Orphans and Outcasts (Northland Rebellion Book 1)

by Kylie Leane

  “So, I really am a Changeling?” Jarvis murmured.

  The Zaprex shifted, studying him before laughing suddenly. Jarvis frowned at the bubbling giggle.

  “That was the correct term for a hybrid that was not born from a Zaprex-Human union, yes. Once…long ago. I suppose you will be the first in a very long time. Here—this is your terminal. You must log out.”

  “Thank you.” Jarvis inclined his head. “It had been an honour to meet you.”

  “The honour has been mine, Jarvis of the Plains People: you have my last Map piece.” The Zaprex pointed to the crystal prism around his neck. Jarvis wrapped his fingers around it. Sam giggled, tugging out a necklace of its own, holding it forth. Jarvis’ eyes widened at the sight of three triangles, set together in a prism. Sam held it elegantly in the palm of its hand, causing the crystals to shimmer to life, activating at a silent command. Jarvis squeezed his own precious crystal protectively.

  “This is…this is yours?”

  “I need it for my function to save the world.”

  “You do? Can you take it now?”

  Sam shook his head. “Without a defragmentation station, no, matter cannot pass through the Data-Stream. If the Time Master led you to it, then this is part of a bigger painting that you and I cannot see. Maybe this is what you carbon creatures call luck…fate…I do not know. If you are willing to take the task upon yourself…” Sam tilted its head to one side. “Jarvis, I must ask you to wait for me at the House of Flames. I will come for my Map piece and you must guard it.”

  Jarvis inclined his head, bowing low. “It is a task worthy of someone who is carrying the blood of a fairy-machine. Khwaja Denvy will be very glad to know that I can do this for you, little Key.”

  The fairy touched his forehead and he looked up. Its face was a mixture of confusion and amusement, and he wondered if he had said the right words. The protector bot within him hummed that he had, but maybe it was the little Key who truly did not know how to act before him. Sam scratched behind an ear, motioning to a bright glowing screen.

  “Go, and may the Sun guide your path,” it whispered. “And, ah, try not to log into the Data-Stream again. Ever. Best not tempt the Dragon to eat you…”

  “I won’t. I assure you of that.”

  He sucked in a deep breath, unwilling to leave the presence of the fairy and the harmonic song it radiated. Jarvis squeezed shut his eyes. Truly he could have remained by the Key’s side forever, lost in its song, but he focused on Ki’b’s face, her happy smile, and her bright laughter; it was as sweet as any Zaprex’s. Slowly he stretched out his hand. His fingers brushed the screen. Folding white light streamed around him, and he was pulled away with a tight tug. The rough sensation of being shoved back into the tight confines of his body was painful, and a bolt of electricity jolted him upright with a loud shout. Jarvis fumbled around, clutching at his burning chest, gasping for air.

  The bullet was still wedged in his side, the wound beginning to sizzle and crackle. He felt over it for the hole. At least the bleeding had stopped. His philepcon liquid had dealt with the damage to the hull, but something had indeed been struck, and it was not yet connected to his cybernetics, so he could not figure out what it was.

  A twittering laugh echoed off to the side of his ear and he cocked his head, frowning in confusion. He looked around the control decks, finding only himself and the wreckage of the fight. Jarvis tapped his ear, before giving his head a whack. If Sam was still in the mainframe, maybe it was laughing at him through the terminal. He pouted and glared at the floating glass desk. This was just what he needed, a fairy laughing at him for his stupidity at getting shot and almost consumed by their great enemy.

  Another giggle. This time it faded away, leaving his philepcon liquid aching tightly against his bones. The fairy was gone and he was alone.

  “Jarvis! Oh, yeh sweet little laddie!”

  Well—not entirely alone.

  The reason he had been ruthlessly cast into the strange world of the Secondary Realm became clear as Titus’ heavy body smothered him. There had been a ghastly fight between the scavengers, the Twizel, and his master. Had his master won? Surely he had if he was now hugging him. Titus did not seem bothered that his cloak was steeped in Twizel and Human remains, nor that he smelt horrendously foul. He dragged him into a crushing embrace, stuffing his face into his chest. Jarvis choked back a gag.

