Allies and Enemies: Fallen

by Amy J. Murphy

  “You’d be wise to find cover from the suns, Tyron.” She turned to see Lineao striding up to her. “They can be powerful.”

  “I’ll manage,” she replied, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead. She kept her eyes trained on the door of the small temple. A mother carrying a toddler on her hip exited the curtained entrance. Sela tensed.

  Lineao looked over his shoulder to the doorway. “Erelah is quite safe in the shrine to Brilta. Only women and children may enter. It may be some time until she leaves.” He turned back to her. “Do you know the story of Brilta?”

  “Let me guess. Another Fate?” Sela asked. The skin across the back of her neck felt tight with the distinct beginnings of a sunburn taking root. Why would they build a place in the desert with such limited shade?

  “No. A simple mortal that lived long ago, a shield maiden, in fact,” Lineao said. “That is what they used to call female soldiers. In the days before the Expanse, Brilta served an ancient house called Novia.”

  “I know what a shield maiden is,” she said with no real enthusiasm. It was as if Erelah were purposefully trying to torment her: stuck under the blazing suns and forced to listen to more morality tales from Lineao.

  “Brilta was loyal and true and a courageous fighter. She loved the lord of the house, well beyond her duty as a soldier. But the Lord Novia knew nothing of her.”

  Sela shifted on her feet at the reference, realizing why Lineao had chosen this story and her as a captive audience.

  “One day, the Fate, Metauri, appeared to Brilta and promised to make Novia love her. In return, Metauri would later come to claim her payment. Brilta agreed. And soon Novia came to love his shield maiden. He made her his lady wife and together they had a son. True to her word, Metauri returned to claim her token for joining the Paths of Novia and Brilta.”

  “Their son, right?” she asked. What a bunch of evil bitches. Why would anyone bother to worship them?

  Lineao nodded. “Brilta and Novia waged war against the Fate. Many of the lord’s men were lost. His lands lay scorched and wasted by battle. All seemed lost until Miri intervened.”

  Sela snapped her attention back to the doorway of the temple, realizing her attention was drifting away from her target.

  “And so, Miri stood between the armies of her sister and of Novia. She could not bear to see the suffering. She offered a deal to Novia. ‘I shall give you a choice: your kingdom or your son?’ Novia did not pause. ‘Take my kingdom. I shall live as a pauper, if it means I can keep my true wealth, my son.’”

  Sela directed a surprised frown at the priest. “And Brilta retaliated? She sought revenge against Metauri?”

  “That’s not the point.” Lineao shook his head.

  “The point to what?”

  “The story.”

  “What a waste of resources.” She turned back to watch the shrine.

  The priest uttered a low chuckle.

  “What.”

  “The response of a soldier,” Lineao replied. She detected the slightest bit of exasperation in his tone.

  “Sorry to disappoint.” Sela moved away from the wall into the thicker part of the garden of the courtyard, making sure her line of sight was not impaired. How long could one woman pray? She heard the footsteps of the priest behind her.

  “Have you considered talking to the Three?” he asked. “It occurs to me, you would have a great deal to tell them. And they, in turn, might offer guidance, should you choose to listen.”

  Sela countered. “Not going to happen.”

  He gave a strange shrug that suggested he was unconvinced, then stooped to pinch off a dead leaf among the vines.

  “It’s amazing to see anything green here,” she said, desperate to change the subject.

  “With the proper attention, one can nurture growth in the most unlikely, inhospitable places.”

  Somehow, Sela knew he was not just talking about plants. She rolled her eyes. Conversations with him were minefields.

  “Jonvenlish tells me that you have chosen to remain on Tasemar,” Lineao continued. He granted her a knowing glance under the shade of his hood. “Oddly, I have never heard of Sarmen.”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. Sarmen had been a lie to push Jon away. The decision still made her feel bruised and wrong, but she continued to tell herself it was for the right reasons. They were vulnerable together, too willing to make rash decisions and take insane risks. This would keep him safe. In time, he would see it. Beyond seeing Jon and Erelah off into the nebulous unknown, she had no plan. It most certainly did not involve remaining a permanent fixture within the Temple of Miseries, however.

