Inheritors of Chaos

by Barbara Ann Wright

  A move made out of spite, pure and simple.

  How could he have ever felt sorry for her? Youth. A pretty face turned to him in crisis; it had always been a weak spot. Lessan—navigator of the Atlas and over two hundred years dead—had looked at him that way, and he’d pitied her, too. Until she’d defied him. He hadn’t meant to kill her, but Patricia…

  As he watched her dig chunks out of the partially collapsed tunnel, he didn’t doubt the usefulness of her power, even if it did paint a giant target on their backs. But her obstinacy was getting out of control, and it was harder and harder to make nice.

  He shifted his gaze to the healer again. At least Dillon’s old bod was watching Horace like a hawk. And the way Horace’s eyes darted around the tunnel meant he needed watching. Dillon caught his gaze and held it. A calculating look flitted over Horace’s face before he smiled hopefully.

  Oh, this was going to be interesting.

  Dillon wandered over, grateful to be getting away from the noise of shifting rock.

  “What happened, Liam, really?” Horace asked, and Dillon wondered if he and the mayor had been friends, maybe even exes. The mayor had quite a few of those.

  Dillon sighed and leaned against the wall, letting the old bod watch them both. “At the mine, you mean? You won’t believe me if I said people change.”

  “But what could possibly make you switch sides? Mind control?” He frowned and broke eye contact as if he hadn’t wanted to say that last part out loud.

  Dillon smiled. “You’re trying to reconcile your theory with my little spat with Patricia?” He shrugged. “Like I said, people change.”

  “Did she threaten you? Threaten Gale?”

  Best to say nothing, but if Dillon had to get Patricia out of the way, he’d need more power in his corner. He took a slow look down the corridor to where Patricia was, then flicked his gaze to Jonah. When he looked again at Horace, he raised his eyebrows, hoping he looked like someone who was afraid to speak openly.

  Horace’s eyes widened, and he nodded slightly.

  Dillon nearly smiled. All it took to fool someone was finding out what they wanted to believe. “There’s…a lot at stake,” Dillon said, words that meant nothing, but Horace would no doubt read volumes in them.

  “Like people’s lives.” Horace smoothed the hair off the unconscious paladin’s face. What would Lazlo think of that? The idea of Laz with a broken heart was both pitiable and gratifying. And by the way Horace glanced at Jonah after the touch, he was probably asking for “Liam’s” help escaping.

  “If Naos keeps running around free, we’re all in danger,” Dillon said.

  “You really think that’s a war anyone can win?”

  “I think it’ll take everyone to beat her.” Dillon made himself nod at Jonah. “Even him.”

  “And you know Cordelia and Simon would never work with…him.” Horace frowned as if uncomfortable talking about someone else in the room, even if that someone didn’t react.

  Dillon swallowed hard. He’d already pulled a storm down on them outside, and he didn’t want to kick up a tornado, but thinking about the past shredded his calm more than anything else. “I knew it wouldn’t happen right away.”

  Horace snorted. “Try ever.” Now he looked Jonah in the eye. “You’ve got a lot to answer for, even with whatever’s wrong with you.”

  Jonah just glared.

  “You could have at least asked about your children,” Horace said. “If you cared at all.”

  Dillon’s stomach churned as he wondered what Horace was playing at. Was his indignation real, or was he trying to provoke “the Storm Lord?”

  No matter which, it was giving Dillon a headache, and now he felt guilty on top of everything. Maybe “the mayor” should have paid a visit to those kids, but he was scared he’d give the game away, and there’d been so many other things to do, and…

  Fuck it. He could find out how they were doing now. “Tell him about them,” Dillon said. “The kids.” Jonah wouldn’t react anyway.

  Horace glanced at Dillon, probably thinking their intentions were aligned. “Simon and I have been taking care of Evan, your child by Caroline. Well, much of the time, anyway. The drushka have been looking after him when we can’t.” He returned Jonah’s glare. “Your faithful worshipers have been trying to kidnap the children, use them as pawns. Miriam was almost killed.”

