by Jack Conner
“You bitch,” he whispered.
She only smiled, a hard, cold smile, but he could sense her nervousness behind it.
To the guards, she called out, “Take her to the suite.”
The guards raised their eyebrows but nodded and led Ani outside. Avery wanted to run after her. He thought he would die when she disappeared through the archway. His eyes burned. His chest hitched.
He and Sheridan emerged from the cathedral into the hot night of Lusterqal. A mosquito landed on his neck and he slapped it, feeling a burst of blood against his sticky skin. Tides of the faithful poured toward the bridge, singing songs and holding hands. More than one wept openly, so moved were they by the holy gathering of Deep Night.
“You’ve really done a number on these people,” Avery said, his voice thick. His eyes scanned the waves of people for some sign of Ani. Nothing.
“Every people needs its gods,” Sheridan mused.
Avery had no patience for this. “Where did they take her?”
“To our home, of course.”
“Your what?”
“I told you in Cuithril, you could have it all. You could’ve had your daughter back. And me. And a home.”
“I wouldn’t want you if you were fused to my spine.”
She laughed. Even in her laugh, though, there was danger. She seemed braced to throw herself on him, or worse. He knew he couldn’t let her leave. She would raise the alarm and he would be finished.
“Come with me,” he growled.
“You just said—”
“Shut it!”
He prodded her forward. She paused, judging him, perhaps wondering whether she could pulverize his larynx before he could order the faithful to rip her to pieces, then grunted and marched down the stairs. He followed close behind, but not so close that she could whirl about and attack him. He coiled his arms to strike her with the staff at an instant’s notice.
They clattered down the staircase and onto the broad walkway that led through the grounds toward the bridge.
Closer, closer.
Details of the bridge materialized ahead. Avery could see the elaborate stonework of the towers, the thick doors of the barracks at their bases. He could hear the swish of the faithfuls’ clothes as they crossed over the water, many walking on the road and not the sidewalk, as the traffic was much lighter now, though the few cars present still honked and swerved around them.
Closer. Almost there. Almost —
Movement ahead. Shouts rose up. The guards in the bridge towers descended in an angry tide. Others exploded from the barracks. Working in tandem, they sealed off the bridge.
Confused parishioners pushed against them or tried to sneak past. Soldiers drew guns and shouted for order. One fired overhead. The parishioners drew back. The soldiers in the towers on the opposite side of the river descended and sealed off the bridge on their end, forcing the people currently over the water back toward the island. The cars, unable to make a U-Turn in the tight spaces, had to remain while their occupants abandoned them and made their way afoot back to the island.
“Damn,” Avery said. The High Priest, once he’d returned to the monastery, must have done a head-count and realized he was light one priest. After a quick search of the grounds had not turned up the missing one, a panic had arisen, and the worst was—correctly—suspected. If Avery had not been distracted by Ani, he might have made it.
“You’re finished,” Sheridan said.
He chewed his lip. “These people don’t know that. To them I’m a priest, and they’ll do what I tell them. Go. This way.”
He shoved her to the side. Forced her through the lawn and grounds that stretched before the cathedral, then through the ornate stone wall that marked its boundary. Soon they were passing buildings where island business was conducted, or where island residents lived. They passed through parking lots and over small bridges, moving toward the beach.
The crowds of faithful diminished around them. Soon Avery would lose his priestly advantage. He threw his staff aside, jerked out his wooden knife, and shoved it into the small of Sheridan’s back. With his other hand he gripped her shoulder, bracing her for impalement.
“Move and I’ll plunge this into your kidney,” he said. “I’ve removed my share, so I won’t miss.”
“You’re a fool if you think this will work, Doctor.”
“That’s my concern, not yours.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
Shouts rose behind them. Lights blazed brighter from the buildings they passed. Doors opened.
“Faster,” Avery said.
He prodded her on. He’d studied a map of the island before setting out and knew roughly where to go. Janx and Hildra were supposed to meet him toward the east if he got in trouble. For a panicked moment he thought he was going north, then breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the Holy Arts building—he was going the right way.
