Anastasia boldly scanned the room. Renton did the same, though he did not believe that anyone would step forward. No one did.
“Then I am among friends,” Anastasia said, with a nod. “I will ask you this, then, my friends – why did you allow our enemies to kill your Lord? Why did you stand by as my family was murdered?”
The crowd wailed in collective grief and surged forward, forcing Renton and his security force to intervene physically and telepathically to prevent the mourners from rushing the stage in a collective need for expatiation. One young man, wearing the uniform of Josef Martynova’s personal security force, made a notably determined effort to break through, forcing Renton’s personal intervention to stop his approach.
“Let him through,” Anastasia commanded, as Renton unceremoniously jerked his arm behind his back. “I am among friends, after all.”
Renton released his hold reluctantly, begging Ana the entire time with his eyes to change her mind.
The young man – sweat shining on the tattooed crown of his bald head, crude blue designs and Spanish characters traced on his hands and fingers – was so consumed with shame that his eyes were nearly invisible slits spilling tears to his stubbly cheeks. Renton watched him closely, muscles bunched in his legs and a nasty telepathic attack at the ready, waiting for him to lunge at Anastasia. Instead, the man threw himself at her feet, clutching at the hem of her mourning dress.
“Mistress, please, you must tell us!” The man’s voice strained by grief and difficult to understand. “What do I do to make it right, Mistress? What do we do?”
Anastasia looked the man over thoughtfully, and he shrank back, seeming at last to realize the position he found himself in.
“Those are two different questions, Naciento Rivera.” Anastasia said his name softly, testing out its perimeters. “You were part of my father’s guard, were you not?”
“Yes, I…”
“You were selected for his security detail a little more than six months ago, but became a quick and special favorite of my father’s.” Anastasia studied the weeping man closely. “You were an orphan from the suburbs of Mexico City, and the Black Sun took you in. You were a guard and my father elevated you to be among the elite. Answer me this, Naciento – how do you feel about the quality of service you rendered my father?”
The man wept and pressed his forehead to the ground, clinging to the hem of her dress.
“Tell me, Naciento,” Anastasia insisted. “How did you repay my father’s kindness?”
“I served,” he sniveled, wiping his face with the back of his hand, “as best as I…”
“My father is dead, Naciento. Are you certain that was the best you could have done?”
“Mistress, no! I didn’t…I don’t…please, tell me…”
“…how to make it right? Do you wish to be free of your sins against my father, and his generosity, Naciento?”
Naciento nodded his head frantically.
“Then I will tell you a secret.” Anastasia gently extracted the hem of her dress from his hands. “I want the very same thing. I, too, could only stand by as my father was murdered. Your failure is also my own failure, Naciento, and we will each pay our own measure. I will give you two options, because my father loved you, Naciento, and I would love you as well – you may serve me, and consider today’s matters forgotten, or you may serve my father one final time, and atone through fire and death.”
Naciento Rivera dried his eyes, stood, and offered an abrupt and violent bow that caused Anastasia’s security detail to flinch and reach for concealed weapons.
“My death will serve the Lord Martynova,” Naciento said, voice firm and resolved. “And the Black Sun.”
Anastasia nodded at him approvingly.
“You asked the question that each of us should, Naciento.” Anastasia raised her voice and turned her attention again to the crowd. “What are we to do? We, who are less brave than Naciento Rivera, but no less culpable for this massacre? What are we to do to wipe away our shame and restore our honor?”
The crowd murmured and wavered, some members taking a longer and more contemplative look at Renton and his well-appointed assistants. He checked the Ruger strapped to the small of his back and wondered if the crowd was right to worry, if his own anxiety showed. For the first time in his life, Renton could not predict what Anastasia would do next, and the possibility existed somewhere between exhilaration and terror for him.
