by Dani Smith
Ashe nodded slowly, looking into the crackling fire, his gold eyes catching the light as he resumed his story.
PART TWO: BLOOD AND DUST
Chapter 23
“Quinn, are you sure about this?”
“You’ve been able to trust me so far, why stop now?”
“I trust you, Ass. Not sure about this gent, though.”
Ashe followed his friend through the archway of a dilapidated warehouse, his sword hand gripped around his sheathed kukri hilt out of habit. The space they entered was one giant room filled nearly end to end with the hulking, bulbous shape of a grounded airship. The roof of the warehouse had collapsed long ago, revealing a wide opening to the sky above where the behemoth vehicle could rise at will. The dirigible had been painted crudely with a giant grinning skull, its gaping maw a black stain across the taut fabric. The ship itself was an ancient model, splintery and hardly seaworthy, but at this point, Ashe was not worried. It was not the sea they planned to flee to.
“Oi, Quinn, man! Long time no see!”
The voice calling down from the ship belonged to a small, scrawny Puca male sitting at the top of the airship’s balloon, waving down wildly, his grin brilliant. His loose, stringy mohawk was dyed in a rainbow of colors, as was the tuft at the end of his tail. Ostentatious yellow gold hoops decorated his comically long donkey’s ears, and cuffs of beaten gold and bronze encircled his wrists. His clothing was a jaunty mishmash of fabrics and styles, brocade, tartan, denim, and leather patched together with safety pins and dental floss stitching. Quinn waved up to him, and the strange Puca came sliding down the taut face of the balloon, grabbing a hanging rope at the last minute before swinging to earth with surprising grace.
“Zeb, my brother from another mother!” Quinn laughed, clapping the smaller Puca on the back.
“It’s been too long, cousin,” Zeb chuckled. He glanced at Ashe and nodded to him. Unsure, Ashe cautiously nodded back.
“She’s looking marvelous,” Quinn remarked, nodding up at the big rickety airship.
“I certainly hope she is!” Zeb quipped. “She’s been better to me than any pair o’ tits ever has been. And finally, the damned weather is warm enough to fly her! Now, tell me … what brings you out to these parts?”
Quinn gestured to Ashe. “Got a close friend here who needs our help. There’ll be danger, adventure, excitement—”
Zeb rolled his eyes. “Selling in hard there, Quinnie. As you know, money talks and gryphon shit walks.”
Quinn muttered something unintelligible. He held one hand out to Ashe, who plunked a ragged velvet bag that tinkled suggestively into his palm. Zeb took the bag and chuckled, nodding as he poured the little pile of gold stivers into his hand. He stuck one between his teeth and bit it, pleased.
“That’s what I’m talking about, boys. Now, what’s the plan for this pleasure cruise?”
Chapter 24
The gossamer was whining petulantly in the dark when Snow and Drake arrived at Aura’s hut by the sea. Just as he had the first time, Snow tripped through her garden with his nose twitching in distaste, and Drake followed close behind with two more satyr guards.
“What does she want, the old witch?” Snow hissed. “I was certain that I would not have to look at her disgusting visage again for longer than this.”
“She is the Oracle,” Drake said. “She’s guided my family for a long while, and when she calls, I don’t deny her. Perhaps she means to share some news of my heir.”
“Well, there be the great master Drake himself!” a phlegmy, cackling voice called from the doorway of the hut. “Come in, come in! I have much to show you, so I do!”
The four men entered to find Aura sitting in her chair by the fire, sipping from the same cracked cup of steeping bitter herbs, her one good eye glinting like a black star sapphire. Her skinny naked cat jumped down from her lap and went twining around the legs of its mistress’ guests, yowling and purring.
“Come, Fly,” Aura called in a creepy singsong voice. “Don’t be bothering the great master of our city, now.”
The cat gave the tip of Drake’s tail one cursory swat before slinking from the hut and out into the garden.
Drake stepped forward and bowed slightly. “You honor me by calling me here, Old Mother,” he rumbled. Aura rubbed her hands together greedily, her black eye glinting.
“The honor is mine alone, Drake, for I fear that the news I bring you is not good.”
