“You wanted us…to help you…” she said. It hurt to speak. She didn’t realize until a moment later that blood trickled out of her mouth.
She looked down. Her stomach had been torn open. Shreds of meat and bone were visible through her ruined skin. Kane came and wrapped her in his arms. The most frightening thing she’d ever seen was the look of fear on his face.
“We did it, Mike,” she smiled.
The air seemed brighter.
She smelled beer and wine and cigarillos, and the smell reminded her of Cross, and Kane, and the first night they’d spent together in Thornn, the three of them, the new team, the mercenaries, laughing and drinking and thinking maybe, just maybe, there was a place for them in the world, that there were friends who’d cherish them…that there was some hope for tomorrow, after all.
She held onto that memory as her eyes grew heavy.
There in Kane’s arms and with Cross’ hand held tightly in her grip, she fell asleep.
TWENTY
SLEEP
Waking.
She stares into a storm of stars. The universe has folded in on itself. Black and grey squeeze together in a shimmering mirror-glass filled with maelstroms and cataclysms, molten meteors and the dense filigree of angel’s dreams. She hears singing, and she sees whirling patterns of light. She feels like she could fall into the arms of the sky, and she will be safe there.
Black was wrapped in blankets, and she rocked back and forth as the train sped along. Light fluttered through the open grill of the passenger car. They had a private suite, which she later learned hadn’t come cheap, but it was the only way she and Ronan could each have their own private cots, where they stayed buried in blankets made of brown and grey wool.
The air was filled with dust. The ancient clock on the wall rattled. Outside lay a desert landscape made deep red by the setting sun. Cobalt clouds hung like predators frozen in the sky.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Ronan didn’t answer. He was fast asleep. His face was covered in bandages, and the white linen wrapped around his arms was soaked through with blood. Tufts of dark and unruly hair stood up from beneath his face-wrappings, and his bruised eyes twitched fitfully beneath his lids.
Danica sat up. Pain rested deep in her stomach, hard and sour, like a ball of lead fused to her spine. Her throat was raw and cold, and her face and arms throbbed with pain.
She felt for her spirit, and was relieved to find him there. He danced around the periphery of her thoughts, brimming with vitality.
She had no doubt he’d saved her life, probably several times since she’d lost consciousness during the battle. The fact that she was wracked with hurt and that every last inch of her body was sore only attested to the level of injuries she’d sustained.
Danica pushed the blankets aside and lifted up her shirt. Her smooth stomach bore a vicious scar that ran from her waistline up to just beneath her breasts. The wound was ugly, jagged and tender, but she knew for a fact that not long ago it had been much, much worse.
“Maur hopes this show of skin is for his benefit.”
The Gol sat on a small stool between Ronan and Black. He re-assembled a Glock 17 on a small work bench. Danica couldn’t imagine how he managed to keep that bench from falling over with the train’s rocking and relentless motion.
She pulled down her shirt.
“Little pervert,” she laughed. Her voice was cracked and dry. Maur quietly handed her a flask that she was disappointed to learn contained only water. “Kane?”
As if on cue, the door to their shadow-drenched compartment slid open. The roar of the train drowned everything out for a moment as Kane, swathed head to toe in a heavy wolf-hide cloak, stumbled in with a small pot that he held by a thin metal handle.
He slid the door closed and clumsily set the miniature cauldron down, while Maur produced a set of bowls and wooden spoons.
“Don’t expect much,” Kane laughed.
He wasn’t kidding. The swill tasted like dishwater, but it was hot and filled with chunks of flavorless vegetables, and in spite of its foul aroma Danica felt rejuvenated after just a few bites.
Ronan woke up and ate, as well, though it pained him to do so. He barely spoke.
“So where in the hell are we?” she asked.
“The Dubrackki Railway,” Kane answered.
“Holy shit,” Black said through a mouthful of soup. “We’re all of the way down near the Bleeding Straits?”
“It was the only safe way to get us out of the borderlands,” Kane said. “The entire countryside around the Shadowmere was crawling with Ebon Cities patrols. We wound our way up the coast and kept out of sight until we met some Mektesh traders willing to give us a lift.” He looked at Ronan and Maur. “We’re a long way from home, folks.”
