Flynn recognized that the hand Crescen was using to crush his wrist was artificial, doubtless acquired back on Breth. He could not win from a show of force alone.
“You weren’t ready for us,” he grunted, trying to draw out the exchange.
“We weren’t,” Crescen agreed. “There were numerous places you could have arrived through, provided the Guardian hadn’t mastered his blessings and willed himself to Lord Renivar directly.”
Judging by the force Crescen exerted, the prosthesis didn’t extend far beyond his wrist. Flynn’s own was on the verge of being crushed, and likely would be if he wasn’t careful breaking free. Crescen dragged him to the side of the bridge and prepared to toss him over the precipice.
“You deserve a better end than this,” he said. “But I cannot take any chances.”
He was dragged across the rough stone ground, which bit his back and scraped his skin, and Flynn knew within moments he’d be done for. As Crescen prepared to hoist him up and hurtle him to an unknowable end, he wrenched around and forced his captor to crush his wrist in response, using the purchase to plunge his claws into Crescen’s leg. This crippled him enough that Flynn could twist up and rend his arm, forcing Crescen to release his death grip.
There were things Flynn wanted to ask, but as the conflict played out behind him like an orchestra, he knew the man would never be forthcoming. Flynn planted his boot against Crescen’s chest and kicked him off without a word, then sank to cradle his injury and let the surrounding violence taper off following this crescendo.
When things had settled, no one had anything to say. They walked, wordlessly, from the mass of corpses.
* * *
It had only been a few hours since the lights of Rousow’s Legacy had faded on the horizon, and already Jean wished things could have gone differently. She’d known what to expect, though she’d hoped they would remain under the radar. Being known meant being hunted like an animal, and that feeling was accompanied by a sickening sense of schadenfreude that came with lashing out at her pursuers.
As she knelt at the edge of the precipice and stared down, she contemplated her handiwork in silence. The rock slide below had settled, its contents no longer shifting. She could see a hand cast in shadow, and for the one she could see, dozens more were buried. The only thing still moving was the cloud of dust, which wafted up toward her.
Jean breathed it in, and felt nothing.
Shea, by her side, coughed. “Don’t see any left,” she observed, rubbing the dirt from her eyes. “Buried, seems.”
“Yeah…” Jean replied vacantly.
“Gave chase,” her companion reminded her. “Couldn’t lose them. Not much choice.”
A shard of stone broke free and tumbled down. It landed pointing at a spray of blood that had already dried.
“So I keep remindin’ myself,” Jean said. “What we’re here to do, though? Can’t blame ’em, either.” She turned away heavily, confident that they were no longer being followed. The road ahead stretched for miles.
“Why so hard? Done this before, haven’t you?”
“Killed, ya mean? Plenty of times. You seen it.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Just, there’s ways it’s supposed to happen. Ways it’s not. A fair fight, mano-a-mano, I can live with. People bein’ afraid of who I am, can live with that too. But I don’t…” She looked at her hands. They were shaking, and Jean had to will them to stop. “Don’t like havin’ people fear me for what I am. Stupidest fuckin’ thing, hatin’ someone for somethin’ they can’t change.”
Shea stopped long enough to light a cigarette. “Never had that problem. den Viers not exactly welcome, aye, but passed years as a Bagwell.” Her tone shifted. “Anyone had found out, now…”
“Woulda been a different story,” Jean finished. “How the fuck they justify it, seein’ us the way they do?”
Shea blew a ring of smoke out and gave Jean a knowing smile. “Two countries go to war. One side, resources; other, land. Neither side gives, ’course, knowing the other wants. Commoners don’t fancy war, it comes anyway. So ‘they’re bad,’ each tells themselves, ‘don’t deserve what they’ve got.’ Makes right to take, see.”
“How the hell do we got that they want?” Jean asked. “They’ve already got their own shitty feel-good planet.”
“Our sort might take it one day,” Shea pointed out. “So they’ll take what’s ours first.”
