Inheritors of Chaos

by Barbara Ann Wright

“He’s worth more alive.”

  “Unless he managed to send a telepathic signal and fuck this whole op!”

  Anger burned through her. “He didn’t send a signal. I made sure. If anyone fucked this op, it’s you!”

  He didn’t respond, but she could feel his anger, one more bit of bullshit she did not need.

  “Go back if you want,” she said, done with him.

  “Too late for that.”

  “Right. Because you had to go throwing lightning around.”

  He snarled at her like an animal. “I wouldn’t have had to if you’d had my fucking back!”

  She rounded on him, and it didn’t matter that the paladins and the drushka were practically breathing down their necks; she’d slowed them down by sending a signal to the yafanai that their god was alive. And a huge telepathic signal was moving toward the tree, but none of that mattered because all the built-up tension inside her needed somewhere to go.

  “You want a fight?” she said to Dillon’s surprised face. “I will knock you on your ass!”

  “Only because of your power,” he said, giving her a disdainful once-over.

  “That’s you,” she said. “Talking shit about something until you need it. Manipulation 101, right? Well, I’m not taking your—”

  A white flash knocked her sideways. Stars burst in her vision, and she barely felt her body hit the ground. She tried to find air, to grab hold of her power, but everything inside her, from muscles to neurons, was in full spasm.

  Dillon leaned into sight. “Wait, were we not using powers?” He had the nerve to smile, the bastard.

  Patricia pushed, finding her rage.

  “That was just a taste,” Dillon said. “If you want—”

  Patricia found a strand of power. It was enough. She hit him with a micro-psychokinetic burst, a jolt to his entire system that mimicked his power. With a cry, he stumbled away. As soon as Patricia could access that power, more came, and she healed herself.

  Dillon was up on one elbow, gasping for breath. The sky had darkened, and lightning flashed in the distance as the wind picked up. Thunder boomed, and the grass slid together in soft, rattling whispers.

  Patricia stared at him as he watched her. Most of her anger had fled now that she’d gotten to hurt someone.

  “We finished?” Dillon asked, as if he had the same thoughts and the upper hand. Pure bravado, fake as a daydream.

  “I am if you are,” she said. But if he put one more foot wrong…

  He glanced toward where the paladins and the drushka waited. “Why aren’t they chasing us?”

  She let her smugness show. “I told the yafanai aboard the tree that you’re alive.”

  He glanced back at her quickly. “And they believed you?”

  “Obviously some did if they’re making enough trouble that no one’s come after us.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, making her jump. “Oh perfect.” He stood and offered her a hand.

  She let herself be pulled up, still wary.

  He grinned. “Nice to know they care.” As quick as the grin came, it faded. “I hope they don’t get hurt.”

  She rolled her eyes. Leave it to him to think of that last. “Come on. We need to catch up with Jonah and our bargaining chip.” She wondered why she was inviting him at all, but he was in the body of the mayor, a second body to bargain with.

  He glanced back the way they’d come before giving her a calculating look. She thought he might refuse, but he finally gestured for her to lead the way. She smiled as she did. Between the two of them, he was the one with nowhere else to go.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fajir had been thinking a lot of Halaan. That didn’t bother her; his death was always close to her thoughts. Lately, though, instead of mourning or fighting to remember the exact color of his eyes by dim lantern light, she kept recalling things he’d loved: a favorite dessert, a skilled dance troupe, or the way he’d grow giddy with anticipation at the prospect of a night off from guard duty. Fajir couldn’t help a smile as she remembered.

  If Nemesis noticed, she gave no sign. After her dream, Fajir watched her closely all the next day. Nemesis had been right: taking care of someone felt good. Halaan had always said so. Was that why happier memories wouldn’t leave her now? Because she was living as Halaan would have wished?

  Or perhaps he was complaining from the afterlife, saying Fajir should remember that she’d loved him beyond any other, and that she could never find happiness with anyone else.