“We will bury my father,” Anastasia explained, her voice quavering momentarily, her eyes wet. “We will bury him in the manner to which the patriarchs and Masters of the Martynova family and the Black Sun are accustomed.” Anastasia surveyed the crowd, clear-eyed and intent. “We will dig a great hole, and then we will find all those with the temerity to call themselves my father’s enemies, and we will put an end to them. Josef Martynova will not go into the ground until all those who wished him harm are cold beneath it. We will say farewell to my father when there are none left on earth to celebrate his passage. We will bury him atop the bodies of the Thule Cartel, and any who would protect or shelter them.”
The roar of the crowd this time was an assent, and born of relief, a feeling Renton noticed with contempt while secretly sharing in it.
“This is our sole cause and purpose until our respects are paid to the dead. We will mourn when this tribute is paid to my father, and to my poor slaughtered family. Our enemies believe that they want a war. We will disabuse them of that notion, and then of their lives.”
She bowed her head and the clamor began. Renton shouted for silence, his demand quickly picked up and echoed by his staff, and the crowd was quickly hushed.
“Take this night to settle your affairs. Do what must be done, and say whatever must be said, for tomorrow we will not abide such sentimentality. I would speak to a few among my servants in private,” Anastasia continued neutrally. “Peter Rurikovich, Simeon Yurchenko, Daniel Gao, Maxim Pashkevich, and Renton Hall. Please remain. The rest of you may go, with my blessing.”
The room emptied quickly, the crowd glassy-eyed and dazed, torn between conflicting tides of relief and dread. Renton probably should have envied them, but he was too distracted by his unexpected inclusion in a group otherwise made up of Anastasia’s suitors. He checked his gun again with nervy eagerness, uncertain what Ana had in mind.
The new Mistress of the Black Sun was not providing hints, however, standing with her hands clasped and her head bowed, veil back in place, sheltered by a defensive formation of Mai and her maids, inapproachable until the Great Hall emptied. When the last of the doors closed, Mai beckoned those who remained closer. Anastasia spared the group a distracted look.
“Forgive me for being brief, but my heart is not in this,” Anastasia admitted, with a deep breath. “Necessity dictates, however. Not so many hours ago, several of you gentlemen made some rather bold proposals. I have reached a decision, and I would share it with those who maintain an interest.” Anastasia sighed, one hand resting on the arm of her father’s chair. “If any of you wish my hand in marriage, then know that I will only consider those candidates who present gifts of the heads of my family’s assassins, or members of the Thule family – Gaul Thule especially.”
The men exchanged looks and nodded, and Renton wanted to be sick. He gave serious thought to the Ruger.
“That is all.” Anastasia waved at them in a gesture of dismissal. “Oh…then again, there is one more detail. My terms apply to each of us involved in this discussion – in other words, I will be participating in this little contest, gentlemen. Should I be the one to take Gaul Thule’s head, and expunge the Thule Cartel from existence, then I will marry whom I choose, or not at all, as whim takes me. Am I understood?”
The men’s expressions changed entirely, much to Renton’s stunned satisfaction. Anastasia gave him no time to bask in their dismay, however.
“A final point of clarification,” Anastasia said. “Mr. Renton Hall will be representing my interests in this matter.
Overlook him at your peril, gentlemen.”
Stunned silence. Renton could not even begin to react, afraid at any minute that he would wake up.
“You may go. Happy hunting, I suppose, or whatever one is expected to say at these moments. I truly don’t know. A failing on the part of my etiquette teachers, I suppose.”
Twenty
Alex hurried after Emily, pausing as he stepped out into the garden, unsure of which way to go.
“Hey, man!” Vivik said, with a self-consciously shy wave. “Alex!”
Alex froze in place, a half-grin suspended uncertainly across his face.
Vivik gestured at the cans of lager and bags of potato chips laid out on the picnic table in front of him, rose vines entangled around the legs of the table.
“You wanna have a beer?” Vivik asked hopefully. “This stuff is hard to get out here. Even harder than the Academy.”
Alex nodded slowly.