The smell and sound of water grew stronger. Avery saw the reflection of lightning crackling off buildings ahead and knew he was almost there. What to do with Sheridan?
“What’s my daughter doing here?” he said.
“We live on the island. Do we really have time for me to explain further?”
“Can you get her off?”
“I am her guardian. I could do it with a phone call.”
She said it lightly, teasingly, as if it were the simplest thing to reunite him with his daughter, if only she deigned to do so. Was she telling the truth?
I can’t take the chance. “You’re coming with me,” he said.
They passed a last line of buildings and moved onto the rocky beach. Crackling, foaming waves smashed against the shore, and it all stank of grease, pollutants and ozone. No sign of Janx or Hildra.
“Hells,” Avery said. Sweat stung his eyes, and he blinked it away. He realized he was hyperventilating and forced himself to breathe slower, steadier.
“Not going according to plan?” Sheridan asked.
He jabbed her kidney again. “Be—”
She spun around, fast and dexterous. Knocked the knife away, and with a stiff right arm smashed the heel of her palm into his forehead. He reeled backward. Fell. Sharp wet stones poked him through the robe.
Gasping, he stared up at the night overhead. The stars spun.
Sheridan eclipsed them. She’d found his knife.
She sank onto him, straddling him with her knees, and he was aware of her thighs pressing against his arms and chest, pinning him. Her flushed face and bright eyes appeared above him, revealed by the light of a nearby building, and fast, controlled breaths expelled from her slightly-parted lips.
She shoved the knife against his throat.
“You asked me what I was doing on the island,” she said. “Now I’m asking you.”
“None—of your—concern.”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. It concerns me greatly. I nearly lost a kidney because of it.” She chuckled, and he could hear her joy. Action delighted her. Perhaps that, coupled with the suggestion of sexual dominance in her pose, accounted for an even greater pleasure. “Now talk!”
“I’m here to profess my love for the Collossum, what else?”
She nicked him with the blade, drawing blood that he could feel as it trickled hotly down his neck.
“Talk!”
“Do it,” he said.
“Brave, but there’s no point. I know why you must be here. I was counting on it, actually. But you must have accomplices—”
A loud click sounded in the darkness. Suddenly they both became aware of a large form looming behind Sheridan.
She craned her head and stared up at the immensity of Janx, his face in shadow, only his eyes gleaming—and the barrel of his large revolver, pressed against her head.
“’evening, Doc,” Janx said. “Captain.”
“Janx,” Sheridan said. “I wondered if you’d show up. And it’s Admiral now.”
“The only r
eason I don’t pull this trigger is because I don’t want anyone to hear. But that won’t prevent me from smashing your face into your brain.”
“And here I was about to say you were always one of my favorites.”
Avery took back the knife. Sheridan grunted and stood, letting him up. He dusted himself and asked Janx, “Where’s Hildra?”
“She’s with the boat—that way.” Janx indicated with his head, but he never took his eyes off Sheridan. “Had to relocate because of a patrol. What’ll we do with her? I got some ideas, if you’re lackin’.”
Avery smiled grimly. “I’m sure. Unfortunately, I have a use for her. She’s coming with us.”
“That sounds awful stupid, Doc,”
Shouts rose up behind them. All three snapped their heads in that direction.
“We don’t have time to debate it,” Avery said. “Come on!”
Casting aside his wet robe, he shuffled off in the direction Janx had indicated, wary of stones that might turn under his foot. He glanced over his shoulder to see Janx shoving Sheridan after him, first at a walk, then a jog.
“Go faster or I’ll hit you over the head and carry you,” Janx growled at her.
Soon they reached the low dark shape of a boat pulled up on the beach—a priest’s motorboat, the only kind allowed free access to the island; Janx and Hildra had waylaid a group of priests returning from a smaller temple, as per the plan.
Several figures moved near the vessel. When they saw Avery and the others approach, guns clicked and someone barked, “Who’s there?”
“Avery,” he said, only panting slightly. He had forgotten whether he was supposed to use a codeword or not.
