Wind Runner (Vanderbrook Champions Book 1)

by Edmund Hughes

  Multi’s face was neutral and emotionless. Malcolm doubted that he believed him. The story he and Tapestry had agreed on was simple and hopefully impossible to poke holes in. Thankfully, none of the security cameras on the block were in working condition, anymore.

  Tapestry came back over, and one of the Multis addressed both of them together.

  “I’m giving the two of you the next few days off,” said Multi. “Rest up. Tapestry, he’s still an apprentice champion, so see if you can give him a good workout once you’re healed up.”

  Tapestry blushed a little at the phrasing, but Multi didn’t seem to notice. He nodded to the two of them and then headed to join the police and firefighters with the cleanup.

  “I should probably walk you home,” said Malcolm. “Melanie is going to flip when she sees that you’ve been risking your life again.”

  Tapestry smiled.

  “She has a good heart,” said Tapestry. “And so do you. Thank you, Malcolm.”

  “For what?”

  She looked at him closely. It felt as though she was seeing something that Malcolm wasn’t aware of.

  “Your brother asked you to join up with him,” she said. “A lot of people in that situation would have done it, even if it was the wrong choice to make. Family… is a strong motivator, like that.”

  Malcolm considered for a moment.

  “It’s like you said. It would have been the wrong choice for me to make.”

  He reached over and squeezed her hand.

  “I wasn’t making a choice as Malcolm,” he said. “I was making it… as the Wind Runner.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Multi sat in the center of the Vanderbrook Champion Authority’s command center. The lights were dim, and he had his fingers steepled, watching the metal balls in the Newton’s Cradle on his desk slowly clacking back and forth.

  Unbeknownst to his fellow champions, to anyone other than the other Multis who he’d created over the years using his body duplication power, he was the original, and the only Multi with the power to duplicate.

  Each of the Multis had a nickname, kept secret from the rest of the world to preserve the mystery of their power. The original Multi’s nickname was Alpha, and as such, he was the one giving the orders.

  Footsteps sounded from the upper level, slowly coming down the stairs. All the other Multis in Vanderbrook were still working to clean up the heat demon’s destruction. All of them except for Wax, who’d arrived earlier that morning.

  Wax was the first copy Multi had ever created, and to this day, the only one that had ever challenged his authority in any meaningful sense. Alpha kept Wax around as a reminder to himself that each and every one of his copies was, in actuality, an individual, separate person.

  It was easy for Alpha to justify sending his copies off on suicide missions. They were parts of a greater whole, and only by treating them as dispensable could he reach the full potential of his powers.

  In all the time since gaining his gift, not a single copy had ever refused their duty. Each one was created to serve a purpose, and each of them was as practical as he was. Alpha never needed to explain why their deaths might be necessary. They already knew, and had seen the hundreds who had come before them. It made death into something routine and mundane, an abstract distinction.

  Wax smiled as he approached his fellow Multi. Wax was bald, the only Multi that Alpha knew of who’d shaved the sparse tufts of hair from his head. He usually dressed more casually than the other Multis too, preferring jeans and a t-shirt to a suit and tie.

  “You’ve made a mess of things here, Alpha,” said Wax. “Savior is less than thrilled with the optics of this mess.”

  Being the first duplicate had left Wax with the duty of being Alpha’s emissary to Savior, the head of the Champion Authority. Alpha sometimes wondered if that was what had caused Wax to differentiate so much from the other Multis. His personality mirrored Savior’s a bit, the same faux casual, good natured veneer over the instincts of a sociopath.

  “The situation has been handled,” said Alpha. “The heat demon was defeated.”

  “That wasn’t just a heat demon,” said Wax. “That was Hothead. One of the Champion Authority’s very first recruits. We brought him in on the verge of turning into a demon, after he’d blown up his family’s home with his mother inside.”

  Alpha exhaled through his nose.

  “You know something I don’t,” he said. “Why don’t you just come out and tell me?”

