Inheritors of Chaos

by Barbara Ann Wright

  Outside the tent, someone screamed.

  Lydia fought the urge to curse.

  She and Fajir paused at the same time, faces less than an inch apart. If the sound wasn’t repeated—

  Another scream, joined by shouts.

  Fajir pushed up and away. Lydia rolled to her knees, both of them straightening and refastening their clothes.

  “Stay here, Nemesis,” Fajir said as she made to duck outside.

  Lydia scoffed. “Sure, that’s going to work.” She jerked Fajir to a halt and spoke in her ear. “Lydia.”

  Fajir gave her a lust-filled look before biting her own lip and stepping outside. Lydia followed but stayed close, letting Fajir lead. She wasn’t going to stay behind, but she also wasn’t stupid.

  The Sun-Moon camp was scrambling, people running toward the sounds of commotion and calling to one another in a language close to that of the plains dwellers. Lydia couldn’t pick out enough to understand.

  “What are they saying?”

  “They want to know what’s going on.” Fajir had her sword in hand. She glanced at where the noise was coming from, then in the opposite direction. This was the perfect opportunity to escape, but these were also Fajir’s people. More than that, the noise was close to the widows’ camp, and Fajir had worked closely with them since her partner died.

  Lydia touched her arm. “Let’s help them. Then we sneak away.”

  Fajir smiled. “Always compassionate, Nem—Lydia.”

  Lydia beamed, her stomach fluttering, and she knew her growing feelings were going to get her into trouble very soon. She couldn’t even fool herself and say she was staying because the plains and mountains were dangerous for someone alone. She could acutely recall the feel of Fajir’s hands on her body, and she wanted more.

  They threaded through tents and campfires. Lamps and torches bobbed through the dark, and Lydia had flashes of her vision. Maybe it had finally begun. Before she could voice that horrid thought, a person screamed ahead, and Lydia’s mouth dropped open as a body went flying through the air as if thrown by a giant hand.

  Samira? Lydia picked up speed, pushing around Fajir, who called for her to slow. Lydia ran harder, desperate to help her friend if she could, hoping Fajir would do the same. When a dark shape flew toward her from the gloom, Lydia cried out, and Fajir crashed into her, carrying her to the ground.

  “Caution, I said!” Fajir hauled her up as the shape landed behind them, revealing a wad of tents twisted together.

  Lydia looked up and spied someone dressed in Galean clothing: loose trousers and a voluminous shirt hiding a large belly. Her short blond hair seemed to stand on end as she looked around with wide eyes.

  Not Samira, but Lydia recognized her from the temple. They’d never spoken, and Lydia couldn’t recall her name, but she was a yafanai.

  Fajir pulled Lydia behind another tent as several other Galeans joined the blonde. The night was filled with the cries of wounded people as well as the keening of ossors. One of the pens must have broken open, and the animals were bolting, crying out, and tripping over tents and people. Off to the side, one of the campfires had caught a nearby tent, and the flames were climbing higher.

  “Where did all of this come from?” one of the Galeans called.

  Another had a hand to her temple. “I don’t know! It must have been hidden by telepathy, but—”

  “Look out!” The blond yafanai slashed a hand through the air, and an arrow fell to the ground.

  A cadre of widows followed it, weapons drawn. The blond yafanai glared, and the widows tumbled away, victims of a macro-psychokinetic push.

  “We have to get out of here!” a Galean yelled.

  “They’re from Gale,” Lydia said to Fajir. “But why are they out here alone?”

  “Scouts?” Fajir looked toward where the widows had fallen and frowned.

  Lydia shook her head. A group of yafanai wouldn’t be scouting alone, and the blond leader was clearly pregnant. Lydia wouldn’t have wanted to go running and bending and scouting while suffering the exhaustion that came from carrying a child.

  They must have stumbled through the telepathic shield. Lydia remembered the Galean kidnappers she’d fought with Samira, Mamet, and Fajir. Were these Storm Lord worshipers, too? Maybe they were also trying to get to Naos for the metal or whatever she’d promised them.