Janx and Sheridan trotted up behind.
“Doc!” Hildra said. It was quite dark along this stretch of the beach and Avery could only see her as a silhouette against the stars, standing at the bow of the boat with Hildebrand perched on her shoulder. “You made it back! Hey ... who’s ... ?” She shaded her eyes to see Sheridan better. It must have worked, because her next words were, “Holy fucking shit!”
“She’s coming with us,” Avery said. “She’s a hostage.”
The five men and women that had accompanied Hildra and Janx—all worshippers of the Black Sect, Sygrel among them—began shoving the boat off as Avery, Janx and Sheridan climbed aboard.
Shouts and lights gathered on the stretch of beach they had just left. The activity moved toward them.
A gun cracked. Then another.
“Shit,” Sygrel said. “We’ve been found.”
He raised his gun and fired back, as did Janx and the others, all except for Hildra, who hunkered by the motor and revved it.
Avery realized that he was actually glad Ani wasn’t here, that she was safe. Perhaps Sheridan had been right.
The boat shot away from shore. A bullet whizzed by Avery’s cheek; he could feel the air part. Another whined off the nearby gunwale, showering splinters. Hildra shoved the motor into high gear, and the island began to recede. The gunfire grew sporadic, then dropped away. Sygrel and his people breathed raggedly and reloaded. No one had been hit.
As the island dwindled, Avery could see the whole of it, all framed by blackness, and then its lights began to fade.
Janx and Hildra whooped. Sturdy hands clapped Avery on the back. He started to respond in kind, but he couldn’t quite manage any sense of triumph. Somewhere on that island was his daughter. He imagined Ani standing at the window of some suite of rooms, staring out at the dark water of the river as though it was the door of her prison cell and wishing she were somewhere far, far away, and his chest tightened.
Sheridan, standing beside him, wind whipping her hair, said quietly, “She asks about you, you know.”
Something punched Avery in the stomach. “She ... does? What did you ... what did you tell her?”
“That you were alive and looking for her. That maybe someday she would see you again.”
All the strength seemed to drain out of him. He wanted, at the same time, to hug Sheridan and murder her. How could she have done this to him? To Ani? It was all too much.
“Gods below.”
The words came from Janx. The big man, Hildra and two others had gathered at the stern, and Avery joined them.
“What is it?”
Janx pointed at the water. At first Avery saw nothing, then, slowly, he picked out a vague dark shape beneath the surface, some distance away but gaining. The water was so black he only saw it when lightning burst, and then he saw it only as shadow—a great, awful shadow, barreling toward the boat. It was so large that a wave crested before it.
“Looks like there’s a reason they don’t have to put a wall around the outside of the island,” a woman near him said. “I’d heard the rumors, but I never believed ...”
“What is it?” said Hildra.
By the next burst of lightning, they saw what. The huge, torpedo-shaped shadow surged toward the boat under the waters, over seventy feet long.
“Squid!” Janx said.
“Fuck!” said Hildra.
She yanked out her pistol, as did several others. Sygrel removed a shock-stick and triggered it. Its end crackled with sparks. Desperate, Avery looked about for a weapon, but all he could find was his wooden knife.
Janx pressed his own personal revolver into Avery’s hands. Surprised, Avery admired the weight of it. He knew Janx valued this gun above all others.
“I can’t accept it,” Avery said.
“It ain’t much against this thing, trust me. Using it as a club’d probably be more—”
The squid struck. The boat rocked violently, one side lifting from the water. A great tentacle, dripping wet, reached up, grabbed one of the men and hauled him out of the boat. The man screamed, and the tentacle constricted, tearing him in two. A shower of gore sprayed out.
Hildra revved the engine and they shot away, the squid’s tentacle ripping out a chunk of metal along the gunwale.
The boat rocketed as fast as it could go. Avery peered forward to see their course and felt the blood drain from his face. There was a turn ahead. Hildra would have to slow the boat to make it or they would be dashed against the wall. And when they slowed—
“Brace yourself!” he shouted, even as Hildra reduced their speed.