  “Master…I…my chest. I am wounded.”

  “I thought yeh were dead! Yeh friggen heart had stopped. Don’ yeh ever do that ta me again, yeh little scallywag.”

  His master pulled away and studied him with an unimpressed scowl. “We need ta patch yeh up.”

  “I am fine, sir, really.” He might have been swaying on his feet a bit, but he could stand. “Did you get the Ki’rayh?”

  He looked around the room and noted the butchered bodies. It was a scene he was glad Ki’b and Penny were not witness to. Surely his master had not done all this damage. He knew the man could be ruthless to his foes, but they were mainly Twizels who copped his merciless wrath, not mortal men.

  “Ah, no, it got away.” Titus sank back and Jarvis felt the need to hyperventilate as the freckled features of his master vanished, replaced with the skeleton. “I never had one get away before,” the Hunter snarled. “This one was different, Sonny Jon. Yeh would not have believed it! Something was not right. This is gonna come back and bite me in the totu, I know it is!”

  Titus grabbed Jarvis’ arm with a bony hand. “We got another problem.”

  Jarvis squeaked as he was hauled through the control room and dumped in front of the young Kattamont male who had thrust him out of harm’s way and into the terminal. Jarvis felt his chest, grateful that his new metal skeleton could absorb a rough landing, because whatever had thrown him had done it with almighty force. With his hull already breached by the bullet, he shuddered at the thought of what could have happened had the wound ruptured more than it already had.

  “It was him?” Jarvis whispered at the slumped-over feline. “He did this?” He stared around at the ruins of the CCR, and the bodies that may as well have been shredded. His chest constricted, but if the agonizing torture and deaths of his family had done one thing it had at least desensitised him to everything else he had seen since that fateful day.

  “Oh, yah.” Titus thumped down his heavy stone-giant sword, leaning on it casually. “I would like yeh ta meet Aaldryn Silvertide—an archaeologist who explores Zaprex ruins to learn about ancient Utillia.”

  “Did you knock him out?” Jarvis turned sharply, glaring in accusation at the skeleton.

  “Nope. Even if I wanted, I wouldn’t be able ta. He’s got a bit of an advantage, this fella—havin’ a god in his head.”

  Jarvis back away suddenly.

  “A…god!” he spluttered out. He had put his sword to the throat of a god? What type of god? One of the Kelibs’ forest-gods? Ki’b would flay him alive if he had done that!

  “Oh, well, they like ta think that’s what they be.” His master chuckled. “Nah. They’re just Elementals with a bit more clout than their offspring.” Titus clicked his bony fingers. “Here we all thought the Titan of Fire was the only one to survive the culling of the Olympians. Come on, yeh wind-bag, stop pretending to be snoring! I know yeh’re in there. I can feel the residual energy yeh’re radiating. I’m an Elemental, too. Don’ try ta hide from me.”

  Aaldryn’s head lifted, though limply, like a straw doll, his eyes glazed. His lips moved without there being any sign of consciousness within what should have been a vibrant and powerful figure.

  “Prometheus lives?”

  Fold, over fold, Titus’ skin returned as though painting his skull. A kind smile formed over the man’s features. It made his freckled cheeks light up handsomely. “Yes, yeh big horn-blower, he does. Yeh’re not alone.”

  “My children have not spoken of this to me, and my children fly to all corners of the Northlands.”

  “Coltarian has its own weathe
r system. Possibly they can’t get in there.”

  The Kattamont’s chest inflated. “True.”

  Titus spread his hands. “So, trust me when I say Prometheus lives. Yeh know I’m telling yeh the truth, ’cause yeh can feel it in my bones.” He touched his chest, giving it a pat of assurance. “Prometheus is goin’ to be shooting fire to learn yeh be lazing about just over the border.”