  The blond leader’s eyes went wide, and she pointed. “Cam, piss off that geaver!”

  Lydia stood on tiptoe in time to see the geaver pen rattle and the gate fall over. The animal bellowed, a sound like hundreds of pots grinding together. It shook its flat head and reared, long neck reaching for the sky. It landed with a rumble, and Lydia felt the vibration all through her body.

  The geaver turned for the camp, lumbering into a run. It threw several people aside with its neck, and its lashing tail tore more tents from the ground. Two handlers ran to calm it while several soldiers attacked the yafanai, but all were thrown.

  “We have to warn people!” Lydia said.

  Fajir shook her head and stood calmly. “No need.”

  The geaver lifted into midair, and Lydia thought it was leaping, but it hovered and kicked its thick legs. The Sun-Moon walked beneath it calmly, their steps in perfect sync, and their hard gazes fixed on the yafanai.

  The fire that had grown out of hand vanished like a snuffed candle as the duo passed. The blond yafanai glared, but the force wave that lifted the edges of several tents faded into a slight breeze before the Sun-Moon’s power. The Moon raised an arm, palm up as if opening a window, and the handful of yafanai rose into the air like the geaver, limbs flailing. They ceased moving immediately, their eyes glazing over. The Sun-Moon let them fall, and they lay still in the dirt. Lydia had to turn away from the sight.

  Fajir breathed a sigh of relief. And even though she was horrified by the Galeans’ slack faces, Lydia joined her. She didn’t care for the Sun-Moon or their worshipers, but she didn’t want to see anyone get trampled.

  Like Freddie.

  “Friends of yours?” the Sun-Moon asked as they turned in Lydia’s direction.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t really fraternize with the other yafanai.”

  “They probably feared knowing their fates.”

  Lydia nodded, unnerved and not knowing how they’d gotten that information or if they were reading her mind right now. “What are you going to do with them?”

  Their heads tilted as one. “Do you care about everyone you haven’t…fraternized with?”

  She looked to Fajir, whose blank expression held no answers, but her hands were clenched into fists. Fear or worry? Whichever, Lydia saw no reason to lie. “I care about people in general, yes. I don’t like to see anyone get hurt.”

  “What a strange companion for our Fajir.” They turned and gestured to a group of widows. “Bind them in one of the wagons. They will stay insensible.”

  As the Sun-Moon put the geaver pen back up and deposited the stunned animal inside, Lydia repressed the urge to shout that Fajir wasn’t theirs anymore. But Fajir stared at them almost wistfully, making Lydia’s temper rise.

  There’d be no more kissing that night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Simon kept one hand on Reach’s back. He’d never known a telepathic shield could be so large. It stopped smells, sights, sounds, everything, like a blanket thrown over the whole that told outsiders there was nothing there.

  Human outsiders, anyway.

  Simon felt Pool in his mind, but he still couldn’t see any camp. Maybe that ability was something about Cordelia’s connection to the drushka or the way she could free her mind from her body. But when he still saw nothing, he regretted coming along. He didn’t relish having to be led as though blind, and it was only a matter of time until he tripped.

  He opened his mouth to say he should go back, when the world seemed to shudder, and a camp sprang into existence: tents and fires, the smell of latrines and cooking meat. Somewhere, a voice called out, and he caught t
he keen of ossors.

  “Incredible,” he whispered. “How did they base it on distance and not—”

  “A question to debate later,” Nettle said, a warning in her voice.

  A scream cut through the camp, and the nearby people rushed toward the sound. No one would notice the three of them with screaming going on.

  But in the commotion, he noticed a small group of people surreptitiously making their way to the center of the camp just as he was. Nettle had her weapons out and eyed the other party suspiciously. Simon sent his power their way, trying to determine how many there were: five, and the one in the lead was—“Samira!”

  Her head jerked up, followed by the four plains dwellers of the Uri clan who’d offered to help her track Lydia.

  “Simon?” she said as her group hurried over. “And Nettle and Reach?”

