Dark Ember

by R. D. Vallier

  "Cowards," I sneered, the syllables painful in my throat. Blood dripped off me and pitted the dirt. "Hiding behind shields while forcing faeries forward to die."

  "Be grateful, little changeling," Raina crooned. The grasses beneath her browned. "I'm protecting you, too."

  Sticks snapped beneath approaching feet. Equipment clinked and rattled, forewarning their positions to anyone in earshot. My lips quivered. Oh, God. They're dead. The Dealer shuffled. My body hung, weak and useless, my stomach churning from Raina's magic. What can I do? What—?

  "It's a trap!" I screamed as loud as my raw voice allowed. Raina yelped and jumped to face me. Even Fino's eyebrows twitched. "You're being flanked! Run! Run!"

  The mining master lunged, pressed the box cutter to my throat. "Shut up or I'll shut you up!"

  "Stop!" Raina snapped. "If she dies, another potential darkling will trigger!"

  "Here they come," Fino said.

  Color fell from the mining master's face. He beetled to Raina's safety. The browning grass spread; yellowed oak leaves fell. My head and body throbbed. Downhill, sticks snapped and equipment rattled. The sentries tensed behind the rocks, triggers ready.

  Four rebels bumbled out of the brush. My heart skipped a beat when I saw a shaggy blonde in Converse shoes and ripped jeans leading the unversed band, an AK hanging from his neck, and an injured screech owl cradled in his arm.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Orin stopped short, the barrel of his rifle whacking his thigh. His free arm jutted behind him to halt the three other rebels, downhill. My heart nearly burst through my chest with excitement and relief, until I noticed the spines of his new recruits curling like blades of fresh grass. Color drained from their faces as they realized this wasn't an exercise. Weapons would be used on flesh targets instead of paper, and they faced their deaths without an option to escape.

  The eight Realm sentries opened fire. I cried: "No!" The rebels scrambled for a dirt ditch behind a log. Bark and dirt flew into the air. Barrels peeked over the log. Shots pinged off the sentries' granite-shield. Every rifle was silenced, making warfare sound like a battle of staplers and hole-punches. Chik! Chik! Chik! Chik!

  Come on, guys! I thought. Organize! Take revenge! Kick the Realm's butt!

  A sentry screamed. A chickadee weaved over the battlefield and vanished in an explosion of pink mist. Raina casually mentioned something to Fino as bullets and rock shards ricocheted off her safeguard, each hit broadening the dead grass. A chuckle jiggled Fino's shoulders as sentries reloaded. The oak tree shed a storm of wilted leaves.

  My jaw dropped as understanding dawned. That succubus can suck the life out of nature to boost her power! How deep did Raina's magic seep? Was she killing ground squirrels and ant colonies? Polluting aquifers? Outside of Raina, the faerie magic I'd seen was as quiet as sunbeams, and although great for nurturing and protection, outright terrible for direct death and destruction. It was possible for the common faerie—like a precise punch can kill—but difficult and unreliable. Darklings controlled Earth's destructive forces. For bloodshed, faeries relied on sharpened steel and brass casings. Good ol' American magic.

  The log chipped away to mulch. My right eye swelled shut. My heart sunk as I watched the Realm's weaponry, their superior numbers, Raina's manipulating magics, and I understood why a successful revolt was impossible. This is a slaughterhouse. Chik! Chik! Chik! Chik! A rebel shrieked as bullets flew. Another rebel panicked and dashed for the woods, his side exposed. Orin sprung as rifles tracked the moving target. Guns fired. Orin tackled him before bullets could shred them both, and dragged him to the ditch.

  I'm gonna watch Orin die. My heart constricted. I was experiencing another trauma in the making, another nightmare to haunt me in the Realm pits for centuries, without cold arms to hold me or a faerie fever to lean against on a lonely bank. No sexy smirks or toothy grins. No hot chocolate, no spray paint, no music, no sweets. A sob escaped me. I'm gonna lose Orin and Delano forever, and—

  A hand cupped my mouth, muffling my cry of surprise. My good eye widened and my heart soared. Kager! Orin's friend I had met while visiting Yosemite.

  Kager pressed his finger to his lips in a storm of dead springtime leaves. I nodded my understanding. He pointed up; my eyes followed. Vina straddled the branches, working the wire binding my ankles. Gunfire filled the woods like bloodthirsty staplers, the Realm oblivious to my rescue thanks to Orin's well-played distraction. My sight darted around the trees and rocks, my depth perception gone. How many rebels is Orin commanding? I wondered, right before my body slumped into Kager's arms.