  The bald Multi smiled.

  “Your champions aren’t giving you the full story,” said Wax.

  “I could tell that Tapestry was lying,” said Alpha. “She has an obvious tell. Grew up in a more honest era.”

  He waited, knowing that Wax would come clean eventually. If Alpha really wanted to know what he had to say, he could always merge with him by force and take the information against Wax’s will. They both knew that.

  “Hothead is Wind Runner’s brother,” said Wax.

  Alpha Multi cursed under his breath.

  “That… complicates things,” he said. “And Tapestry knew… but didn’t tell me.”

  “Having them both in the field is a little dangerous,” said Wax. “I would have figured you to be the type to take more, well, severe measures.”

  Alpha Multi smiled. He crossed his legs, amused and a little intrigued by the conclusion Wax had jumped to.

  “You’re so critical, Wax,” he said. “Do you really think I operate on trust alone? Tapestry won’t step out of line.”

  “You have something over her?” asked Wax.

  “She has family,” said Alpha. “A great granddaughter who she is rather fond of, in fact. She would never put her at risk, not when all she needs to do to keep her safe is to follow orders.”

  Wax shrugged.

  “Is she really the one you need to worry about?” he asked. “This Wind Runner… He’s a new champion. He’s related to a demon. Hothead might still be alive, you know. His powers let him travel in and out of intense heat sources.”

  “Again, you lack the full picture of my intentions,” said Alpha. “We share many of the same instincts and memories, Wax. Which is why I find it so surprising that you so often fail to understand the plan.”

  Wax’s eye narrowed into a glare. Alpha almost laughed. It was amusing how easy it was to generate enmity from someone who was essentially him.

  “Wind Runner has the universal champion blood type,” said Alpha. “We’ve already begun running tests on the sample we took when we first brought him in.”

  “The universal blood type,” said Wax. “Are you serious? You’re saying… he could serve as the vessel?”

  “Exactly,” said Alpha. “And don’t worry. You can go ahead and tell Savior. I already know that you report all of our conversations back to him, Wax.”

  Wax’s expression grew serious.

  “He thinks that you’re one of the few champions as powerful as he is,” said Wax. “And you must know how he’d react to knowing that you’ve finally found a champion that could serve as a vessel.”

  “Savior isn’t stupid,” said Alpha. “He won’t risk making a power play. And I’m very open to turning this into a shared project. All of the upper levels of the Champion Authority should know, not just him.”

  Wax nodded.

  “Are you going to try this immediately?” he asked.

  Alpha Multi shook his head.

  “It would be too soon, I think,” said Alpha. “And I am a team player, despite what others may say. I’d like to meet with Savior directly about this. Tell him that.”

  Wax nodded again. He opened his mouth to say something, and then hesitated, taking a second to find the right words.

  “Do you think the world is ready?” he finally asked.

  Alpha shrugged.

  “To see the birth of a god?” he asked. “Does it matter?”

  THE END

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  Edmund Hughes

  Moons of Carnathia

  CHAPTER 1

  I would give my clothes willingly to the poor and suffering, walk exposed and naked through the street. For all to see me as I am and make their own choice, including the lonely, the wandering, and the desperate, is but another test of true faith. – Iathia the Pious, Book of Stars

  ZAK

  The air was clean, and the third season sun hung halfway down to the horizon. Zakarias felt the ship swaying underneath him as he stared out across the water, observing the reflection of the knotted white clouds overhead.

  Krexellious, the rose moon, had just begun its afternoon ascent. The sky was otherwise clear, and the sea was calm and easy, devoid of the massive storms that usually ravaged the Arkaian island coasts late in the year.

  Other than the Sand Angel, there were no other vessels resting on the nearby ocean. A larger than average wave crashed into the bow, shifting the ship’s hull just enough to force Zak into gripping onto the railing he’d been using as a seat.