“Sure.” Alex took the seat opposite Vivik at the table, and tapped the top of a moist can of beer. “What are you doing in the Outer Dark, Vivik?”
“It’s been a while,” Vivik explained nervously, munching on a chip. “You missed a bunch.”
“So fill me in,” Alex said, watching Vivik closely. “When the fuck did you join the Anathema, man?”
Vivik swallowed his mouthful abruptly, winced, and then held his hands up defensively.
“I didn’t, Alex,” Vivik insisted. “Swear to god.”
“I doubt he makes it out here,” Alex said coolly. “What the fuck are you doing in the Outer Dark, Vivik?”
“Calm down, man,” Vivik said. “I only got here a few days ago. You’ve been here longer than I have.”
“Not by choice,” Alex reminded him, cracking open his beer. “Why are you here, Vivik?”
“Fuck, man. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“I might be,” Alex said. “Once I know what the hell is going on.”
“Okay, fine,” Vivik said, sipping gingerly from his beer. “Let me tell you all about it.”
***
The characters beneath the Yaojing’s eyes shone in sequence, and slow lightening came crackling up out of the ground like the first flowers of spring, surrounding Eerie and her prostrate companions. Yaga grimaced and snapped her fingers, and girls and dog alike disappeared into the abundant shadows of the shivering Outer Dark, to be spat out moments later from the witch’s own elegant shadow.
Another sequence across the Samnang’s cheeks, like a confusing abundance of traffic lights, and the witch burned. Yaga lifted her burning palm to her smoldering lips, and blew gently upon it, and the flames whipped away, leaving her unscarred and immaculate, only the hem of her dress smoldering.
The Yaojing studied her opponent with eyes as flat and perfect as precious stones, while the witch toyed with her bobbed hair. A single character glowed beneath the Yaojing’s left eye, and a portion of the sky shattered like bottle glass. Yaga tore a crudely carved rosewood idol from her hair and cast it on the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of her surprisingly fashionable black shoes, and a barrier the color of glacial runoff activated, just barely big enough to encompass Katya’s blackened and charred legs.
The jagged pieces of the broken sky rained down upon them while the assembled clouds of Horrors writhed and shrieked. The barrier buckled and sang beneath the barrage. The black star above them grew closer, already greater than the absent moon, a shade deeper than the tortured sky of the Outer Dark. The calamity spun out and on, under the Yaojing’s direction, tearing apart the fabric of the reality around them.
The witch crushed a necklace of milled sandstone beads between her palms, and the barrier held.
Samnang’s eyes narrowed. Yaga smiled and wiped sweat from her brow.
***
“You came here with Emily?”
“Yes. She wanted me to meet Mr. Bay-Davies…”
“How long have you been coming to the Outer Dark, Vivik?”
“What do you mean? I told you, this is my first time. I got here just a few days before you did.”
“Right, of course. Emily came to you, then.”
“Yeah. Why? That a problem?”
“Well, yeah, kinda. You know she switched sides, right?”
“No, you didn’t get it, Alex. I couldn’t do anything without someone inside the Anathema. She didn’t switch sides, she put herself in position to help execute my plan.”
“Your plan?”
Vivik nodded.
“Your plan? Are you for real?”
“Yes!” Vivik looked annoyed. “Why do keep saying that?”
“Just checking. What sort of plan are we talking about?”
“I suppose you could call it a sort of “third way”. Between the Black Sun and the Hegemony, between Central and the Anathema, between…”
“I get it, Vivik.”
“Sorry. I tend to get carried away thinking about it. Can you imagine a world where you weren’t required to kill anyone?”
“I dunno, man. I think I might want to kill a few people, between you and me.”
“Oh, Alex. That’s…it’s sad, what they’ve done to you, man.”
“They? Who is they?”
“Take your pick. The Academy, the Auditors, the Anathema…they all took their turns on you. You used to know better.”