  As if Dillon could have done something to prevent that. He’d never wanted any of the mothers to be hurt, even if he couldn’t remember who Miriam was. They might have only had one night together, and there’d been so many.

  Horace sniffed at Jonah’s lack of expression, clearly ready to give up, but Dillon found himself hungry for more.

  “What are their names, the other children?”

  “Evelyn,” Horace said. “She’s Victoria’s daughter. Then there’s Kena, Mila’s daughter. And Miriam’s son is named Luke.” He thought for a moment. “I know one other died in childbirth with the mother.”

  Dillon struggled to keep his face impassive but had to turn toward the wall. How much would it give away if he asked her name? Had the mayor known? Shit, he probably wouldn’t remember her anyway. God, he felt like an asshole. At least most of them got to keep their babies. All the dead one got was the cold ground.

  Dillon cleared his throat. “I’m sure he’d be sorry if he wasn’t…” What were the words Horace had used? “Wrong in some way. I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

  “Me, too,” Horace said.

  Patricia called from down the corridor, coming to the rescue. “I’m getting something strange,” she said softly when she reached Dillon’s side. “I’ve been keeping my power down, trying not to attract Naos’s attention.” She wrung her hands, catapulted from petulance back to worry at the mention of that name. “But I can feel something coming this way.”

  “A signal or a person?”

  “I’m not sure.” She glanced upward as if expecting the ceiling to collapse.

  “If Naos has come out of the mountains, this is the perfect opportunity to strike.” He smiled just thinking about it.

  “She’s not stupid. It’s someone else, and if they come any closer…” She scrubbed her hands through her hair. “It keeps fading in and out. If we don’t want them to sense us, we need a distraction.” Her eyes slipped shut before he could ask what she had in mind, and he almost snapped at her to wait for his input.

  “I just need to bounce the signal like so, and…” She opened her eyes and smiled. “There. Signal meets signal. That’ll give them enough to worry about.”

  “Who? What did you do?”

  Patricia smiled widely. “I introduced a potential rock to a confirmed hard place, or a confirmed group of soldiers and drushka, in this case.”

  Dillon fought the urge to shake a better explanation out of her. She’d done something to the Galeans, but that party wasn’t just battle-ready soldiers and drushka. And now he couldn’t stop thinking about those kids. He might be an asshole, but he was still a father, still had a responsibility even if he forgot it now and then. He had to start thinking further ahead.

  * * *

  Simon tried to lose himself in the sound of wind sighing through the branches, in the smell of greenery that surrounded the drushka, and in the comforting notion that he was surrounded by friends who had quickly become family.

  All except Horace.

  No, he told himself. He had to stay away from that thought. It was the most upsetting development, a worry greater than Naos or Patricia.

  Or Dillon.

  Simon took a deep breath through the anger. He had to get ready to deliver some babies. Wielding his power while angry was dangerous, as he’d proven while augmenting Horace and Natalya. He also didn’t want to bring a life into the world while ensnared by a fit of rage. It didn’t seem right.

  Using his power, he cleansed his hands. He took a few more breaths to center himself, but the worry wouldn’t leave his thoughts. It wasn’t just that Horace
was missing; it was their stupid fight. Simon couldn’t figure out why it had happened. Horace was clearly dissatisfied, maybe even with his entire life, and Simon couldn’t help thinking it had something to do with their relationship. But Horace had implied that was selfish, then—

  “Shawness?” Reach asked. “Are you ready to begin?”

  “No,” he said with a sigh, but more time wouldn’t help. He stood from the branch where he’d been sitting and turned toward where his patients were waiting. Three of them couldn’t wait much longer.

  “I am interested to see a human birth,” Reach said. “Caring for human children is very different than tending drushka.”

  With how quickly drushka grew, he knew that for a fact. Because they developed in pods, drushkan newborns were larger and could walk and eat solid food from birth. They were easier to deal with because they could feed themselves, but they also tended to wander off.

  And bite everything.