  “It’s just better this way.” She returned, not certain of who she was trying to convince.

  “When we first met, you asked me how long I had been on the run as a deserter. I was not entirely honest.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I’m not shocked.” She watched an errant gust of wind move the curtained doorway to the shrine.

  “It was in the time of the Purge, when First decided to rid the Known Worlds of the Humans. I was a Seeker then, one trained to hunt and eradicate. My mission brought me to Tasemar. There were rumors of the priests sheltering Humans and other fugitive species.”

  “A Seeker?” She was impressed.

  “I was ambushed by smugglers and well outnumbered. Ironically, they feared I was here for their stolen goods and weapons. A merchant found me as I clung to life and brought me to the very temple I had meant to infiltrate. A cleric to the Fates, Mahir, saved me, set my body to healing. None of the Order knew my identity or my true intent. I spent many weeks here. In time Mahir came to entrust me with his secret, for he was quite old, dying.”

  “His secret?” Sela looked at him.

  “Mahir had been sheltering children… Human children, orphaned in the Purge. A mere handful. By this time, my extraction was long overdue. It was easy to think of myself as abandoned.”

  Lineao paused to look at her. Sela knew she was meant to see the similarities in their stories, both abandoned on this dusty world by the Regime.

  “In the faces of these Human young, I could see no difference between them and a Eugenes child. The young ones regarded Mahir with such trust. And, after a time, they came to trust me as well. I was becoming part of this place. But the Fates always have other plans, Tyron, do they not?

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Lineao examined a lone yellow blossom on a melon vine as he spoke. “My fellow Seekers at last came to extract me. They arrived in the night, dragging Mahir from his bed, into this very garden. On his knees, he pled up at them. Offered his life for those of the Palari children.”

  “And?”

  His eyes were hooded from the harsh sunlight.

  “I did what must be done, Tyron. What the Fates had expected of me. Why they had placed me here.” His tone was matter of fact. “To the Regime, the men of my team were another small set of casualties. Lucrid Eno perished with those trained murderers. That night he became Jarryd Lineao, a simple novice of this divine Order.”

  He did not have to tell her the rest. Sela imagined that somewhere deep in the desert surrounding Macula was a shallow unmarked pit in which rested the members of his former Seeker brethren. Or, perhaps more poetically, their bodies had never left this garden.

  “And the fugitives?” she asked. “I mean… the children.”

  He held his hands out, making a scattering gesture. “They were separated, sent to other places. But I remained.”

  Sela froze, considering. “Is it possible that two of them went to Argos? A boy and an infant girl?”

  Lineao shook his head. “It has been many years, Tyron. Dozens of Palari called this sanctuary at one time.”

  What were the odds that I’d end up seeking refuge in the very temple that once housed my captain and his sister as refugees? Sela disliked the thought. If it were true, then what other things in her life that she thought ruled by chance or achievement, had been destined or constr
ucted by unseen hands?

  This was his attempt to persuade her to stay with Veradin, she guessed. But everything with her captain was so damaged, confusing. It felt hopeless to try to make sense of it, especially after this morning.

  “I’m leaving.” It was an announcement, though she was uncertain who she meant to convince. “The moment Veradin returns. I need you to set me up with a contact. Someone with a ship—”

  “Yes. Yes. I know a few pilots. Some of them are even trustworthy,” he said. “But tell me, Tyron, where do you expect this ship to take you? Certainly not on your destined Path.”

  “My path is to leave here.”

  Lineao tilted his head. “If that is your wish.”

  “What?” She had expected another argument about duty or destiny to serve, assigned by the Fates.

  “If that is your wish,” he repeated with a patronizing smile. His tone was that of an adult addressing a small child who had just outlined an impossible fantasy they would like to see come true.

  Lineao shuffled off, leaving her deep in doubt.