  He’d been on bigger ships before, but not often and not for long. The Sand Angel was somewhere in the middle of the upper size tier, fifty feet long and roomy enough to be comfortable for Zak and his three crewmates, who’d served as his deck family for the past five years.

  The water was clear, and even the gleaming stripe of the sun’s reflection wasn’t enough to obscure his view of the sea life below. A donphar pup, tiny and excitable, surfaced into a quick, somersaulting jump above the water’s surface, blasting a geyser of mist out of its blowhole.

  “It’s a little early for you to be taking a break, Zak,” said Hachia. She slipped up behind him silently, somehow managing avoid all of the creakiest planks in the deck on her way.

  You’d think she’d get bored of sneaking up on me eventually…

  “I’m on watch,” said Zak. “Sharks, or qyss. They could attack at any time.” He grinned at her.

  “Real cute,” said Hachia. She didn’t smile back.

  Zak let out an exaggerated sigh. He turned around on the railing and dropped down to the deck, snagging up the net he’d left within arm’s reach and sorting out tangles.

  “You’re no fun,” he said. “Come on, the sky is clear, the seas are calm. And you’re looking especially beautiful, even though it’s been days since we’ve been to port.”

  Hachia folded her arms. The slightest hint of a smile pulled at the edges of her mouth.

  “Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” she said.

  “And so smart,” he said, winking. “Too smart for my diversionary tricks.”

  She brushed a few strands of hair out of her face and nodded to the net in his hands.

  “You’re already halfway there,” she said. “Good finger work on those knots. I notice things like that.”

  Zak rolled his eyes, but continued moving. He walked a few feet down along the railing, giving the donphar a safe berth before tossing over the net. He always did that, treating the smaller ones with kindness befitting their intelligence, and giving the massive, ship killing ones the distance and respect they deserved.

  “For your information, I wasn’t taking a break,” said Zak. “I was just thinking.”

  “Of course you were,” said Hachia. “Let me guess. You were imagining yourself skipping to one of the moons? Floating all the way up to Krex, and claiming it as your kingdom?”

  She moved in closer behind him, leaning over the railing in a manner that was unmistakably provocative. Hachia didn’t look at him directly, instead waiting for him to look at her, open to the attention of his potentially leering eyes.

  Zak pretended to ignore her, mostly out of necessity. Hachia was a walking mess of contradictions. She was attractive, three years younger than him at nineteen, with a lean body and alluring curves. Her sandy blonde hair managed to look good even when worn ragged, loose and comely around her shoulders. Unfortunately, she knew all of this, and had mostly gone through life taking advantage of the benefits of her appearance in a brusque and direct manner.

  In comparison, Zak was tall and lanky, and though the musculature of a life lived as an oceanfoot was nothing to scoff at, his tanned skin and minimalist, somewhat ragged clothing didn’t add much to his overall appearance. Not enough for him to feel as though he was playing against Hachia with a full plate of Parxus chips.

  “No,” said Zak. “I was thinking about something a little more grounded then that.”

  “So… what, then?” asked Hachia.

  Zak scowled.

  I should be used to this by now.

  “I give up, Hachia,” said Zak. “I’m working, see? Go back to Demetro and tell him that your mission has been accomplished.”

  Hachia’s lips puckered into a pout and she let out an exaggerated sigh.

  “Why do you always have to be this way?” she asked. “Other people like to have fun too, you know. My fun just happens to consist with occasionally torturing you.”

  “Well, I give you credit for admitting it,” said Zak. He reached over and dipped his fingers into one of the ship’s rain barrels as they passed by, pulling up his hand and flicking a palm’s worth of water in her direction. Hachia let out an annoyed shriek and glared at him.

  “You are… such a pain!” snapped Hachia.

  “No,” said Zak. “I just give unto others as I would dream for them to give unto me. A regular Iathia the Pious.”