  Simon took another deep breath. His thoughts were all over the place. He nearly gave Reach a hug when she began a soothing melody. She followed him to the first expectant mother, who lay in a small basket of branches. She eyed him warily as she breathed hard. He didn’t ask if she was a Storm Lord worshiper. He couldn’t afford to think badly of her while trying to help.

  “Don’t worry. There won’t be any pain.” He sent over some soothing vibes, happy Reach’s song was there to back him up. “Do you have any friends to be with you?”

  “We didn’t know if it was allowed.” She sounded a heartbeat away from crying.

  Simon laughed shakily, guilt adding to his misery. “Of course it is! Call them over.”

  She called, and one of the other mothers, not so far along, came over and sat behind the patient, propping her up.

  “What are your names?” Simon asked.

  “Kalith,” the patient said. “She’s Shana.”

  “Relax, Kalith, breathe.” Simon fell into his power and sent it over her, searching for possible problems. He felt her contractions ready to begin and encouraged them as he lifted her shift and let the amniotic fluid come forth.

  “Like queen’s blood from the pods,” Reach whispered before continuing her song.

  Simon muttered an affirmative, but all his focus was on mother and child, easing both, making sure the baby faced the right way, then coaxing it into the birth canal.

  “Push,” he said softly, feeling a tentative movement from Kalith. “Harder, please.”

  She obeyed, and the baby began its journey. Simon shifted more focus to her, trying to calm her fear. A tickle nibbled at the corner of his mind. No one else was supposed to be using their power, so who was this?

  It didn’t matter. He brushed the thought away. If he lost focus, Kalith would begin to feel the pain, and he wanted her stress-free. Now that the birth had begun, he kept thinking of the mother and child who’d died while he’d been away from Gale.

  The tickle came again, and someone grunted. Simon looked for the source of Kalith’s pain, but it wasn’t her. Shana muttered something, and one hazy thought floated to the surface in Simon’s mind: these weren’t just mothers; they were yafanai.

  And some of them were dangerous.

  And his control had slipped.

  Not all of them were as concerned for their current state as he was.

  The force wave hit him like a hammer, sending him spinning end over end until he slammed into Pool’s trunk. The world continued to tilt crazily even after he stilled, and the voices around him seemed to come from a long tunnel.

  Someone was screaming. Kalith, still in mid-labor. Simon felt around him, willing his brain to still, to tell up from down. Reach was on the branch near him, moaning in pain. Shana was on her feet, and anyone who approached her flew into midair.

  “Shana, help me!” Kalith cried.

  “The Storm Lord needs our help first,” she said, her face set in a determined frown. If she felt bad about abandoning her friend for an egomaniacal asshole, she didn’t show it.

  After tossing away another drushka, Shana grabbed her head as if suffering a telepathic attack, but she dashed a hand out, and another scream sounded from the branches. Shana straightened again, eyes locked on Simon.

  He reached for his power, seeking to attack hers, but another wave of force hit him from the side, and he tumbled over the branch, plummeting for the ground.

  * * *

  Nettle cried out, and this time, Cordelia was in her body to feel Pool’s pain. Her knees nearly buckled at the telepathic shriek, but it had to feel ten times worse to a drushka.

  She tried to breathe through it as she held Nettle up. Staggering toward Pool’s tree, Cordelia tried to tell herself this wasn’t her pain. She could block it out; she could move. One step, two…

  It helped. The vibrations pinging up and down her skeleton calmed, and she walked a little easier, dragging Nettle with her. “Grab the drushka and haul ass to the tree!” she cried. At least she’d taken off her armor to dig. Several others had done the same while those remaining in armor guarded them with sidearms and the last of the ammunition. Everyone laid hands on a drushka and followed in Cordelia’s wake, the questions flying fast and thick.

  “Muzzle it and keep walking!” Cordelia shouted. She didn’t have the time or the words to explain, knowing only that Pool was hurt. Maybe it was Naos; maybe the yafanai were rebelling again.

  That meant Simon was hurt, too.

  “Fuck!” Cordelia said with a roar. Was anything ever going to go right again?