  34

  Erelah was careful to keep the hood pulled over her head as she maneuvered through the crowded marketplace. She avoided contact with anyone. If even a casual touch could conjure the Sight, she feared what being in the midst of a crowd would bring.

  She paused in the shade of a boarded-up building scarred by fire as she scanned the crowd for any sign of Tyron. A sea of strangers flowed past. No one seemed to notice her. She was simply another pilgrim wandering Macula. Satisfied that Tyron was still probably waiting for her outside the shrine to Brilta, she said a silent thanks for Brother Lineao’s help in distracting her bodyguard.

  Briefly shutting her eyes, Erelah dug into the memories she had stolen from Tyron last night during their confrontation in the courtyard. Erelah found that these were easier to handle that the actual act of sharing Sight with another. It was more like thumbing through image captures in a frame: their frantic return to Tasemar, a hectic search for intel about the Temple of the Miseries and, questioning patrons in the taverns that lined the high street about Lineao.

  She opened her eyes and studied the faces of the buildings nearby. There.

  A building across the busy street, further down the hill. That was the place. It was a gambling house with metal-latticed windows and a faded sand dragon standard over the door. That was where Tyron had sensed danger from the men inside. Mercs. Bounty hunters. If they were enough to make Tyron feel wary, then they would do for Erelah’s plan to work. She needed something to spur matters on. It was a chancy move, but in the early hours of dawn it seemed like the perfect plan.

  She drew in a deep breath, steeling herself. Then froze.

  How do I even know this will work? I’m no soldier. I’m not even an engineer anymore. What do I think I’m doing?

  “Didn’t ’spect you to be so pretty.”

  The rough voice made her startle. She turned to look at its owner.

  He was a young man, a rarity in Macula after the recent Regime occupation. He grinned startlingly white teeth against sun-darkened skin. One of his hands rested on the hilt of a sinister-looking curved blade strapped under the drape of his robe.

  And I purposefully dodged a well-trained soldier’s protection to come here.

  Alone.

  Her heart flattened under the thought.

  What was I thinking?

  “Where’s that Regime whore?” he asked.

  That was a good question, although Tyron would disagree violently with his choice of titles.

  When it was clear Erelah would not answer, he yanked her to him savagely.

  “That skew cut your tongue out when he bought you?” he asked, looking her up and down.

  Bought me?

  Wide-eyed, she shook her head. Then realized he did not know who she was. He had assumed she was some sort of slave or concubine. Although she’d be insulted under any other circumstances, she decided not to correct him. While Tristic might prefer to use her own private intelligence army and work in subterfuge, the Regime had done steady trade in the Known Worlds, with bounties for deserters like her brother and Tyron.

  “I’m so glad that you found me,” she said haltingly in Commonspeak, swallowing her consonants. “Fates bless you for freeing me, sir.”

  Erelah cringed. She knew what she sounded like when she attempted the language: a high born, mocking a commoner’s accent. Thankfully, he was too impressed with himself to notice.

  “Free you.” He jerked his chin in a nod. His self-congratulatory smile re-emerged. “Of course, sweetling.”

  She did not need the Sight to tell the man was lying. The lupine glint in his eyes told her he might harbor other plans for her. Her experience with Maynard had paid off in that aspect.

  “My friends are with that crester skew Veradin right now.” He turned them in the direction of the landing field. “Nice payday. Never seen a bounty like that. Even more if we get that Regime whore… though I won’t weep if she ends up dead in the process.”

  Erelah pointed over her shoulder toward the Temple of the Miseries. It now seemed so far away. This was not going at all as she had hoped. “Take me back to the temple. I’ll bring you to the Regime woman.”

  He glanced around, as he seemed to reconsider.

  “She’s injured. Easy for a strong man like you to overpower,” she prodded.

  He reached up, pushing the hood from her head. His fingers brushed along her face. Erelah felt the tremble build along her every nerve at once, straining against that tender barrier in her mind. The brief touch had been enough to get a taste of him. She felt something uncoil at the base of her skull. The Sight was awake and greedy with hunger.