“Maybe. So, your plan…you think they’ll just let you walk away from all this? The Auditors and the Anathema are just gonna let you wander off into the Ether or some shit…”
“No, Alex. That’s not what I think. We will need to persuade them. I admit it – the first part of the plan is a little ugly, and some people will need to be deceived or hurt. It will all be worth it in the end. Swear to…”
“Let’s leave him out of it. So, let’s see – you feed Emily intel and such acquired with your Vigil Protocol, so she rises through the ranks of Anathema intelligence, probably handing over information that gets an Auditor or three killed along the way…”
“Alex, I never…”
“You provide her with access to the Etheric Network and a private backdoor to Central. Good deal for her, all in all.”
“It had to be, Alex. Emily is taking most of the risk.”
“I don’t know about that, man. You’re the one most likely to end up answering to Alice Gallow.”
“Emily is putting her life on the line every day to make this work!”
“And you aren’t?”
“What’s your point?”
“What do you get out of this deal, Vivik?”
“I told you. I want a way out of the hand fate dealt me, and…”
“That’s not what I mean,” Alex said, with a shake of his head, “and you know it.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to figure out if you are fucking my Anathema ex-girlfriend, Vivik.”
“That’s none of your damn business!”
“Sure it isn’t. Put yourself in my shoes, though, and tell me you wouldn’t ask the same question.”
“I…ah, screw it. Whatever. No. No, there’s nothing physical – or even romantic, on her end – between Emily and I. I gotta tell you, though – I would, if she wanted to. I totally would.”
“I don’t blame you at all, man. She’s trouble, but Emily is also totally worth the trouble.”
“It’s…yeah. Yeah, that’s it, I think. You aren’t mad?”
“About you liking Emily? Of course not! You were into her first, man, and I’m pretty sure we broke it off when she tried to kill everybody. Both of you are free to make your own decisions, anyway.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s you dooming us all that upsets me.”
“Alex, you don’t get…”
“I’ve heard that a lot – like, a lot – and I am starting to wonder if it’s always bullshit. Here’s a question for you, Vivik – where is Eerie?”
“I don’t…back at Central, I suppose? I don’t know, man. Was I supposed
to keep track of her or something?”
“No. It just seems a little odd that between Emily’s intelligence contacts and your all-seeing protocol that neither of you seems to know anything about Eerie. You mind looking her up for me, Vivik, in one of your little windows? Just so I can check in for a second?”
“I, uh, you see…I can’t do it, Alex. I’m sorry.”
“Sure you are.” Alex sneered. “Why can’t you help me out, Vivik? I thought we were friends and all that.”
“We are friends. Really! When I’m in the Outer Dark, though, my protocol just doesn’t seem to work properly. I can see people in the real world okay, but Central is invisible to me.”
“That’s really convenient.”
“Alex…”
“Don’t bother, man. It’s bullshit, and I know it. I just don’t know what you get out of fucking around with me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Listen, Alex, if you would just hear me out, I can explain everything!”
“Got another question for you, Vivik. This one is a little harder, so keep that in mind, okay?”
“Uh…”
“What did the two of you do with Katya?”
***
She woke as if from a bad dream, nerves raw from trauma, holding her hands pressed to her eyes, drawing in breath for a scream. There was a disorienting moment when she thought she might lose consciousness, before training and long habit asserted themselves.
Katya was all right, though her last memory was of burning alive.
She checked her hands and feet, which had been reduced to charcoal, touched her face and eyes, ran her fingers across her chest and back. Unwashed skin, sticky with sweat, underneath unwashed trail gear from REI, reeking with days of body odor.
No fire, no burns.
The Witch watched her, appearing to find all this very amusing. The Witch looked like a model from one of those European perfume ads despite the battle and her surroundings, long legs and come-hither eyes beneath pert bangs. Katya suppressed a passing urge to fill her skull with dirt.
The Outer Dark (Central Series Book 4) Page 47