Jean shook her head in disgust. She hated being the villain of this piece, but knew she’d never make it by being heroic. Those soldiers at the mountain’s base had to die, and their loved ones and allies would hate her all the more for it.
“What pisses me off,” she shared, “is that all these folks out here would see us dead in a heartbeat, but they’re too chicken shit to bloody their own hands.”
“Cowards, all of ’em,” Shea concurred with an ironic chuckle.
* * *
Where Crescen’s hand of flesh and blood would have failed, his synthetic one saved his life. The false skin that coated it had been shredded from clawing the rock walls of the fissures, but it held fast to his wrist, a testament to Brethian craftsmanship.
As he climbed back to stable ground, he counted the dead before him. There was blood in his eyes, and it mingled with his tears.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he wept. “I hoped we would find nothing.”
Many had died with expressions of horror, unprepared for the pain that accompanied death. But Crescen wept more for those unaccounted for, whose bodies had fallen from the path. They might not have died when they fell, might still be falling now.
The women and men who’d fought at his side would not return home. Loved ones would weep for them, while he’d return to an empty home. It would have been easier to die with them, or be written off as having done so. Crescen had done his duty; if he never showed his face again, none would know to blame him.
The prospect of returning was daunting—he was only one man. What could he do before the power of a god? If that fear alone was enough, Crescen DuMear would not have caught himself. He would not have suffered the grueling climb back to the top, nor looked down the seemingly infinite road he had led his band up only hours earlier.
And so he hobbled back that way, with honest faith that he still had the power to make a difference. They were six unwelcome visitors. Crescen was one, fighting in service of his god. All this world loved him.
* * *
Poe met Jean and Shea halfway to their destination, and he came bearing promising news. “A small mining town waits some distance ahead,” he reported. “There is no sign the Reahv’li have come this way, and we should be able to pass unknown, after taking shelter for the night.”
Jean found this news more discomforting than reassuring. “Seems a shitty thing to do, lyin’ to these folks and takin’ advantage of ’em.”
Poe glanced at Shea, who shared nothing helpful, then settled on Jean to ask, “Did something happen?”
She wasn’t feeling better about the corpses she’d left behind several miles down the road. They had met other travelers who had offered water and food. Shea had been ready to accept, but Jean had declined before she had the chance. Renivar’s worshippers were the sort of people who would investigate the rock slide to ensure no one had been hurt, and they were due to find a great many bodies.
“Nothin’,” Jean told Poe. “Expected a bit more glory, is all.”
“These foes are beneath us.”
His agreement daunted her, but he didn’t sound any happier about it than she was. They walked on in silence, until they found the town’s outskirts, and Flynn and Chari waiting for them.
Flynn was quick to approach Jean, his concern evident. “Did you have to—?” he started to ask.
“Did,” she nodded sharply. “Fuckers caught up with us. Dropped the mountain on ’em.”
�
��All remains silent here,” Chari said with cold detachment. “Zaja waits for us ahead. This night’s lodging has been secured.”
“What’s owed?” Shea asked as they approached the town. “We’ve neither time nor money to pay.”
Something about Flynn’s smile creeped Jean out. “This is Terrias. They only barter in kindness.”
Zaja waved cheerily at them as they neared the town entrance, gladly proclaiming, “Welcome to Kodo!” She was clearly overjoyed to be here, and Jean remembered how well Zaja had taken to Terrias’s people the first time. Among so many supportive faces, it was easy to forget what they prayed their god would one day accomplish.
Zaja beckoned them to hurry. “Guys, come on! Our host is wetting his whistle nearby. He promised to escort us to his house where we’ll be staying. I guess it’s a little off the beaten path, and he wanted to ensure we get there okay.”
Kodo was almost entirely what Jean expected—a scatter of shanty buildings with a single dirt road running through it. The tire tracks were deeply embedded, and suggested a daily pickup for whatever the miners of Kodo unearthed.
