telepath, Simon; she doesn’t need to eavesdrop. You don’t have to whisper.”

  Simon’s eyes widened. “Is she listening?”

  “Not that I can detect.” He stretched his neck, thinking about the fight at the market and letting that piss him off. His defenses had been up, then, and she’d breezed right through them. The only reason he’d been able to get a signal out was because she’d had to leave off shielding him in order to incapacitate Cordelia. If he’d charged, one of them might have knocked her flat, but he’d relied on his power instead of his body, just as he always did. What good was training if he forgot to use it?

  Simon’s touch on his arm made him jump. “What’s up with you today?” Simon asked, his own voice taking on an annoyed edge. Simon could be terrible when comforting angry people. With tears, he was all hugs and soothing words, but he could only reply to anger with anger, as if assuming it had to be aimed at him when he’d done nothing wrong.

  “I’m just frustrated,” Horace said, and Simon’s tone made him even more so. Horace fought the urge to frown harder.

  “About what?” Simon asked, defensive again, as if Horace had no right to anger.

  “Everything,” he said, not knowing how to explain.

  “Me?”

  “Not everything is about you,” slipped out before he could stop it.

  Simon reared back, his chin nearly meeting his chest as his eyes went wide. “I—”

  Horace shook his head roughly, guilt mixing with the emotional storm inside him. “I’m sorry, Simon, I didn’t mean that. I just…I feel…”

  Simon didn’t look mollified by the apology. With a sniff, he faced forward again. “You’ve been out of sorts for a long time now. You weren’t when I met you.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Less than a year. And I can only think of one thing that’s changed since we met and now.”

  Horace rolled his eyes. “A lot has changed.” He counted off on his fingers. “The boggin attack, leaving Gale, living on the plains…”

  “I know.”

  “My getting abducted, you getting shot, the fight with the Sun-Moon, with the plains dwellers, with Naos…”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Gale getting poisoned, going to fight the drushka, almost dying in the swamp—”

  Simon’s head whipped toward him. “You never told me you almost died.”

  Horace sputtered for a moment. “I told you I got hurt.”

  “But not that you almost died. What…” He shook his head. “Do you…want to talk about it?” He sounded unsure but less defensive, his anger chased away by the fear rolling off him.

  At least he cared. “I’m fine,” Horace said.

  “Well, now you are, but…” Simon’s face brightened. “Oh! So, that’s what it is. Almost dying does change a person.”

  As if all the other events didn’t? Maybe it took death to really shake someone who’d been alive for over two hundred years. Horace shook his head. “No, I was feeling this weird restlessness before that.” True, almost dying had made it worse. Jon thought his restlessness was an addiction to adrenaline that wouldn’t be cured until Horace let himself feel some of the ache and fatigue of battle.

  Simon was still nodding as if he hadn’t heard. “The longer you’re all right,” Simon said, “the better you’ll feel. That’s how it was for me.”

  Him again. Horace knew he wasn’t being fair, but it felt good to have a target for his anger. He tried not to get lost in that feeling, tried to shake it off, be angry at the fact that he wanted trouble, angry that this latest trouble could easily overwhelm him, and angry that even though he knew it was dangerous, he was still looking forward to it.

  Angry that he was walking.

  Maybe he was really angry at Patricia. Deep down, Horace didn’t believe she’d be of any help. She would turn on them at the first opportunity; they should have just gotten her out of the way.

  The breeze careening over the plains chilled him. The weather had taken a cool turn since her arrival. Simon said that Naos didn’t have Dillon’s power, but maybe she’d been hiding it. If so, Patricia had it now. That made her even more dangerous.

  He regarded her once more. He’d only ever killed a boggin, and it had sickened him. He’d refused to kill Naos’s vessel even when he knew that doing so might end the war. This was beyond craving action; he felt…bloodthirsty.

  His bile rose. Well, he couldn’t be that bloodthirsty if the thought still turned his stomach. Watching her young body with its old, devious mind, he knew the world would be safer without her. Even when she laughed at something Liam said, the feeling didn’t dissipate. She was a problem. He didn’t want to kill her himsel
f, but he wanted her…gone.

  “…not to mention meditation,” Simon said.

  Horace shook his head, realizing that Simon had been talking for the last few minutes, but Horace had barely heard a word. He stopped himself from asking. He didn’t want to get in more trouble. “Sure.”

  Simon took his hand, enclosing his fingers in warmth. “I’ll help you.”

  “What are we going to do about her?” He nodded toward Patricia.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Even if she helps defeat Naos, she still took over Gale’s mine.”

  Simon blinked ahead. “I guess…we’ll figure it out. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  “I can think of something.” He almost blurted it out, but as Simon stared, Horace didn’t want to say it, ashamed he’d thought about murder so casually.

  “Are you…you aren’t…” Disbelief filled Simon’s voice as he whispered, “You mean kill her?”

  Shame flooded Horace anew. “We’re going to have to in the end.”

  Simon pulled on him, but Horace kept walking. “Kill them before they kill you? Do you know who you sound like?”

  Horace rounded on him. “Don’t you dare say the Storm Lord.”

  People were walking around them, giving them curious looks. Simon kept staring, his eyes hard and unyielding. “Even if it’s true?”

  “I am nothing like your ex-boyfriend.” Horace started walking again.

  “He was never—”

  “Oh please,” Horace said, and there came that feeling of satisfaction again, the bliss of having a target. “You couldn’t have been more in love with him.”

  Simon marched up to his side, all anger now. “If you think that, then you have to accept that I knew him better than anyone, and you’re singing his tune.”

  Horace flushed, knowing it was true, but he couldn’t stop, as if he’d walked too far, and now he had to keep going or the whole trip would have been a waste. A voice inside cried out to let it be a waste, to apologize for being touchy, apologize for taking his anger out on the man he loved, apologize for whatever he had to apologize for in order to get that look off Simon’s face.