  Hachia’s slate blue eyes gave away what she was about to do before she’d moved to do it, and Zak had time to dodge back and out of the way as she reached a hand into the rain barrel and countered his splash.

  The two of them laughed and forgot their pretenses for a moment, splashing water at each other and giggling like children. Zak found it hard to disengage, both with his actions and his eyes. Hachia had done it once again, and he was annoyed at himself for going along with it. She was being a pain and stealing his attention, and he knew her well enough to know what that meant.

  “That’s clean water, you vandals!” Bartrand stomped over, puffing out his chest and curling his huge arms in exaggerated anger. “Are you expecting us to drink the salt tonight?”

  “Never again,” said Zak, furrowing his brow. “It’s not exactly my idea of fun.”

  “Then knock it off,” said Bartrand. “Salt and stone, it never ends with the two of you.”

  Bartrand glared at them for a couple of seconds. He was a soft-hearted man, and Zak wasn’t surprised when the glare melted into a subdued grin.

  “See, Bartrand knows the run of things,” said Hachia. “He’s about business. Always with his eyes on the ship, and his mind on the ocean.”

  Zak shook his head.

  “My mind was on the ocean,” he said. “Just... in a different way.”

  He didn’t mention that it was on what the ocean reminded him of, of the expanse of lost potential. The ocean was the Worldmaker’s bed, according to both the native Arkaian religion and the newer interpretations of the teachings of the Legacy Temple.

  The ocean was special, deeply entwined with the cycle of life, creation and being. His mother and father, both unknown to him, were sleeping in its depths. His mentor, Jonalan, the person who’d done more for him than anyone else, was now a part of it, buried under the deceptively plain blue surface.

  “It should be on the sky as much as the sea today,” said Bartrand. His voice was low, slow, and deliberate. “Today’s a lucky day.”

  “You always say that,” said Zak.

  Bartrand gave him a look and a smile, and Zak found himself oddly convinced by the man’s confidence. He let out a small chuckle, and was halfway into letting loose with another quip when he saw something that stopped him.

  Over the side of the ship, a school of prism fish swam by, each one the size of a man’s face, with curved, rainbow-colored fins on eit
her side that were considered to be an expensive delicacy in Malnia. He snapped and gestured with his fingers, drawing the attention of the others.

  “By the stones!” shouted Bartrand. “Get a net and get down there! I’ll holler at the Under Prince to loop the ship around.”

  Zak nodded, already moving into position near the aft of the ship. Hachia didn’t waste time, either, pulling one of the larger nets from the outer storage cabinets and double checking the fold for tangles.

  “Same as usual?” she asked, flicking strands of sandy hair out of her face to meet Zak’s eyes.

  “It looks like it could be a huge haul…” said Zak. “Better take a deep breath before going under.”

  She rolled her eyes. It was good advice, but so commonly given as to have become almost a throwaway statement, run into the ground on every fishing ship upon which Zak had served.

  “We have to time this just right,” continued Zak. “I’ll nip at the edges of the school until it’s good and bunched up, and then push it your way. Shouldn’t take long.”

  “Alright,” said Hachia. “I’ll follow your lead.”

  Zak held up a hand, waiting while their captain, Under Prince Demetro, slowly turned the ship around. The water was crystal clear, and it was no trouble for him to keep the fish in view. He could just barely see the faint blue reflection of Methrakia, the middle moon, in the water, larger than Krexellious and faster moving.

  “Almost,” murmured Zak. “Get ready!”

  He took several steps back, giving himself room. As the ship started back toward the fish, Zak charged, running forward at the railing. He hopped onto it without losing speed and hurled himself into a dive, sighting the spot on the water directly in front of the school’s path. A thrill went deep through him as he twisted and turned through the air.

  He hit the water with only the slightest of splashes. To the fish, it may as well have been a skystone impact, all of them rushing away from the source of the disturbance. Zak’s momentum carried him through the water on one side, sending them against the ship and toward where Hachia would be with the net.