“Their resources are likely traded for food and supplies from other worlds,” Flynn speculated. “Though I doubt their clients know the otherworldly origins of their goods.”
Yeribelt hadn’t been any more luxurious when Jean had been there last. The city of tents was intended as an impermanent fixture, a testament to the belief that the Living God might break free any day. Kodo, meanwhile, appeared more cynical, and its inhabitants likely expected to remain a while longer.
They met their prospective host at the rail of a rustic saloon, nursing a mug of beer as he waved to Zaja. The inhabitants of Kodo had gathered from across the stars—Omati like Zaja and Keltians like Shea—but this man held unique fascination for Jean, and she lit up at the sight of him.
“Yer like me,” she told him, cradling her enlarged forearms.
He was older, nearing middle age. His black hair was thinning and his gut was enlarged from many beers past. He was also clearly from Earth, though every part of his exposed skin was coated in bristles; even shaking his hand could be damaging.
“Yer a half-human,” she finished.
At first, he seemed to welcome Jean like a sister. “Yes, I…” But the friendliness died in his eyes, like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. “…am,” he finished softly.
Zaja extended herself, oblivious to the turn in mood. “Hi, Kim! So, these are my friends. We don’t wanna be pushy, so you can go ahead and finish your drink first—”
Kim knocked his mug over as he scrambled back. The distance between the rail and the wall was narrow and he didn’t manage to put much between them. “I’m sorry,” he sputtered. “If I’d known that you … they…”
The locals had been stealing glances all the while. They were casual, none looking close enough to bother raising a ruckus. But Kim had, and now he was attracting unwanted attention. Flynn was quick to intervene, “I assure you, whoever you think we are—”
“Shouldn’t fuckin’ matter,” Jean said with some exasperation. She cut to the front and caught Kim by the forearm as he tried to inch away. “Please,” she begged. “You’re like me. You made it here from Earth, didn’t ya? You know the kind of shit we’ve gone through, and we ain’t stopped runnin’.”
“Jean.” She wasn’t sure who spoke the first time.
“We ain’t askin’ for much,” she continued to Kim. “Just a room for the night an’ a bit of discretion.”
She wanted a sign, anything—just a fleeting sense of sympathy. The bristles in his arm had snagged the skin of her hand, as Jean had known would happen when she caught him. Still, she held fast, hoping for some sign from him. But all Kim wanted was his arm back, only he didn’t dare pull it, knowing it could hurt her more. Instead, he gently uncurled her fingers, and at this rejection, Jean didn’t fight him.
“I’ve been scared of hurting people all my life.” He practically shook as he told her. “I can’t bring you into my home because I have to warn the Reahv’li and it would be wrong to lie to you.”
“Jean,” someone called to her again.
There was a commotion forming behind her, but Jean looked at the man in disbelief. There was no sympathy for what suffering they had in common. And yet the terrified look in his eyes was all too familiar. Despite what hardships they had endured on Earth as half-humans, they were no longer alike.
“It’s time for us to go.” Flynn was tugging at her arm, and Jean turned to find the meager populace of Kodo had converged on them. All were unarmed, but for their disapproving faces.
“You know who we are?” Chari’s query was stoic and bold.
“By reputation only,” an Omati woman replied. “Ours is a town of good people, and we face you knowing the sort of storm you bring. We ask you to simply leave; we don’t need your brand of trouble.”
“Trouble?!” Jean was incredulous. “We didn’t walk in here stirrin’ shit up! Hell, you all seemed perfectly welcomin’ till you got a better look at us. Half expected a goddamn feast, long as ya thought we were one of you.”
“How dare you act so self-righteous?” the woman protested. “You entered our town under false pretense—”
“Fuckin’ right we did!” Jean bellowed back. Flynn tried to catch her by the arm, calm her down, but she threw him off without even a glance. “Been runnin’ for our damn lives all day, be doin’ it again tomorrow! Not that you’d know what that’s like—” She glanced back at Kim, to add, “Or if ya did, you’ve forgot.”