  The tree was staggering as if drunk. Cordelia spotted flames coming from one of the branches. As she watched, a body plummeted from on high and screamed all the way to the ground. Cordelia picked up the pace, hauling Nettle partially onto her shoulders.

  “Get that body,” Cordelia yelled to one of the leathers, and the man darted away through the grass. Cordelia kept going for the tree, calling in her mind for Pool to give them a hand up. For a moment, she didn’t think Pool would respond. Screams were coming from high up, both drushkan and human, and Cordelia caught a glimpse of other people falling. The tree couldn’t catch all of them.

  Finally, a branch reached down, sweeping Cordelia off her feet, and hauling her and Nettle into the sky so fast, her heart flew into her mouth, and her stomach nearly emptied. She was dumped on another branch without ceremony and looked up to see Pool lifting one of the yafanai by the neck.

  Pool’s eyes were glazed, and she snarled, looking more inhuman than Cordelia had ever seen. Cordelia cried, “Wait!” but Pool dashed the woman’s head against a branch, opening her skull. “Pool!”

  Pool said nothing, her rage-filled face searching for other targets. Cordelia knew she had to get there first, not knowing if Pool would choose her targets carefully in her current state. Cordelia laid Nettle down, then ran past Pool, looking for hostile yafanai, but the whole place was a chaotic struggle, and Pool’s agony beat against Cordelia’s brain. She finally spotted Miriam through the tangle.

  Miriam glared at another yafanai as if locked in an epic staring contest: telepathic power. Cordelia ran for them and punched the other yafanai in the side of the head, dropping him. She hoped like fuck that most of the attacking yafanai weren’t pregnant women.

  “Who’s attacking?” Cordelia shouted.

  Miriam gasped and clutched her child to her chest. “Follow me,” she said, and Cordelia had never been so grateful for someone who didn’t waste time talking. She pointed out various yafanai who’d attacked, and Cordelia knocked them out while Miriam distracted them. Cordelia started toward a redhead who was standing near the fire, but Miriam stopped her.

  “She’s snuffing the flames!”

  Cordelia let the redhead be and sent a thought to Pool to leave that one alone, but she received no reply. Hopefully, Pool had turned her attention toward her drushka.

  Cordelia turned to where three women were screaming, their faces red with pain, but no one was hurting them, and they had their hands pressed to
their abdomens. Giving birth?

  “Oh shit,” she said, having no idea what to do about that. Reach knelt beside one, and other shawnessi were staggering around, but with Pool in such pain, how much help could they be? “Shit, shit, shit.” Cordelia looked to Miriam. “Do you know how to deliver a baby?”

  Miriam looked scared for the first time in Cordelia’s experience. “No! Why should I? Just because I’ve given birth—”

  Cordelia turned away, not having time for a discussion. “Is that all the attackers?”

  Miriam turned in a circle, her eyes slightly glazed. “I don’t see any others, and I can’t sense very well with all these turbulent thoughts. Shana isn’t here, and she started this whole thing.”

  Cordelia would much rather hunt this Shana through the trees than deal with births. Rounding up the last of the attackers would help Pool stay calm and thereby give the shawnessi the wits to act. “You up to finding her?”

  Miriam smiled grimly. “Absolutely.”

  * * *

  The smell of greenery still filled Simon’s nostrils. The tree. He’d fallen. The air rushing past was a feeling he’d always remember. His head had still been swimming, a feeling that chased away the terror and left him with a euphoric sense of freedom.

  Then Pool had caught him, and he’d been happy to be alive.

  As he lay on a branch, the tree moved beneath him as if dancing; a lovely, false idea. Recent events fell into place like pistons: the births, Shana, the screams. Above him somewhere, people needed help.

  And Horace was still missing, Dillon was still alive, and as Cordelia would say, everything was still fucked.

  He marshalled his power, coalescing his foggy thoughts and healing himself. When he stood, he felt far beyond anger to a weird sense of calm. It’d been nice to picture himself napping in the branches of a dancing tree.