by Alix Nichols
“Will he believe Etana had nothing to do with your escape?” Rhori asked.
“Over the course of my many interrogation sessions, I’ve come to know Ultek quite a bit.” Areg smirked. “He’ll come up with a conspiracy theory, blaming my escape on the Teteum Secret Service, an enforcer operation, or the work of a team of rich-bloods from LORSS. I doubt he’ll suspect a local girl of pulling a stunt like that.”
“And Boggond?”
Areg shook his head. “He’s too arrogant, too disparaging about menials, to suspect her.”
“Fine. What about you?” Rhori leveled his gaze with Areg’s.
Without releasing Etana’s hands, Areg pointed his chin to the blaster by his side. “I have this.”
“If I go back,” Etana said. “Ultek won’t leave me alone, whether he suspects me or not.” She turned to Areg. “Remember what he said on our wedding night?”
He nodded once, his mouth a hard line.
Etana lifted her head. “I’d rather die than end up in his basement.”
Suddenly, Areg’s eyes lit up. “There’s another way. Reach out to Aynu as soon as you’re back in Iltaqa. She’ll help.”
“Aynu…” Rhori furrowed his brow. “As in Her Royal Glory Prioress Aynu Eckme?”
“Yes, that one—the vestal who sang at my botched beheading.” Areg’s lips twitched in a barely perceptible smile. “She’s a childhood friend and a wonderful person. She’ll find a way to protect Etana from Ultek.”
“How do we find her?” Rhori asked.
“Go to Orogate tomorrow morning.” Areg unclasped the serpent coil from his neck and placed it in Etana’s hand. “Tell the first vestal you’ll see at the temple who you are and ask her to show this to Aynu.”
Etana studied the small gold ouroboros on a thin black leather string. Like everyone else, Areg must’ve received it from his parents as a toddler on the day of his Nine Blessings. Like everyone else, he was supposed to wear it until Aheya claimed his soul.
“You’ll have it back,” she vowed.
He took it from her and slipped the string around her neck, so it rested next her own serpent coil. “Of course.”
Was there irony in his voice?
“What you need to do as soon as you can,” Rhori said to Areg, “is seek out Timm Itkis. I’ll put the word out that you’re looking for him.”
“Who’s Timm Itkis?” Etana and Areg asked at the same time.
“A traveling salesman.”
Areg arched an eyebrow.
“A highly specialized traveling salesman.” Rhori flashed a sly grin. “If you need fake papers or smuggled level-two tech, he’s your man.”
Etana couldn’t help a frown. “I didn’t know you mingled with people like that.”
“Back in my wrestling days, every prizefighter was told to reach out to him if he accidentally killed his opponent.” Rhori chuckled at how wide Etana’s eyes had grown. “I managed not to kill any of mine, so I never met him. But I hear he’s still in business.”
“I’ll look for him when the dust settles.” Areg surveyed Rhori. “A prizefighter, huh? You do have the right built and size, but—” He opened his mouth as if to add something, then thought better of it.
“But I seem too gentle for a prizefighter, right?” Rhori voiced his unspoken words.
Areg shrugged as if to say, Sorry, man, but it’s the truth.
Rhori’s grin broadened. “You’re right. I’m no bully. Never enjoyed fighting. But it’s the fastest legal, erm… sort of legal, way a menial man can make enough money to pay for tools and an apprenticeship with a craft guild.”
“I should’ve guessed.” Areg shifted his position. “It would’ve taken you… let’s see… fifteen years on a soldier’s salary?”
“Twenty,” Rhori said.
At some point in their hushed conversation, Etana stretched out on the floor and fell asleep.
When she woke up, the last rays of sunlight kissed the cottage goodbye before disappearing for the night. Her energy grew slowly. She was still weak, but she could now flex the muscles on her arms and legs, sit a little straighter and speak normally.
She could feel Areg watching her and could almost hear him assessing how much time she would need to leave the shack with Rhori’s help. Cringing inwardly at her subterfuge, she made herself sit stiller. She wasn’t ready to go away, not until she’d had a word with him alone.