Black’s stomach twisted in knots. She’d suddenly lost her appetite.
“You said the Keep was…so that was the real world. That place where we found Cross.”
Kane looked at her silently for a moment, and then stood up. Danica had thought the third cot was empty, since no one had stirred there, but Kane gently offered his hand and helped her walk over to it.
Danica’s side and stomach burned when she moved, and she hadn’t realized until then just how long she’d been motionless, because when she stood she was incredibly dizzy. She steadied herself, then went with Kane and looked under the blankets of the third cot.
Cross lay there, asleep and utterly still. She saw that he was breathing, but only barely. His bushy beard and unkempt hair looked like they belonged on a mountain man. His skin was pale.
“He should be fed,” Maur said.
“Yeah, I know,” Kane grumbled.
“Jesus,” Black said. She rested her back against the wall. “You guys hauled me and Cross all of the way from Shadowmere Keep to the Dubrackki Railway? That’s over a hundred miles.”
“One-hundred-and-fifty, thank you very much,” Ronan corrected. His voice sounded like gravel and glass. “And they were carrying me most of the way, too.”
Kane shrugged.
“We were only two days out from the Keep when we ran into the Mektesh. They took us the rest of the way.”
Black watched him, and something inside of her warmed.
You could have left me there, she thought. Maur wouldn’t have been able to stop you, and Ronan was in no state to. You could have finally paid me back for all the suffering you went through in Black Scar. I can’t repay you for this, Kane. You and Cross are both much better people than I could ever be.
“Thanks,” was all she said out loud.
“Well, don’t thank us all at once,” Kane said. The train jerked, and he was forced to sit down. Danica lowered herself onto the cot. Kane nodded to Maur. “Show her.”
Maur reached under the bench and pulled out a cumbersome item wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped one end.
It was Avenger, and Soulrazor. Two blades fused together, a black and white enigma of a sword. Shards or aspects or representations of The Sleeper and the Woman in the Ice, whoever or whatever they really were.
Danica reached for it, and her spirit felt nothing. It bore no magic of its own, not anymore.
So many questions.
And they had no answers. Not yet.
The train was three days out from a border town called Blacksand, a way-station for settlers, explorers, pirates and thieves. They’d fit right in.
They were at least 200 miles west of Glaive, the Southern Claw city-state located closest to the Ebonsand Sea. The Dubrakki Railway ended in Blacksand and stretched west towards the Mektesh clanholds, a wildly dangerous place controlled by tribal people with primitive magic who did their best to stay out of the influence of both the Ebon Cities and the Southern Claw.
Danica understood Blacksand was a dangerous place, not so much for its crime but because of its proximity to the wilderness, as well as its lack of a true ruling authority. It was a place dominated by need, and people only stayed there until they
could afford to go somewhere else.
The chance of their finding quick passage back to the Southern Claw was unlikely. The railway didn’t run directly into Claw territory, but if they got lucky there was a small chance they’d find an airship willing to offer space for passengers. More likely they’d have to settle for a north-bound caravan that could take them through the dreaded Razortooth Hills.
Danica later learned she’d been in and out of consciousness for several days, lucid and barely coherent, which at least partially explained why she couldn’t remember much. Now that she’d woken, Black had trouble sleeping.
Darkness fell, and the car rattled without pause. She watched pale moonlight cut through the shutters. Everyone was wrapped tight in blankets and huddled against the cold. Kane sat on the floor near the door, weapon in hand, and watched for any sign of trouble. The air was cold and still, and smelled of diesel smoke and livestock.
Danica watched the men around her, and feared for them. It was with a dour heart she realized she’d come to care for them, almost in spite of herself. She thought of Ash and Grissom, and sadness pulled her down like a heavy weight. She shook in her place. Even though tears wouldn’t come – they rarely came for her anymore, not since Cole had left – her blood ran thick with regret. She rocked back and forth, a separate motion from the train, and she willed the hurt to go away, but it wouldn’t. Her spirit could tell something was wrong, and though he hovered nearby, ready to protect her, he sensed he couldn’t, and that she wanted him to keep his distance.