  “I am not lazing about!” The wind-god stood suddenly. Jarvis stumbled back at the sight of the Kattamont’s limp body swinging upright. “I protect this mortal’s life, and the lives of those around him. It is my repentance, thus I shall forever remain bound to mortal flesh! And this land is decaying. There is a rot within it that I and my children have been trying to repel for centuries. I will never again ascend to the realm of Olympus.”

  Jarvis frowned. “What is Olympus?”

  “It be what the Elementals call the Secondary Realm.” Titus heaved his sword over his shoulder. “Wind-god—”

  “Khamsin. My name, little Shadow, is Khamsin.”

  “Tah, tah, whatever.” Titus shrugged. “I think Prometheus’ chains are being broken. The Obelisks are falling one by one. Coltarian is in danger of erupting. Any idea who could be doing that? Yeh’re old, right? Older than the hills, and I bet yer memory is better than old man Denvy’s.”

  Khamsin eyed Titus thoughtfully.

  “How do you know so much about what I am?”

  “The Titan of Fire used ta rock me to sleep when I was a wee little laddie. I am the last in a large family, and was not welcomed by my brothers, so yeh could say, I was raised by the Thyrrhos. Got the hair for it, yeh know.”

  Khamsin snorted. “Typical of Prometheus. His love of mortal kind has been the doom of us all.”

  “Hey—” Jarvis narrowed his eyes. “You just said that you’re looking after Aaldryn and those around him. Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “Do not speak of things you know nothing of, Changeling. You have much to learn.” The Kattamont’s body stood limply. “Prometheus once regulated the ebb and flow of kinetic energy throughout the planet’s sectors. It may be possible, by eradicating my siblings’ system, one could gain control of it. You would need to seize control of Icarus, though. And the Towers as well.”

  “Icarus?” Titus turned to the wind-god in confusion. “Who is Icarus?”

  “I do not know what it is called now, but it was one of the Cities of Gold. This cub that contains me is part of a crew who searches for their wonders.”

  “I don’ like the sound of this.” Titus frowned and Jarvis blew out as his master began to undo his medical supplies, inching towards him as though he was unsuspecting prey. “The Dragon really is up to something. We gotta get back to Coltarian sooner rather than later.”

  “Before it blows up? Yes.” Jarvis sniped back.

  “That would be preferable.” Titus’ glance was disproving. Any other smart comments would likely result in a far more disgruntled master. It was time to play it safe.

  Jarvis looked at the Kattamont. “Ah, where is Aaldryn? That is his name, right?”

  “He thought he killed you. He is unconscious. He rather liked you.”

  “So you killed all these men?”

  Khamsin shrugged. “They were just men.”

  Jarvis frowned. He wondered if Aaldryn felt the same, or if this was only the powerful elemental god speaking.

  “By the way,” Titus began unrolling bandages from his kit, kneeling beside him and cutting through his shirt with a knife, “what happened to yeh, Little Weasel? Yeh had no heartbeat for a long time, laddie.”

  Jarvis winced as Titus inspected the bullet wound, spraying it with alcohol from his flask. His hull sizzled. It was about as happy as he was at the treatment.

  “The bullet is still in there, sir.”

  “Aye, but I don’ wanna take it out without my full medical kit. I got a feelin’ yer philepcon liquid is stopping the pain right now, but a possible overload of your systems will hit yeh soon. Yeh aren’t quite a full hybrid yet, laddie. I’ll carry yeh on my back.”

  Jarvis pouted. That would look so heroic when he returned to Ki’b. She was going to have a fit at him for this and would never again let him out of her sight. His chest inflated as he remembered—Sam had given him a task and, no matter what, he had to complete it.

  “Jarvis!”

  Titus’ hand scrubbed through his hair. “Laddie, wake up.”

  “Sor…ry…sir…”

  “All right, I think yeh’ve lost too much philepcon liquid. Yeh’re spazzing out. Khamsin, we need a way outta here. How did yeh and the scavengers get in?”

  “Wait! Master!” Jarvis held out his hand, stalling the hunter before he could gather him into his arms. “Please. You need to hear this. When I hit the terminal, I connected with the Secondary Realm and I met the Key! That signal I set out, it hurt the Key. I need to tone it down.”