The boat curved, making the turn ... yes, they were almost straight again ... Hildra prepared to open the throttle—
The squid rammed them. The blow flung everyone forward, off their feet. One of the men screamed, an arm broken.
A tentacle lashed the air. Several of the men and women shot at it. Avery, who had nearly lost the gun in the impact, struggled to lift it and aim at the pinkish mass. He fired, feeling the huge gun punish his elbows and shoulders. Tatters of flesh streamed away from the tentacle, but it barely slowed. He ducked as it whipped the air, spattering droplets.
Hildra revved the engine. It squealed. The boat didn’t move. The squid had them. Sygrel and his people fired their guns frantically.
A profusion of tentacles latched onto the side of the boat. As if attacking a whale, the great squid had latched onto the boat and had wrapped its tentacles about it, using the claws that lined its limbs to dig in deep. Avery heard a great chomping sound and realized it was the squid’s beak eating into the metal hull. The air stank of ammonia.
Hildra shot the craft into its highest gear, but the weight of the squid dragged at it. Its tentacles strained as they squeezed the boat. Loud pops and groans filled the air.
“It’s tearing us apart!” Sygrel said.
Tentacles lashed the air and scraped along the deck. Barbed suckers scored the wood of the interior. One coiled around a woman’s leg and hauled her screaming into the night. As one, Avery, Sygrel, and his remaining two people fired into the pinkish limb, purple by starlight. Streamers of flesh and ichor burst out behind it, but it didn’t release the woman. Instead, the tentacle hauled her below the gunwale of the boat, just out of sight.
She screamed louder, then a h
orrible wet chomp silenced her.
They were done for, Avery knew. Like nearly everyone else, he had thrown himself flat to avoid the lashing tentacles. Now one of the limbs scraped along the wood to his right, angling toward him, glistening and scarred. With a yelp, he rolled aside.
The movement put him in line of sight to see Janx. The huge whaler sat tensely on one of the benches. He gripped one of the emergency oars in a large hand while he whittled the end of it with the other with a huge hunting knife. He had torn off the paddle. A tentacle whipped toward his bald head, and he ducked it, never stopping his whittling.
To starboard, Sygrel stabbed his shock-stick at a dripping limb. Sparks flared, and the tentacle thrashed but did not retreat. Angrily, it knocked him aside. He cracked his head on the gunwale and went still. Avery wanted to help him, but a groping tentacle separated them.
Sheridan picked up the shock-stick. Instead of using it on Sygrel, she stood and stabbed it at the nearest squid limb.
Something jerked Avery’s leg. With a start, he glanced down to see a dark tendril wrapping itself around his ankle. He beat at it, shot it, but it coiled itself around his lower leg and, with a sudden snap, hauled him up and out of the boat. The gun spun from his hands and clattered to the deck. The sudden sense of weightlessness made him ill.
Hanging upside down, he stared down into the riot of squirming limbs. Primal terror overcame him, and he screamed.
The tentacle lowered him toward the waterline, and he saw the great sharp beak squirming and gnashing, frothing the water all about it. Blood still coated it from the woman. Bits of flesh, too.
The tentacle lowered Avery toward it—
Avery screamed so loud his throat hurt. His entire world dwindled to that one huge, snapping beak, spraying water and blood with every chomp. Avery could see chips and grooves on the beak from where previous prey had fought against it, even unto the moment of death.
The beaked snapped closer. Closer—
Suddenly, Janx was there. The whaler stood at the gunwale, makeshift harpoon cocked over his shoulder. He stabbed down—Avery couldn’t see where, but he assumed it was at the mouth—and instantly the squid emitted a horrid, bird-like shriek.
It released Avery. He plummeted to the waters, striking them and sinking under. The coldness shocked him, and the acrid, briny fluid filled his mouth and shot up his nose. He sputtered. For a moment an instinctual panic rose up in him, overcoming reason. He’d trained himself for so long to fear and avoid any water fouled by the Atomic Sea that it was hard to accept that he was now immune to it—or, if not immune, resistant. He was of the sea now.