  Nico, Fajir’s second in the palace guard, would disagree. Before he’d abandoned Fajir, he’d said that their lost loves wanted them to be happy, but only after their vengeance was done, of course. Once Halaan’s killer was dead, Fajir could move on, or so Nico had said.

  But he’d only said so because he wanted Fajir for himself.

  The man responsible for the death of Nemesis’s love was dead, and she seemed…happier. Once her power had been taken away, she might become even more lighthearted.

  And intolerable.

  “Why do you not still mourn?” Fajir asked. They still walked in the wake of the drushkan tree.

  “For Freddie? What makes you think I don’t?” The words sounded harsh, but only curiosity shone from Nemesis’s dark eyes. Even with the bruises marring her face, there was something in her that was…compelling.

  “I don’t doubt that you wept for her,” Fajir said. “But I’ve never seen it.”

  “You’re not weeping either.”

  Fajir ground her teeth. “You often know my thoughts before I speak them, Nemesis! Why don’t you know them now so I don’t have to speak them? I do not have…all the words!” She scrubbed a hand through her hair.

  “My name is Lydia,” Nemesis said with a sigh. “And I’m too tired to draw you out anymore.”

  “Draw me?”

  “Make you come to your own conclusions about your problems. But because you’re new to introspection when it doesn’t involve murder, and I’m tired…” She sat on the grass and patted the space beside her.

  Fajir was still trying to untangle her words when she ignored the invitation and hopped up on a boulder. “I think about much besides vengeance.”

  Nemesis’s eyes widened. “Do tell.”

  Fajir shifted, uneasy. Nemesis’s words could easily turn cutting, and she had a way of laughing… “I’ll tell you, but don’t mock me,” Fajir said, hoping her tone carried enough threat.

  Nemesis nodded solemnly, not a trace of humor on her face.

  Fajir still couldn’t look at her. “I’ve been thinking of…happier times with Halaan, and I wondered if that meant my mourning was done, but it should never be done!” She smacked a fist into her palm. “Does he lament or rejoice from whatever lies beyond this life?”

  Nemesis was silent. Fajir risked a look. She seemed to be staring at nothing as the wind blew her hair across her face like a curtain. “If the people we loved, those who died, feel anything, I’ve never known it. Or felt it. I can’t follow someone’s future after they’ve died. Maybe that’s because they don’t have one, or if they do, maybe they become…” She shrugged. “Something far different than what they were, like random molecules or blades of grass or starlight.” She smiled, but nothing mocking lurked in it. “Or something far beyond anything we could comprehend, leaving all cares behind.”

  Halaan not caring for her anymore?

  “No!” Fajir hopped down to pace. “What is the point of our partnerships if they don’t transcend death? We may as well have a hundred partners! A thousand!”

  Nemesis stilled, and Fajir could tell she was wary. That might have pleased Fajir not long before, but now she found it frustrating. “Speak, Nemesis! I will not strike you.”

  “Are you asking me to take apart your religion?” Nemesis asked, anger creeping into her tone. “All right. Why shouldn’t you have a thousand partners if you meet that many people you want to share your life with? You haven’t spoken about your gods in a long time. If you’
ve let them go, why are you holding on to this notion that the person they assigned you to at birth is special beyond what grew between you?”

  Fajir’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. Halaan and all her ancestors cried out for her to slap Nemesis across the face, promise or not. She turned away to keep the feeling inside.

  Nemesis sighed, and Fajir heard a rustle as she stood, but she was smart enough to stay out of reach. “I know your people have been doing the partner thing for generations, but mine have been listening to prophets for generations, and it hasn’t helped them. I don’t doubt that you loved Halaan, or that the Sun-Moon can make a great personality match with powerful telepathy, but aren’t there people who fall in love outside partnerships?”

  Many. There were those who married outside it, but they were not separated from their partners. Sometimes, large groups of people lived in the same house, partners and couples became one huge family. It made those who fell in love only with their partners look almost…lonely.

  “And there must be some widows who fall in love,” Nemesis said.