Her eyes went to Cross, deep in sleep, and she reached out with her spirit to search for his.
There was nothing there: just a void.
My God, Cross. You’ve been through so much. And who knows what you’re going through now.
Kane noticed that she was awake. He looked at her, and then at Cross. He seemed to know what she was doing, but he didn’t say anything, just turned back and watched the door.
“What now, Mike?” she asked. Even with her spirit wrapped around her, she felt so weak.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “We just…keep on going, I guess. Get home. Maybe somebody there can help him.” He rested his head against the wall of the train car. The clang of steel wheels and the rocking pistons made metal song in the air. “And help us.”
Black sat back against the wall. She pulled her blankets up around her body. Her clothes were filthy, and she smelled like the inside of a drive shaft; her skin was dry and soiled with grime and blood and gunpowder; her head hurt, her side and her stomach hurt, and she felt like she hadn’t slept in weeks.
But she was alive.
“Mike?” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
He looked at her with a puzzled expression.
“For what?”
And then, unbidden, tears came, and they flowed thick and steady.
“For being my friend,” she said.
And he looked at her with the same confusion, the same concern, and even though she knew he didn’t understand, not really, that no one could know how hard it was for Danica Black to care about people, no one could know how few friends she’d ever truly had, how even being with the team for two years hadn’t shown her how much she needed them, how much she cared for them, until now, now that so many of them were gone, now that Cross was gone, but it didn’t matter, it seemed, didn’t matter to him because Kane went to Black and hugged her, and she cried into his chest, short bursts of wracking sobs that felt good even though she released them hysterically, even though the tears flowed and flowed and wouldn’t stop even when she wanted them to, for it had been long, so long, since she’d had someone to hold.
She wanted Cross to wake up, but he didn’t, and even though she knew Ronan and Maur woke, too, she was grateful they didn’t say anything, that Kane didn’t say anything, just held her while she cried, long into the night.
Bladed ice tears hang in stasis. The air is frozen plasma.
He stands in a clearing of crimson stone. The sky is dead and dark. The ruins of the shattered keep loom behind him.
Still here. He thought he’d escaped. They came for him, and they freed him. And yet here he is.
Years now, bleeding and languishing in her prison. So much of his life, lost.
He shouldn’t be alive. His spirit should have burned his soul away, made him hollow and weak. That she escaped and took control of him was the only reason he had lived. He’d had to become her prisoner for her to go on existing.
He doesn’t know where he is, or how old he really is. But he knows something is wrong. She’s gone, and he’s stuck here, alone in the crumbling palace near the sea, and then a dark crater filled with steaming black power. He is alone in a perpetual world, frozen. Everything moves but him. He has gone from one prison to another.
Sometimes he drifts, aimless. He walks along crimson sands, and climbs towers of black crystal. He watches black giants swim in bitter tides and dark stars that fall like rain.
He has no need for food or water. He is a shadow in a shadow world.
It doesn’t really matter what he does. He walks or falls or swims beneath a sky so red it seems to bleed, and he moves across ground so utterly black it’s like walking on fused midnight, but he always winds up back in the same place: the broken keep, and the crater.
He drifts through an elliptical universe. He is stuck in a cycle of nothingness.
Some days he wishes he could die. Even that ability has been lost to him.
How long? he wonders. How long will I be here? Will I be the last man, left and forgotten?
He receives no answer to his questions. He never does.
The prisoner forgets his name. He walks through imaginary worlds fused together, hybrids with themselves. His need to escape grows ravenous. Sometimes he forgets there is no way out, and he runs, desperate to find some means to get back home.
He no longer remembers what home is, but that doesn’t matter. When his legs burn with fatigue and he returns to his senses, he realizes he will never get there.
He is lost.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Steven Montano fell out of the sky one day and landed behind an accountant’s desk. Rather than write novels about his experiences in an alternate post-apocalyptic world besieged by vampires, he decided to reconcile accounts and calculate journal entries. He still writes in his spare time.
Visit Steven’s official website, bloodskies.com
Soulrazor Page 28