“Would you grant us safe passage?” Chari asked the ringleader. “That we might leave as though we were never here?”
Another in the crowd bristled at the proposal. “We will be informing the Reahv’li the first chance we get! Do not take our unwillingness to fight as permission for the atrocities you seek to commit.”
Jean felt herself tensing up, her muscles locking, her breath intensifying. A voice in her mind was begging, screaming, that one of them throw the first stone. It was infuriating to find herself surrounded and unable to lash out.
“You would come to kill our god!” one boldly accused.
Jean snapped. “The fucker would kill us first chance he gets, and you’d be eggin’ him on!”
“No,” the Omati woman said, shaking her head in disgust. “We would never—”
“Don’t give me that shit, you two-faced bitch,” Jean growled. “One look—one fuckin’ look!—and you marked us different. And you know what? Fine. Fuckin’ fine. We’re yer goddamn enemies and you damn well better fear us ’cause the only way you’ll feel safe is once ya know we’re gone. But don’t you dare—don’t you fuckin’ dare pray for us to die and still think that makes you the good ones.”
Elements of the crowd had stepped back, but a few of the more vocal members held their ground. “There’s no blood on our hands,” one confidently proclaimed.
Jean clenched her fists, heavy with soot and blood. This was a mining town, and beneath her feet were tunnels, weakening the earth. She could bury everyone in Kodo alive, and despite her guilt just a few hours earlier, she wanted to. Badly. But if she killed them here, she would only be the monster they thought her to be. She’d met an enemy she couldn’t rightly destroy, one that unfairly vilified her into inaction but would not redeem her for it.
“Clear the way,” Chari ordered the bystanders. “Or I start shooting.”
When Flynn took Jean’s arm to lead her out, for a moment, she thought he was Mack. There was something in the way he touched her that eased her temper and reminded her that she still had friends who cared. It didn’t quench the loneliness, but it helped.
Some distance from Kodo, down the dark trail where they searched for some hole to crawl into for the night, Shea was heard to say, “Terrias, eh?”
“I still kinda like it here,” Zaja replied
quietly.
* * *
The events in Kodo had dashed any aspirations of reaching Yeribelt unknown, for even in the most remote towns, they were notorious. Even had they dared think themselves heroes, Chari knew the six were seen as little more than killers and thieves here. They seldom remained anywhere for long, and only happened near settlements long enough to rob them. Most times, this happened covertly, but others, it was at gunpoint.
Whoever she’d been once, Chari suffered no guilt in taking from these people, and if anything, felt that what was theirs should be hers by right. During calmer periods, she wondered if that was how her father had felt during his crusades, as the Saryu armies marched to force the gospel of Hapané on nonbelievers. But where he’d had the escort and assurances of his fellow soldiers, Chari and her companions were only accompanied by contempt and fear.
“It’s unfathomable that any would choose to live here,” Poe said.
Chari withdrew from the scope of her rifle. She’d become more accustomed to seeing Terrias through it than her own naked eye. She left her weapon where it lay, the rain dripping from its barrel to the distant ground below.
She considered not giving a response. Poe was surveying the barren lands to the west and the mountain range that crested them, and didn’t appear to be looking for one.
“Their god is here,” she replied. “It doesn’t matter if Terrias is Heaven or Hell. They would greet it just the same, and think themselves blessed.”
Poe nodded heavily. “Then be it Heaven or Hell, when this matter is done, we will have robbed them of it.” Chari cocked her head, bewildered by his comment. “If I may show you something?” he asked.
She went to his side, looking out toward the western mountains. Chari studied him, smelled him, but he seemed no different than in all their months of travel. She knew what he had attained, but doubted Poe had changed at all.
“Do you see that crest in the ridge, Chariska? It forms below the peak, but melds upward and into it. A closer study reveals impact lines, as if something proportionally smaller struck it. A body. I could not tell you whose.”
Killers, Traitors, & Runaways Page 41