  “What are you doing here?” they asked at the same time.

  “There is a time to ask questions, and it is not now,” Nettle said as Reach touched Samira’s shoulder. “Do your eyes deceive you about where we stand? Your mouths may only move if they are instructing your legs.”

  With unspoken questions, Simon and the two groups continued toward the center of camp. Simon squeezed Samira’s hand, happy to see her and to have backup. If he’d known they were going to end up in the same spot, he might have made the journey with her from the beginning. It would have saved quite a bit of aggravation.

  But then, what would have become of the drushka when the Storm Lord worshipers rebelled?

  “Best not to consider such things, shawness,” Pool said in his mind.

  “I tracked Lydia here,” Samira whispered, glaring at Nettle’s back as if happy to have someone to defy. “Are you scouting?”

  “I wish. Horace has been taken. I hope he’s here.”

  She returned his squeeze, always ready to respond to someone else’s problematic love life, never mind the state of her own.

  The large tent Cordelia had seen loomed ahead. Nettle put up a hand, halting them as she looked about, then she gestured ahead quickly. Simon spotted the dark and golden heads of the Sun-Moon moving toward the sounds of screams and the glow of a large fire before the tent hid them from view. Nettle peeked inside before ushering everyone in.

  Two of the plains dwellers stayed by the door. Simon scanned the first room but saw only divans, cushions, and blankets. He peeked into a second room: a desk, no people. The third contained a large bed. He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

  Angry was nice. He could go there again.

  Behind him, Samira sighed. “I was hoping they were keeping Lydia in here.”

  “Same for Horace.”

  “Are you sure he’s here? Lydia’s and Fajir’s tracks joined up with some Sun-Moon scouts, then came here.”

  Simon’s head began to ache. “I don’t know.” And now they were back at square one, except in the center of an enemy camp. Square zero.

  “We must go, shawness,” Reach said. “Nettle has searched the furniture for important papers to bring to Sa but found none.”

  Simon turned away from the sparse bedroom. “Telepaths don’t need to send missives. Hell, I don’t even know why they brought a desk.”

  Nettle met them in the first room. Its plush superiority made Simon want to gag. Leave it to them to believe that war was no reason to leave comfort behind.

  “Shawness Horace is not here,” Nettle said. “Let us go back to Sa and speak more of what to do.”

  Samira shook her head. “I’m going to find Lydia.”

  Simon’s worry and anger mixed, feeling too much like a panic attack from his past. He flexed his power, numbing the feelings. “No, Samira, it’s too dangerous. Come with us, please. I…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I can at least save one person. I know you don’t need saving, not really, but…”

  She kissed his cheek. “I know what you meant, but I have to find her.”

  “Whatever we do, we should go now,” Nettle said, her voice low.

  He supposed they could all look for Lydia, but a larger group would be easier to spot, and if they were gone too long, Cordelia would stumble in after them.

  Of course, then she’d be able to see the camp, too.

  “Come with us for a little while, Samira,” Simon said. “Cordelia can come back with us, and we can split up and look.”

  She frowned but didn’t argue, and they followed Nettle outside. The screams had ceased. The glow of the large fire had disappeared. They’d taken too long. The Sun-Moon had probably dealt with the rebel yafanai with laughable ease.

  Simon wasn’t even surprised when they’d only gone a few steps, and a dual voice called, “Dr. Lazlo, what a pleasant surprise.”

  They didn’t speak in his mind, probably saving the bulk of their power for maintaining their shield, but their voices made him grind his teeth. He’d never forget being their prisoner or how good it had felt to see them thrown around the room by Samira. And it still brought him joy to think of how he’d taken their power without permission in order to subdue Naos.

  But they were ready for him now.

  “Pool,” Simon thought, “tell Cordelia we’ve been spotted.”

  “Already relayed, shawness.”

  Nettle had her weapons out, as did the plains dwellers. Reach hadn’t carried her weapon in recent memory, but she rocked slowly on her feet as if ready to burst into motion. Simon sensed Samira’s power rising, but she didn’t lash out, not yet.