Raindrops tapped lightly on the roof and the remaining glass in the windows but didn’t escalate into a proper shower. Something howled, then another one, and a couple more.
Etana turned to Rhori. “Bearwolves?”
She could never tell by the howl.
“No, just regular wolves.” Rhori gave her a reassuring pat. “Don’t worry, there’s no way they can get in.”
She smiled, fidgeting. “I know that. Problem is I need to go out.”
Two pairs of male eyebrows shot up at that.
“To the outhouse.” Etana rolled her eyes. “I need to pee.”
Areg picked up the blaster and stood. “Can you wait a few minutes? I’ll go first to make sure it’s safe.”
He was out the door the instant she nodded.
It was getting dark, and Etana had to squint to see his outline through the window. He crossed the backyard, stepped into the outhouse, walked out and around it. She lost sight of him for a moment, and then suddenly he was opening the squeaking door to the cottage.
“It’s safe to use and not too disgusting. There’s even a wash stand behind.” He strode to Etana and helped her to her feet. “Can you walk, leaning on my arm? Otherwise, I’ll carry you.”
Rhori cleared his throat loudly.
Etana turned to her brother. What was that about?
“Right.” Areg rubbed the back of his head, looking from Rhori to Etana. “We’re not actually married. It would be inappropriate… Rhori—”
“I’ll accompany her,” Rhori said.
He planted himself next to Etana and offered his arm to lean on.
Areg pointed to the blaster. “I’ll take care of the wolves if they come too close.”
“Thanks, but just so you know, I’m not entirely helpless.” Rhori pulled a folding hunting knife out of his pocket. “I’m really good with this.”
There was a boyish pride in Rhori’s voice Etana would’ve found endearing in other circumstances.
“Of course, you are,” Areg said, grabbing his gun and heading outside, regardless.
She turned to Rhori. “I don’t care who walks me to the outhouse, but I need a moment alone with Areg.”
“Oh.” He winced, flushing. “That was dense of me, eh?”
As they stepped out, he touched Areg’s shoulder. “You take her. I’ll keep watch.”
With Etana’s legs still wobbly, and darkness thickening, it took them over five minutes to cover the short distance to the outhouse. As they walked around the tall weeds reclaiming the backyard, Etana opened her mouth several times intending to speak, but closed it again without uttering a sound.
She knew what she wanted to say to Areg. She just had no clue how to say it.
So much had happened between them in such a short time! She’d proposed to the man to save him from an unjust death penalty. Begrudgingly, he’d accepted her proposal. They’d made sacred vows and were married. Then they weren’t. He almost died this morning. She almost died rescuing him.
In light of all of that life-and-death peril, the thing she wanted to confess seemed too… trivial, too embarrassingly undramatic.
I really, really like you, Areg Sebi.
They reached the outhouse, and she let go of his arm. “I’ll manage from here.”
“Sure?”
She nodded. When she was done, she headed straight to the washstand behind the outhouse. Thankfully, there was water in a tin jug and a bar of soap dangling on a string.
“The water’s clean,” Areg said, picking up the pitcher. “It’s been raining all week.”
As
she washed her hands, all she could think of was, Now or never. She shook excess water off her hands and dried them on her skirt.
Areg set the pitcher back down. “Etana…”
She spun around. “Yes?”
“I—”
“Kiss me.”
Cupping the back of her neck, he drew her close and his mouth descended on hers. His kiss was deep, urgent, hungry. His hands held her tight against him, and his tongue pushed against her tongue and stroked it while his lips devoured hers.
She moaned softly.
He let go of her. “Forgive me, sweet pea.”
“For what?” She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “I craved that kiss.”
“For being selfish.” There was sadness in his eyes even as he smiled. “For messing up your life.”
“What life? A life of sorting dirty clothes, mending, stain treating, scrubbing, and wringing? Or a life of starching and ironing? Six days a week, dawn to dusk.”