She slipped from her fireside chair and scuttled over to a low shelf. There was a large burlap sack stuffed onto it, and she dragged this out with some effort, pulling it across the splintery floor. As she dropped the bag near her visitors, they caught scent of rotting flesh. Drake toed the bag with the tip of his boot, noting how stained it was, his nose wrinkling.
“What is this?” he growled.
Aura pulled the bag open, and with a grotesque flourish dumped its contents out onto the floor.
Bones, some with shreds of shriveled flesh and scraps of rotten clothing still clinging to them, tumbled out onto the floor with a clatter. Drake, Snow, and their two guards jumped back, hissing in unison as the smell of decay overpowered the already pungent atmosphere of the hut.
Aura squatted with some effort and pushed the bones around until she found a large satyr skull sitting at the bottom of the pile. She held it high for her guests to see, and they noted how it had been cleaved at the top, one socket shattered, one horn broken savagely. A few wisps of rotting dark blond hair still clung to its cracked surface. Drake raised his gaze to Aura, his eyes flickering with hate, and Snow hissed, clutching one waxy pale hand to his face.
“Who did this to him?” Drake growled. “Who did this to my friend Thorn?”
Aura had stopped cackling and was shaking her head slowly, her gnarled mouth like a knife slash.
“Who dumped him into the sea, only to have him washed ashore for me to find once the weather warmed? I warned you, Drakie. I told your lad here that you would have a wild card living among you, and that he would bring ruin right under your nose. My prophecies ring true, without fail … your great granddaddy going forward knew this, and everyone that followed. You should have taken greater care, aye! Now, your usurper comes from the shadows and announces himself in more ways than one.”
She dropped Thorn’s skull unceremoniously to the floor and poked a long grimy finger in the direction of the hills, beyond Bargsea and Shale City.
“Word has trickled into my ear that the mistress of that bauble I told you to seek is with child.”
Drake perked up at that, grinning hugely. “Indeed! A fine heir with which for me to continue my bloodline.”
Aura shook her head slowly, her wizened, hateful face darkening. From the bodice of her dress she withdrew a single finger bone, obviously taken from Thorn’s corpse, and held it aloft for Drake to see. It had been cracked by her heated rod, and she tapped the thin blackened lines breaking its surface.
“The new bones speak otherwise.” She backed away from Thorn’s stinking remains, turning to the fire. “Send your lads out, Drake, and come share counsel with me. Your little Kit mistress has been clever, very clever indeed. And in my experience, clever girls go straight to Hell.”
Chapter 25
On the night of the New Moons, Iona left Omnia sleeping huddled in her furs by the fire and had taken her own blankets outside to the balcony. She sat on the pile of linens and gazed up at the stars, praying for Ashe to come soon as she felt her baby stretch and move languidly inside her. She pressed her hand gently to the round globe of her belly and felt the responding kick of a small foot. She smiled radiantly, nodding.
“Yes, you’re strong,” she said. “Quite the attitude. Your papa and I will have to reign that in.”
She reached into a side pocket of her dress and withdrew a rumpled piece of paper that had come to her a week before, like the others, in the shape of a little bird. She unfolded it and read the instructions scribbled on it for the hundredth time.
>
Coming for you and Omnia the night of the New Moons. Wait for me on the balcony just after sundown, and I will fly you away from this place.
She tucked the Jade and the little note beneath her blankets and lay down, sleeping with her head pillowed on one arm, the other arm cradling her belly, her sleek furry orange and white tails curled all around her and dreaming of Ashe’s sunstone eyes. What woke her wasn’t Omnia coming out to wake her, but a cold circle of steel pressing against her temple. There was a loud click that she recognized from the raid at Yellowseed: a pistol being cocked. Her eyes flew open and she gasped.
“Rise and shine, little dear heart,” a hated voice growled.
She looked up and found herself staring into Snow’s weird milky blue eyes, a gun to her head. Standing beside him was Drake, his face a mask of hate and betrayal, and beside him, a withered and hideously ugly old satyr woman with one broken horn, her rotten grin like a Jack o’ Lantern. In her wizened hands she clutched the Jade.
“Get up, whore,” Drake hissed.
She didn’t move. Drake nudged Snow out of the way.