  Simon snapped his own power around all of them. He couldn’t stop the Sun-Moon’s telepathy unless he attacked their brains, but he could fortify everyone else against attacks. He hoped. He’d never faced the Sun-Moon’s power head-on, not while they were prepared.

  So far, they simply watched. They’d been a calming force aboard the Atlas, but since coming to Calamity, they’d proven themselves to be arrogant assholes, just like Dillon.

  “Shawness,” Nettle said softly. “The camp is poised.”

  He risked a look. The entire camp had gone silent, the inhabitants watching with eyes that flickered in the dark like dying stars.

  “We didn’t come to attack,” Simon called, trying for peace. “The Galeans who stumbled into your camp are enemies of ours; they attacked us before they came here, and we wanted to see if anyone else from Gale had…become your guests.”

  They smiled but kept back by fifty feet or more. Well, he had threatened to destroy them if they ever attacked him or his friends again. By their rigid posture, they remembered, too.

  “No,” they said. “No other…guests.”

  Samira bared her teeth. “Liars! I know Lydia is here.”

  Their gazes shifted to her, then back to him. If they were thinking of a witty retort, they kept it to themselves. Maybe they had changed. “Since you didn’t come to attack,” they said, “you’re welcome to leave.”

  “Where is Lydia?” Samira asked.

  “Samira,” Simon said, his neck itching from all the eyes in the gloom. “We need to regroup and discuss.” Or they could attack. He could neutralize the Sun-Moon if they hadn’t figured out a way to counter him, and he could interrupt a great deal of their followers.

  He clenched a hand, fighting down the urge. They weren’t trying to push him around now; they were offering a way out. And who knew how many enemies there were? All it would take was one blow to his head to incapacitate him, and he’d had enough of those lately.

  Samira continued to glare. Maybe she’d developed a death wish in their time apart.

  “Samira, please.”

  The Sun-Moon took a step forward when Samira didn’t back down. “Well?”

  “That’s close enough,” Cordelia’s voice called from the edge of the light. She and her armored paladins marched into view, sidearms drawn. The Sun-Moon worshipers gave way before the weapons, and Simon didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “You might have the numbers,” Cordelia called to the Sun-Moon as she and her people surround
ed the others in a protective circle. “But we’ve got guns, and your weapons won’t do shit to this armor.”

  Simon itched to remind her that her face was still vulnerable, that she and the paladins could be overwhelmed, and that they hadn’t much ammunition, but she knew all that, and with their telepathic spying, so did the Sun-Moon.

  Still, Simon was certain that none of them wanted to lose people.

  For a moment, all was still. If Lydia was here, the Sun-Moon clearly weren’t going to give her up. Samira had her fists clenched, her power poised. Simon didn’t know if she could retreat at this point, she radiated so much anger. Maybe he should cut her power off and have Cordelia carry her out of here. They could always sneak Lydia out some other time.

  The Sun-Moon smirked, actually freaking smirked, and Simon didn’t know if they were reading his thoughts or if they just felt invincible, but it brought his rage back in a boiling rush.

  He stepped forward to look at Cordelia, and the glance she gave him spoke volumes. He could almost hear her asking, “Are we gonna do this?”

  As an answer, he whipped his power toward the Sun-Moon, staggering them, and their people answered in a howling rush.

  * * *

  Cordelia had known it would come to a fight since she’d first spied this camp, and though she didn’t relish combat like she used to, it was going to feel good to finally kick the Sun-Moon around. She’d never paid them back for nearly killing her and pulling her into their fight with Naos.

  The two gods staggered, but Cordelia didn’t count them out yet. “Fall left!” she cried as the worshipers rushed them. She fired into the crowd, wounding one in the leg and hitting another when that bullet passed through. The rest of the enemy scattered before the sound and the violence, her ultimate aim. The other paladins fired, too, and their guns got them into a cluster of tents just as the worshipers who’d been trying to follow them flew away as if in a hurricane, the force wave coming from the Sun-Moon’s direction.