  Like Nico, but that had felt like betrayal. She’d never had happy recollections of Halaan in Nico’s company.

  “We must keep walking if we’re to catch your healer,” Fajir said, turning for the trail once more.

  Nemesis sighed again, but she didn’t push. Wise Nemesis. Fajir strode ahead before she recalled Nemesis’s dream and consequent outburst and slowed, the better to keep a watchful eye and make sure she didn’t fall.

  * * *

  “So many toys to play with!” Naos’s voice was a shout in Cordelia’s mind. “Is it my birthday?”

  Cordelia flew as fast as she could for her body, but when she’d been expelled from it before, Naos had always thrown her back into it again. Except when Naos had severed her from her body. Then Cordelia had to struggle back all on her own. The plains never seemed so far away. Cordelia felt as slow as when she’d been underwater in armor, fighting against the mud. And a monster had been trying to eat her then, too.

  She wished she was back there. She’d take a prog over Naos any day.

  “Simon!” Cordelia shouted as loudly as she could. She couldn’t see Naos, but feeling her was so much worse, as if something was sucking up all the air. “Stay back, asshole, or we’ll hit you like we did before!”

  “My body’s not here, genius. And Dr. Lazlo will have to wrangle some telepathy before he can attack my mind.” She cackled. “And his lover boy telepath is currently MIA.”

  “Fuck,” Cordelia said. She reached for Simon again, for Pool, but she sensed their distraction. As she finally came within sight of the tree, she saw why.

  A scattering of broken branches lay beside Pool’s tree. The fractured ends where they’d broken jutted from Pool’s leaves like spears.

  “What the fuck?” Cordelia muttered. Naos’s mind would be on her before she could find out.

  Unless she was distracted.

  “Don’t count on it,” Naos said.

  Except for the inconvenient fact that she could read minds.

  But with no other options…

  “Why did you attack us?’ Cordelia asked.

  “Join minds with me, and I’ll tell you all my secrets.” She laughed again. “But I didn’t break your queen’s branches.”

  “Before this! The telepathic attack.” The air felt thinner even though she had no lungs. Naos would squeeze her spirit until she imploded. Something had to distract her, something she couldn’t resist.

  “Was it Patricia?” Cordelia asked. “Did you attack her and get the rest of us, too? Or did she attack us herself?” That made more sense, especially if Patricia had allied with the Storm Lord. They’d probably gotten rid of Horace, too, since Patricia knew the tunnels and mines.

  “Patricia?” The force of Naos ceased bearing down as if waiting. “She’s with you?”

  “Yeah, go get her!” Cordelia yelled, hurrying for Pool. If she could shield Cordelia, there might be a chance.

  * * *

  Simon caught flashes from Pool. Some of the yafanai, including a few of the mothers, were using their powers against one another and the drushka.

  “They say the Storm Lord lives!” Pool thought. “I am trying to restrain them, but—”

  But she couldn’t let them hurt the tree. A branch reached for Simon. “I’ll take care of them,” he said. “You help Cordelia.”

  Before the branch even set him down above, Simon sent his senses out, looking for the yafanai. They weren’t hard to find. He let all his anger out, using that to interrupt them, freezing them in place like a stasis chamber.

  He couldn’t keep them that way for long. It took too much concentration when there was so much to do: help Cordelia, find Horace, and root Dillon out from whatever rock he was hiding under.

  Simon hurried through the branches and found a scene of barely contained chaos. Drushka and humans lay scattered through splintered hunks of wood. Many were wounded, but the humans couldn’t bleed if he didn’t let them.

  Shawnessi were tending the drushka with healing songs. Simon wanted to help, but interruption took all his concentration. He looked for Mila, Miriam, or Victoria. He needed to find out which yafanai were on the Storm Lord’s side and which weren’t.

  He found the three women lying on the branches with their babies beside them. He let them go from his power, and they jerked, no doubt startled. With a cry, Mila snatched up her baby. The other two followed suit. Victoria glared at Simon, and Miriam surged to her feet, saving her glare for the other yafanai.