  Blood rushed from my pounding head; the world spun. Kager dragged me behind a low outcropping several feet away, my limbs tingling. Kager's presence was stony, but not like sniffers who reminded me of crags and skin-slicing shale. Kager was a deep forest boulder carpeted in moss, a flat pebble skipping across a campground lake. He was silence and strength with an underlying comfort. His large hands promised to crush anything threatening what he loved. His loam hair and eyes seemed to whisper: Rest on me. I am here and I am constant.

  I squeezed my temples, trying to force the world to steady.

  Vina slid down the air and crouched beside us, but refused to acknowledge me. Odd. Maybe because I was blood-soaked. Gunshots fired in front of us, and now around us in the trees. Kager clicked the radio on his belt three times. Tick. Tick. Tick. He waited a few seconds, then peeked over the rocks. Gunfire continued. Browning grass crept into view. Chik! Chik! Chik!

  "Is he hit?" Vina whispered.

  Panic shinnied up my throat. Orin wasn't responding to a signal.

  Kager clicked the radio's button three more times. Tick. Tick. Tick. Gunfire lulled. Raina cursed, realizing I'd disappeared. Vina pressed her back against the boulder, eyes tight, rubbing the blue bead hanging off her boot as if the shoelace was a rosary. I peeked through a fissure in time to see Orin jump onto the log, now a pile of mulch. Barometric pressure shifted; my ears popped. His body glowed in a shimmering aura as he brought his hands above his head.

  My memory rushed to the reservoir, to the merganser and our wiped out reflections. Don't worry, Miriam. I'm determined to die in battle taking a sniffer or two with me.

  Adrenaline surged. I scrabbled to vault over the outcropping. "Orin! No!" My hair stood on end. "Or—!"

  Kager yanked me backward; my fingertips scraped raw over rock. He slammed me to the ground and the atmosphere erupted. Heat flooded the grounds; air crushed. The daylight filtering through the canopy blazed white, washing out color and obliterating shadow. My equilibrium rocked. I heard sentries yelp and bodies collapse, heard rattling rifles, grunts, and cries. A gunshot fired. Chik! Fino squawked; his body fell. Thump. Raina shrieked. Her slippered feet pounded dead leaves as she fled uphill through the forest, staggering past us before bounding off into the air.

  Delano's warning about Orin's magical potential barreled into my memory, then vanished as rebels yelled a war-cry and charged the sentries. Kager and Vina grunted and shook their heads, then launched themselves over the granite to fight. I peeked through the fissure. Most of the sentries lay unconscious; some stirred. Rebels raided from all directions, rifles fixed on the sentries. Fino panted and growled, hugging his waist. Kager demanded the rousing sentries surrender if they wanted to live.

  Hope arm-wrestled fear. Maybe torture wasn't the warm-up before the big fight for my life. Maybe I was on the winning team. Oak leaves rustled overhead, and beside me pale yellow weeds bowed their feathery heads. My lip twitched into a nervous smile as I began to believe the Realm wasn't the overwhelming force they touted.

  Oh my God. We have a chance against the Realm. We can win!

  Fino glanced around, panicked, realizing Raina had abandoned him. His white hound was also missing. Fino clenched his side, his cinnamon coat darkening. He crawled uphill, disappearing briefly from sight before appearing on the other side of the rocks. Blood oozed from his ear.

  Gunshots fired. Chik! Chik! Chik!
Torrents of heat and air surged across the battlefield. Vultures circled. The air shimmered as sentries tried desperately to block the onslaught, but more rebels flanked from the trees and surrounded. The magic protecting the sentries' fronts exposed their backs to bullets. Chik! Chik! Chik!

  "See?" Orin's voice carried over screams and gunshots and wails, the morbid din of war. "You are not weak! You are not helpless! You are not their slaves!"

  I peeked over the rock. Orin strode past several rebels who held sentries at gunpoint, air shimmering around him like a mirage. The expressions of his recruits were a mixture of awe and strength, and I saw it wasn't until now—despite their floggings and their rebel commitment and the blaring injustices they'd suffered—the Realm's lies and cruelty finally sunk in, transforming them from ragtag victims into soldiers.