“At least, you weren’t in danger.”
She cocked her head. “Want to know a secret? This past week was the first time I felt alive. Like I was a person and not one of those machines you talked about at the Gokk House.”
“I wish I could keep you safe…”
“I’d to it all over again.”
Dogs barked in the distance.
“You have to go now.” Areg stepped from behind the outhouse and waved to Rhori.
Rhori ran to them. “You think it’s—”
“Carry her,” Areg said. “She’s still too weak to run.”
Rhori nodded, before adding, “What about you?”
“I’ll hole up in the cottage.”
Rhori squatted down next to Etana and draped her over his back, gripping her arm and leg as he straightened up.
The men exchanged a quick nod.
“Goodbye, sweet pea,” Areg said to Etana.
Her lips moved to form a soundless goodbye.
“Ma and Pa’s house isn’t far from here,” Rhori said to Areg. “I’ll drop her off and be back straight away to give you a hand.”
Areg let out an exasperated breath. “I don’t have time for this, Rhori. Do you own a blaster?”
Rhori shook his head.
“A bullet gun? Longbow? A combat boomerang?”
“No.”
“Then you’re no use to me, understand? Take care of your sister.”
The barking grew louder. Etana could make out several male voices, shouting.
“If I make it,” Areg said as he spun around and ran toward the shack. “I’ll head to the highland. Next Third-day, take the goat trail up the steep slope of Mount Crog. Halfway to the tree line, look for a clearing to your left. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll meet you there!” Rhori set out in the direction of the Tidryn house.
“Make sure you aren’t followed and come after dark.” Areg sprinted to the cottage and shut the door behind him.
He sounded like he expected to survive tonight.
As Rhori raced for the cover of the corn fields with her slung over his back, she could see the contours of five men with big blasters and two huge dogs run toward the cottage. The reality of what was happening sank in. She and Rhori were abandoning Areg. They couldn’t help him anymore. No one could.
Divine Aheya seemed bent on welcoming him to the Eternal Garden this summer. Oddly enough, Areg didn’t appear reluctant to go.
The dogs were barking their heads off now.
When Rhori reached the corn field, Etana lifted her head for one last look at the squat cottage and its drooping roof before the stalks of corn swallowed them up.
Was it going to become Areg’s grave?
13
Adrenaline surging through his veins, Areg ripped a floorboard, blocked the door, and ducked beneath one of the windows.
The position gave him a view of the yard and allowed him to shoot through the holes in the glass. He wasn’t going to go quietly.
Not this time.
Oh, and the best part? The blaster he’d snatched on the scaffold was an advanced model. It came with night vision. Areg peered into the scope, fingering the underbelly of the gun for the stun switch.
The dogs’ barking and their masters’ voices grew louder. Flashlight beams crisscrossed the air. He counted five of them. The search squad would be bursting into the yard any minute now.
Frowning at his clumsiness with the switch, Areg flipped the blaster and inspected it. The weapon had no stun switch. With its counter showing an impressive 100 rounds, it was designed to maim and kill people—not to knock them unconscious. Equipping cops with that kind of tech was too fucked-up, even for a scumbag like Ultek.
When the crazed dogs started hitting their heads against the door, Areg whispered “Aheya help me” and took aim.
Someone gave the door a push from the other side, then another. The plank he’d propped against it gave in. A policeman in a blast-proof vest stepped inside, two large dogs growling at his feet.
Cold sweat beaded Areg’s forehead as he got the man’s right arm in the crosshairs. It wasn’t fear for his life. Getting gunned down here and now was probably the best card he’d been dealt since his arrest. What unsettled him was his inability to stop his war-honed instincts from kicking in. Those instincts and skills were about to cause him to kill a man—his compatriot—who was just following orders.
He pulled the trigger.
The cop’s shoulder exploded, splattering the floor with blood. He fell down, screaming. The dogs whimpered and backed out of the shack with their tails between their legs.