  Titus held up his hands in frustration. “What? But that code should only be linked to Duamutef.”

  Jarvis got to his feet and staggered up the stairs, towards the terminals.

  “Well, it isn’t, sir. The Key picked it up too. And…” Jarvis stopped fiddling with the controls and turned to beam at Titus. “It gave me a task!” If his chest had not been aching so much, it might have swelled with pride.

  “A task?”

  “Aye, sir! I must take this,” Jarvis held up the dangling sliver of crystal, “to the House of Flames. It isn’t just any old thing. The Time Master led me to it. It’s special. The Key needs it.”

  Titus’ looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, for the love of mah wife, I knew the Time Master was in on this!”

  Khamsin’s voice bellowed from beyond them. “The Time Master is moving again? Does this mean the nest of the beast has begun to stir?”

  “The Dragon is rising, Khamsin.” Titus looked across at the young Kattamont and skewered the elemental god with a stare that made Jarvis shrink back. “Yeh’re gonna have ta choose which side yeh’re on.”

  As if he were moving a show puppet, like those the bards used in the market squares, Khamsin moved Aaldryn’s limp body, viciously confronting Titus’ dark aura with one just as engulfing. “The wind does not choose a side. The wind is free. Let us be clear on that.”

  Jarvis squeaked as Titus lifted him and threw him over his shoulder. “The wind also runs away! I hope, Khamsin, that this time we can rely upon yeh not ta flee from the field of battle when we most need the wind. Come on, let’s get back. Khwaja Denvy is likely to be worried by now and this tyke needs mending.”

  “Not before I fix the signal!” Jarvis waved his arms about.

  “Tah, fine, fine!” Titus relented, setting him down.

  Jarvis smiled weakly. His master looked haggard from the battle, but his gaze was a worried one, and he knew the Hunter was concerned entirely for his welfare. His hair was ruffled fondly. It was nice to be worried about.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  In the depths of my despair, your words bring light and hope.

  I feel so often the weight of the burden Ra gave me.

  To bind together the Northlands, to save Livila…

  Sekhmet, my dearest, I am afraid, our Dynasty will die doing so.

  And, yet,

  Whenever your words whisper through the crackling com-link,

  I recall…

  Yes, the Dragon took our life-giving, but he never took my creations.

  They will live on.

  Our song

  Will sing until the Key begins a new symphony.

  Private Communications Link.

  Utillian Time 18:03PM.

  Signal: Strong.

  Upload: Completed.

  Do you wish to send?

  Yes. Yes, I want to send it! You useless machine.

  The ground of Utillia was terrifying. Even the islands moved constantly to an offbeat that made Ki’b uneasy. She had tried to hide her discomfort from Khwaja Denvy and even Jarvis. Even though the long, gold
en horizon was before her, and she knew it was reality, a part of her was unable to comprehend what her eyes saw as truth. There were no trees. Bare. Barren. Not a tinge of green to match her skin. Was it the lack of roots that made the land unstable?

  And yet the Kattamonts were so strong, thrusting through the burning-sea on their sand-ships of silver, surging over the dunes with fulsome ownership of all that lay around them. Ki’b tried to even out her breathing as she strove to keep pace with the wheelchair-bound female who rolled across the gravelled shoreline of the small island. It was no easy feat. Despite the wheelchair, the Kattamont was intimidating with her thick, muscled arms, covered in rosy fur. Her hands looked as though they would crush the wheels she manoeuvred with elegant ease.

  Could she trust her saviours? Was there a possibility they were Twizels, tricking her into false hope and taking her back to a dark box? Ki’b frowned. If it was so, she did not believe they would have been so kindly, especially to Khwaja Denvy, and despite the discordance of the soil between her bare toes, there was a trusting thrum from the surface gravel. Even if she had never had the chance to grow up amongst her Kelib Sisters, and had been cast so far from the roots of her ancestors, she hoped that she could read the earth well enough to know they meant her family no harm.