  "You've been lied to," Orin shouted, sweat streaming down his face. A sentry clawed at his fallen rifle; another rebel shot the sentry's sacrum. Chik! "Wake up! See your strength."

  A Realm sentry sniveled on his back, peering into Vina's gun, his palms near his face in surrender. Vina straightened as if her spinal fluid was curing like concrete. "Please," the sentry begged. "Don't shoot."

  "Ten of us and twenty-five of them, yet they flee and fall. Evil always falls when good stands up. They act like forged steel, but watch them crumple." Orin's face was an emotional sandstorm. Determination. Hope. Enthusiasm. Rage. Orin caught my eye. He flashed me a toothy grin—strong yet strangely shy—then shrugged and gave me a thumbs-up. Despite the blood and bullets and death-wails, I couldn't help snickering and lifting my thumb in return. The gesture was so Orin.

  The moment dissipated and Orin spun on the battlefield, leaving me awestruck. This wasn't merely a military operation or a rescue or a job. Had I not been his first retriever assignment—had it been a convicted criminal he loathed—how different everything would be. He'd be fast-tracking to a sniffer position, all knives and whips and justified brutalization, and the worlds would've suffered. Instead, he stormed a battlefield against those he once swore his allegiance to, empowering faeries who moments before believed they were powerless. All because he showed compassion to an assignment that became a friendship.

  All of these lives changed because of a few coincidences. The thought sounded like the shuffling of cards.

  The battle slowed. Most sentries died; a few had their hands bound with wire. Every rebel remained standing, their pointed ears tuned to Orin's commands, their courage growing, developing, feeding off his. They stood with him. They stood together, camaraderie finally glinting in their eyes and in the lifts of their chins. My chest rose; I felt proud to know Orin. He wasn't a fighter. He was a force. He was grace and fury, an archangel with an AK to replace a fiery sword.

  Oh, Orin, I thought, smiling as a tear slipped down my throbbing cheek. Can't you see you were born to lead?

  Then Orin's eyes locked onto Fino and I watched an angel fall.

  Fino crawled past my hiding spot, clenching the bullet wound above his hip. My depth perception was gone, but I had a straight view at a three-quarter angle. Orin slammed his foot into the sniffer's ass, making him eat dirt, then booted him onto his back and pointed a rifle at him. Fino's eyes widened on Orin, the retriever he flogged several months ago, the life he destroyed with a whip-crack. Orin saw his fear, too, and grinned the grin of a prisoner ruling over their warden. His grin was so serene yet malicious it made my brain buzz, as if my neurons couldn't compute.

  The Dealer shuffled.

  "Surrender and you shall live," Kager said off to the side. A sentry lurched for the forest. Gunshots fired. Chik! Chik! Chik! His hands flew up as bullets tore through his back. "Surrender and you shall live. Surrender and you shall live."

  Vina and another recruit gathered behind Orin, their faces flushed. Orin aimed the rifle at Fino's forehead and said: "See how the strongest fall before us."

  The Dealer dealt the cards. Flip.

  Fino threw up his hands. "I surrender!"

  Orin's eyes narrowed, his mouth a tight, pink line. Turkey vulture shadows circled along dead grass as his recruits—his soldiers—exchanged glances.

  Flip.

  Orin sighed and lowered his rifle. "Okay. I'll show you mercy."

  The sniffer released a huge breath.

  Flip.

  "Like the mercy you showed us!" Orin flipped his rifle and bludgeoned Fino's face.

  Bust.

  The sniffer's skull caved. It caved. I pulled behind the rock, teeth clenching my finger. Orin slammed the stock. ThwapCrunk! ThwapCrunk! I cringed with each hit.

  My vision tunneled. Time became a machine, all grinding gears and rattling chains. I clenched a chunk of granite. Blood trickled down my back, summoning memories from the night blood had trickled down Orin's. I remembered his screaming, the whip cracking, the flesh tearing as Fino slaughtered our lives in a Sierra twilight.

  ThwapCrunk! ThwapCrunk!

  The rock in my fist tapped to the tempo against murdered grasses. A flame kindled in a murky, hidden chamber inside me. I remembered Fino squirming beneath my dark magic. How good it felt to crush him, to hurt him, to punish him for nearly murdering my friend. I'm such an idiot. I should have killed him then.

  ThwapCrunk!