“Go get the other slut,” he snarled, and then his big hand went around her throat.
Drake dragged her up from the balcony floor and slammed her up against the wall, slowly squeezed her throat hard. She struggled feebly, her breath coming in high-pitched whistles as her windpipe was constricted to a pinhole.
“Tell me, wife,” Drake hissed. “Is your slit still wet from his seed?”
Iona squeaked in his grip. “No … I … we didn’t … ”
He squeezed harder and now she could not draw breath.
“Spare me the lies,” he growled. “I know you have been with him. Rolling in the furs among your books, is it? The books and jewels and fine perfumes that I, in my generosity, gifted you with … and now this … ”
He produced a long knife and pressed the glinting razor-sharp blade against the swell of her belly. Iona choked, tears welling, struggling as hard as she could against what he meant to do. Her lips formed one word, “Yours,” and when his mocking grin deepened, she knew he had her.
“Lies,” he hissed. “You know. I know. The child is not mine. And soon, I will cut it from you and tear it apart as you watch.”
“Leave her be for now, Drake,” a bitter voice chuckled from behind him. Iona felt the pinch of his grip loosen, and she collapsed to the ground, gasping and wheezing. She tried to crawl away, but Drake jammed her back against the wall, pinning her with his knee.
“What is it, old woman?” he hissed as Aura came shuffling up. Snow came with her, gripping Omnia, his pale hand clapped over the unicorn bride’s mouth. Omnia was struggling feebly. Aura nodded at Drake, grinning grotesquely.
“You have let pussy rule you for too long, my dear Drakie. I have better ways of punishing wayward wives.”
She reached up and gripped Omnia’s horn in a tight fist. Omnia shrieked through Snow’s muffling hand as the old witch pulled down, bending, her eyes flashing with dark magic, foul words spilling from her wizened lips. The pearlescent spiral flashed once, twice, before a sickening snap punctuated the early spring night.
Omnia screamed in agony and misery, and Iona screamed with her.
“No!” the fox girl shouted. “No, old bitch, how dare you!”
Drake’s open fist swung in a mighty arc and crashed into the side of her head, knocking her unconscious.
Chapter 26
“We’re about to take off, brother.”
Ashe was sitting cross-legged on a ragged blanket in an isolated corner of Zeb’s abandoned warehouse, smoking his pipe and thinking of Iona. How he would soon see her, hold her.
Quinn approached him, leaning in the broken doorway, his head cocked.
“Come on, Goat Boy. Let’s go get your lady. She knows where to wait for us?”
“Yeah. On her balcony.”
Ashe rose, shouldered his pack, and followed his friend out, his boots crunching on the dirty floor.
Zeb was standing beside his grounded airship, messing about with one of the ropes, his back turned. Ashe and Quinn approached him, and he almost jumped at the sound of their footsteps. He spun around, and Ashe saw his nervous hollow eyes.
Beside him, Quinn’s dark brows furrowed.
“Hey, cousin,” Quinn said softly. “What’s going on? Everything okay?”
Zeb’s eyes flicked about in his skull; a tiny bead of sweat gleamed on his upper lip and he nervously licked it away. As his eyes darted back to theirs, Ashe saw a flicker of bitter guilt gleaming there.
“I’m sorry, Quinn,” he murmured, just as a cry went up outside the warehouse and a knot of fierce shadows lunged at them from the night beyond.
Zeb jerked back and ran as Snow wielded a metal-studded war club in an arc and smashed it into the left side of Quinn’s skull. Blood spattered the concrete and sprayed Zeb’s face and clothing as he turned and fled the grisly scene.
Ashe screamed his best friend’s name, tearing his kukri from its sheath as four Doomhand guards lunged from the shadows to join the attack. They blew by the fleeing Zeb, brandishing war hammers and knives.
“Kill the Puca, the traitor!” Snow screamed. “Leave the faun for me!”
Ashe rushed the knot of guards beating Quinn, roaring, and Snow deflected his charge, lowering his head and slamming Ashe in the guts with his bucking antlers. Ashe was knocked back, his kukri flying into the shadows, lost. He was still screaming Quinn’s name when Snow raised his war club and struck his opponent hard. Ashe felt the crack, felt the red flash of pain, and then everything went dark.