Areg lunged forward and kicked the wounded officer’s blaster away from him. Alerted by footsteps outside, he rushed back to the window, stuck the barrel of his blaster out and looked through the scope.
Two cops took cover behind a tree and started firing. A volley of shots hit the wall with a shockwave that threw him to the center of the room. Luckily, the shack’s thick walls absorbed most of the impact.
The roof turned out to be less solid. The wood screeched and cracked just as a beam fell, glancing off Areg. Sharp pain zinged through his left thigh. Making himself ignore it, he crawled back to the window and took aim.
He pulled the trigger once, twice. The shooters fell to the ground, contorting and bawling.
Beyond caring if they’d survive, Areg skidded along the wall, crawled to the opposite window, and scanned the backyard.
He spotted the dogs first and, using the scope of the blaster, he tracked two more men in the overgrown grass halfway to the outhouse. His palms were slick with sweat—or was it his own blood—as he locked the gun on the shoulder of one of the cops. Just as Areg pressed the trigger, the man shifted slightly, and the blast hit in the neck, killing him instantly.
“You fucking shit!” The second man yelled. “You’re dead!”
He didn’t use the scope as he unleashed his automatic on the cottage.
Areg ducked and lurched into the firebox. Cursing and bellowing in fury, the cop kept shooting, high and wide. The cottage shook. The remaining glass in the windows burst, and shards flew in all directions. More of the roof collapsed.
While the automatic chattered angrily, wreaking havoc all around him, Areg fingered the wound on his leg and pulled a large splinter out. With steady hands, he ripped off one of his sleeves and bandaged the wound.
Shots pierced the cottage walls, tore the air, and exploded the floorboards.
Areg’s ears rang, but his breathing was even. It was this odd, almost reckless, equanimity in the face of grave danger that had helped him survive and prevail over the enemy in the fog of war. And it was the same legendary nerve—or fatalism or blind faith—that had pushed him to take an unnecessary risk two and a half years ago. A risk that had sacrificed nine men. Nine loving sons, brothers, fathers. All worthier than him, all deserving to live more than he did.
Suddenly, everything was quiet.
In the seconds it took the cop to drop the empty
battery pack and plug a fresh one, Areg sprang to the window and aimed his blaster. He curled his finger around the trigger and exhaled. One flick and the man’s head recoiled, flesh and brains erupting in a red halo. Lifeless, he slumped to the ground.
Areg hadn’t intended to maim him. This time he’d fired to kill.
With the four out of five men down, the soldier in him glimpsed the possibility of surviving the night. And that soldier wasn’t taking any chances.
The dogs howled in the distance, scared and mournful. Areg limped out the door. Ashes danced in the smoky air, reeking of urine and reminding him of wartime scenes he’d hoped to forget. As he crossed the backyard, he took in the men he’d shot—two dead and three still alive, writhing in their blood. He’d hoped to never witness, let alone cause, a scene like that again.
Just another pipe dream.
Areg didn’t make it to the corn field. As he crossed the country road between it and the cottage, a wagon caught up with him. His injury making him slow, Areg didn’t even try to run.
Two brawny farmers jumped off the wagon and invited him onto it.
“We want to help,” one of them said.
The other asked Areg to lie down so that he could pull some rags over him.
They rode in silence for almost an hour with the farmers in the box seat and Areg behind. Wincing at the stench of the rags, he wondered if the farmers were taking him to Ultek in hopes of getting a reward.
Caution dictated that he threaten them with his blaster and take their wagon. His gut whispered he could trust them.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked, sitting up and lifting the flap separating the wagon from the box seat.
Ah, fresh air.
“To my home burg, Plum Orchard.” The older farmer turned back from the driver’s seat. “I have a cabin in the woods north of it.”
Areg surveyed the area through the scope of his blaster. Iltaqa’s lights were far behind. They weren’t moving in the direction of Orogate, either. The wagon could, indeed, be headed to Plum Orchard. Which was in the opposite direction from Mount Crog.
“I’m Atipoly,” the gray-haired farmer said.