  A dark heat smoldered inside me, began to sizzle. I didn't want to sit useless, a victim and a danger. I needed to participate. Fear and weakness burned to cinder. I felt strong and vicious, capable of destruction and protection. Capable of revenge. Something wetted my jaw, sweat or tears or blood. I didn't care. Fight for what you love, whispered something inside me. Cowering to violence is as evil as initiating violence.

  I tried questioning this statement, but my thoughts were flimsy, as fragile as ash. Dirt crumbled from the granite beneath my grip. The air reeked of blood and smoke and vulture musk, held the slickness of gun oil. I clenched the stone to my heart, imagined bludgeoning Fino's face to finish what I should've finished months ago. Teeth clenched, I struggled to stand. My legs felt tingly and fat. I toppled to my knees, clawed the ground, tried to stand.

  "You killed him."

  I blinked. Reality expanded. The pounding in my ears became vultures hissing and fae moaning. Pain returned in a rush. I crumpled to my hip, gasping. Granite rolled from my fingers, my stomach wormy with fleeting intentions.

  "You killed a sniffer," another rebel said, their voices a mixture of fear and awe.

  Orin panted. "Mercy for evil will destroy us."

  Everything slowed. Anger and exhaustion and disgust sunk into me, as if my insides were quicksand, sucking down my life. The world spun. My hands felt numb and foreign, two more chunks of granite on this blood-soaked mountain. Wings flapped. Vultures hissed and rattled. A meaty, ripping sound knotted my stomach. Does a vulture shit in the woods? Why yes it does. It shits faeries. I wanted to throw up.

  Orin leapt over the rock in a spray of yellowed leaves and crouched to face me. He leaned his rifle against the stone, red and grayish-white chunks clinging to the stock. He patted my cheeks my neck my arms, checking injuries, adding Fino's blood to mine. Maybe his blood, too.

  Orin shook my shoulders. "Are you crazy? They would've sliced out your tongue, shouting like that!"

  My face scrunched. "I didn't want you to die." My voice cracked, making it sound like dye-uh. Then, as if my seams had overstretched, my brave face split. I burst into deep, squally sobs, the tears desperate to purge the terror and grief and dark cinders inside me.

  "You stupid, stupid brave faerie." Orin crushed me against his chest. I vaguely thought how odd it was to not feel embarrassed my bare breasts pressed against him. How odd I once felt embarrassed about something as trivial as nudity.

  Kager and a rebel I didn't recognize hurried around the rocks. Orin rubbed his eyes against my hair before turning to them. His chin squared as if hardened in kiln-fire. He tore his shirt into ribbons and tied them around my thigh. "Take Miriam to the medic."

  "Take her to camp?" Kager said. "But Cham
doesn't allow—"

  Orin gritted his teeth. "Now!"

  Kager stiffened, tipped a curt nod. "Yes, sir." He helped tie the last bandage, then scooped me into a fireman's carry and sprinted up into the air.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  "Please hold still!"

  "Sorry," I gasped. Narrow forceps dug into my thigh. My fingers clawed the mattress.

  Plink.

  More birdshot dropped into the metal pan at my bedside. The screech owl was nestled in a lump of blankets on the cot beside mine, sleeping with raspy breaths. Its leg was bandaged. Its beak clicked as if dreaming about snacking on voles and mice. The infirmary consisted of a cabinet and nightstand and not much else. The two cots had been vacant, and I hoped I wouldn't be kicked to the floor when the fighters returned.

  My back was stitched; the injury felt disproportioned to the terror I had suffered. Unlike the jagged wounds on my thigh, Greeson had sliced the skin clean and shallow, and the medic predicted it wouldn't even scar. Physically, anyway. The torture's psychological mark would remain forever.

  My face felt like a balloon, the right eye swollen shut. I blinked the left, trying to adjust to the lack of depth perception. Delano had mentioned the rebels' poverty, but seeing it was sobering. Their base was an abandoned, split-level, mining operation, built a hundred years ago, the walls a patchwork of boards and corrugated metal and cinderblock. The rebels had buried the building, camouflaging it in the hillside, and unless you knew where to look, the entryway was nearly impossible to find within its berm. How the rebels kept the place clean was beyond me. Kager had mentioned thirty-five lived here, including six children, who now stared at me, wide-eyed, from beneath three rickety dining tables. The crammed bunkbeds upstairs looked barely capable of sleeping twenty.