  She pushed out at him, just the briefest of effort.

  Take me back to the Temple.

  Something flickered behind his eyes.

  “Come on then, girl.”

  Turning, he pulled her in the direction of the temple, his fingers digging painfully into her upper arm.

  ---

  As the suns shifted in the sky to cast shadows, Sela moved to the relative shade of a small outbuilding directly across from the shrine.

  Certainly, the Fates were bored of hearing from Erelah by now.

  Jon, the things I do for you.

  With a defeated sigh, she slid down the wall and pulled her knees up against her chest. Her head felt baked and the skin on her forearms was starting to turn pink. Even her patience was beginning to evaporate. Regardless of her reluctance to be in such intimate surroundings with Erelah, she was considering going inside just to be out of the sun. Maybe if she were to silently stare at the back of the girl’s head, she would get the message that it was time to wrap it up. Perhaps the Fates would even be grateful to Sela for cutting off the prayer marathon.

  Subdued giggling grabbed her attention.

  Peeking out from a gap in the curtains were two Tasemarin children. Eyes wide under shaggy heads of hair, they regarded Sela with naked fascination. By the time she was their size she could field strip a weapon and understand basic defense strategy. These two children knew nothing of that.

  A woman, graying and hunched, suddenly appeared behind the children. She warbled admonishing commands in Tasemarin and herded the younglings back into the shrine. Her sharp-eyed gaze studied Sela before she followed them in.

  Sela realized the woman knew her for what she was. The rest of Macula was filled with the elderly and children. There were more widows and orphans than young men and women of combat age. It was the mark of a place that had waged insurrection and paid for it in the death and conscription of their youth.

  We have been foolish.

  Despite the bustle and new-found activity of Macula, they were painfully conspicuous. The pilgrims coming and going from the temple might offer cover and distraction, but they did not mean safety. Sela might have shed her uniform, but she was not like them. She stood a full head taller. Despite their time on the run with meager supplies, she w
as well-fed in appearance. Her spine was straight and long and had never been crooked with hard labor. Her dark blonde hair was clipped short to regulation standard, regardless of how shaggy it might feel to her.

  She was a Regime criminal who had lain siege to their town and desecrated their beloved temple. They did not know her name or her face, but they knew what Sela represented. For that, they would have gladly stoned her to death in the very street.

  I have to get Erelah. Now.

  She sprang to her feet and covered the distance to the shrine’s doorway with hurried strides.

  “Erelah.” Sela pulled back the heavy curtain. Brilliant sunlight pierced the dim interior. It was a tiny curved room lined with dozens of clay lanterns that illuminated frescos on the walls. The gray haired Tasemarin woman frowned up from the floor where she knelt flanked by the two children.

  But no Erelah.

  “You’re looking for the pale lady with the pretty hair?”

  Sela turned. It was the female child that had spoken.

  “Aziza, be quiet.” The old woman snapped, wrapping a protective arm around the girl.

  “You saw her?” Sela asked. “Where did she go?”

  “Through there.” The girl held up a chubby finger and pointed at a tapestry hanging from the wall.

  Sela frowned. “There?”

  The girl nodded enthusiastically before being commanded to turn back to the altar.

  Sela went to the tapestry and pulled it aside. A small wooden door, waist high, was set into the wall. She swung it open to find that it exited on the opposite side of the courtyard.

  “Damn it all.” She spat and set off in a sprint for the main part of the temple.

  35

  The merc dragged Erelah into one of the lesser-used pathways between outbuildings and thrust her against the wall.

  “What about the soldier? Don’t you want me to take you to her?” she asked.

  “She can wait,” he said with a predatory grin. His free hand once more touched her bare skin as he held the blade against her neck.

  She exhaled a long, quivering breath. The sensation of heat erupted down her back, pushing out toward her captor. She envisioned tendrils, great hooked and ravenous roots digging into his brain. He trembled, frozen in place like a man subjected to high voltage.