***
Ashe blinked awake, his mouth sour and bloody. He raised his head and stared up into the rain pattering down on him from a neon-black city sky. As he came to, he was vaguely aware of an airship floating, monstrous and swollen, its spotlights swinging in the wet gloom. He sat up groggily, and as he did one of the lights swung down to focus on him, and he became aware of the rolling movement of a crowd, swelling and weaving all around him. It was like a great beast, awakening slowly to the call of violence. The airship’s balloon glowed above, the skull painted on its side leering.
Zeb, he thought. Stinking traitor…
“Shale City citizens!” he heard a booming voice shout. “Long have I watched over you from Bargsea. Long have I barred enemies from your gates—”
Drake. He was strolling around the square where he had tossed Ashe unceremoniously, surrounded by the heaving masses of citizens. Snow and the other Doomhands present tossed bread and sweets and bottles of beer into the crowd as their master drawled on.
Ashe looked around desperately, trying to find Quinn.
He found him lying broken and bloody, in the cold wet street. Ashe crawled to him and the Puca’s blood soaked into his jeans.
“Ass!” he moaned.
Quinn was lying on his side, his body fetal. Ashe reached out and turned his friend over, crying out shrilly when he saw the state Quinn was in. The Puca was still alive, but it was obvious he would not be for long.
There was nothing, nothing, Ashe could do.
Quinn moaned, a thick choked sound, and Ashe took his friend’s face gently between his hands. The left side of Quinn’s head was a mass of blood where Snow’s club had struck him. The white of his left eye was red with hemorrhage, the pupil at the center of the hazel iris blown out. Despite his grievous injuries, Quinn tried to smile up at his friend, a thin trickle of blood slipping from between his lips.
“Rat bastard, that Zeb,” Quinn gurgled, and more blood welled from his mouth. Around them, the crowd roared as Drake’s shouting continued, but all Ashe could see was his dying friend.
He felt tears sting his eyes. “Ass … I … ”
Quinn grinned through the blood, a little sheepishly. “I earned this,” he croaked. “When I took their tails. This is the least I deserve.”
Ashe moaned, miserable. “Quinn, no—”
“Go take care of your lady, Goat Boy,” Quinn whi
spered, his voice fading. “And don’t forget to tell the little fox goat about its Uncle Quinn when it’s old enough!”
Ashe bit his lip. “I love you, Ass.”
“Cheers,” Quinn chuckled rustily. Then his eyes rolled in his skull and suddenly he seized, his body shaking violently. Ashe cried out as he held his friend, screamed as Quinn jerked and spasmed in the filthy street, as dark blood welled from his mouth and the corners of his eyes. He died staring up at the sky, his cheeks streaked with red, like bloody tears.
“Oh, dear me … such a pity.”
Drake was behind him, Ashe spun about, his face wild with rage and grief, but his anger over Quinn evaporated into an even worse horror as he watch Drake drag Iona across the tarmac and throw her into the street, where she huddled into herself, dressed in nothing but a thin shift, her arms wrapped protectively around the swell of her belly. Her beautiful copper hair had been hacked off, cut down to the scalp in some places, leaving the bare skin raw and bloody. Seeing her shattered Ashe’s heart and drove him into a blinding rage that snuffed out any emotion that had come before. Drake spat on her and then strolled back over to Ashe, grinning.
“DRAKE!” Ashe screamed, trying to crawl to his love.
Drake’s foot came down square on his back, thrusting him forward onto the grimy street.
“I suggest,” Drake panted, pressing his boot hard into Ashe’s struggling form, “that you shut the hell up, little brother.”
Drake swung around, bellowing into the rainy night, his massive arms outstretched.
“I bring you the ultimate entertainment tonight, friends and countrymen! Behold, magic in its blackest form—”
He bowed low in a mockery of respect, sweeping his great arms outward even as he held Ashe down with one massive foot. The lights of Zeb’s looming airship swung downward, and Ashe glimpsed the witch, Aura, standing at the center of the city square, clutching the Jade in one wizened fist. In the other, she gripped the long mass of Iona’s severed hair.