  They spoke over one another as their babies started to cry.

  “Who started this?” Simon shouted. “I can’t heal anyone until—”

  “Restrain them all!” Miriam said. “You don’t need to keep them like this; just mute their power.”

  He opened his mouth to retort, then shut it. He should have thought of that.

  Keeping their powers suppressed, he let their bodies go. With so much power freed, he could heal as the drushka restrained all the other yafanai. They resumed shouting at one another.

  Simon trusted the drushka to hold them. The stress had several women perilously close to labor. He used his power to put it off and searched for Cordelia.

  “Where is she?” he thought to Pool.

  He needn’t have asked. Naos’s consciousness chased Cordelia through Pool’s branches, confused by drushkan telepathy. Simon couldn’t hear Naos’s thoughts unless she wanted him to, but he could sense the signal, the massive output of power.

  And she didn’t need all of it to chase Cordelia. It was searching for something else, too.

  Simon pushed his power through Cordelia, the easier to track Naos’s signal. With Cordelia acting as an antenna, he saw that the signal led into the mountains, but he couldn’t reach all the way to her body; it was just too far.

  And he didn’t have Horace’s telepathy to attack her mind.

  “Miriam, I need to borrow your power.”

  He sensed her wariness and ground his teeth, but he kept himself from just taking it. He couldn’t do that to an ally, not if he ever wanted her to trust him again.

  But time was slipping away.

  She’d barely said, “All right,” when he took her power, entwining it with his own. She gasped, and he knew she probably wanted to include some conditions.

  “No time!” he shouted. She fell into the trance that came over people when he communed with them this way. He sent his senses out again and as Naos’s mind sought Cordelia’s, he struck.

  Naos swore in his head. “So, there you are! You don’t have as much juice as before.”

  “Leave us alone!” Simon said with a snarl. “You want us to play your stupid games? We can’t do it if you keep fucking with us. Between you and Patricia, you’re only slowing us down!” He hit her again with a telepathic strike, but she barely paused.

  “Patricia, Patricia, Patricia, that’s all you people talk about. It’s almost enough to make me push th
rough these ant bites you’re giving me and snuff you out.”

  For all her words, Simon glimpsed something through Miriam’s telepathy. There was something preventing Naos from taking them out, maybe a drain on her power as she used it for something else, but before he could dig, she shoved him further from her mind.

  He felt her anger, but she had no witty retort or torture-filled threat before she withdrew, maybe to go looking for Patricia. Whatever. Cordelia’s path was now free to her body, and Simon could get back to finding Horace.

  When he opened his eyes, he let Miriam’s power go, and she staggered. Victoria was holding her own child as well as Miriam’s, and she hadn’t ceased glaring at Simon.

  “She almost dropped little Luke,” Victoria said. “What did you do to her?”

  He hadn’t even realized Miriam had named her son, but of course she had. He shook off his shame and turned to go. His senses swept over the bound mothers and drushka, making sure all the injuries were healed. He was going after Horace. Cordelia could sort out what had happened here.

  But once he left, those near labor might begin. He was pulled in every direction.

  “Fuck!” he yelled, making everyone take a step back. This was all Dillon’s goddamned fault.

  Again.

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to take Evan while you’re up here,” Miriam said as she gasped. She took her baby back and added her glare to Victoria’s. “You’ve been leaving him with the drushka more and more.”

  Oh, he did not need that guilt on top of everything else. “I’ll pick him up after I put out all fifteen thousand fucking fires raging at the moment!” He stomped away, remembering his pledge to burn the world if he didn’t find Horace. If everyone insisted on being a total asshole, why couldn’t he do it, too?

  He marched toward where the shouting was still happening. “Think of your children!”

  The yelling faded to muted mumbling.

  “No matter what you believe, you want your children to be safe, right?” Simon said, only slightly quieter than his yell. “Then you have to take some deep breaths because several of you are on the cusp of labor.”