by S. J. Bryant
Wren drew a deep breath, ready to blow the dart, when Ryker stepped closer to Kari and wrapped an arm over her shoulder.
Wren had to stop mid-blow. The dart toppled out of the end of the pipe and plummeted to the forest floor with a dull thud.
Kari and the others didn't hear it, didn't look back.
Wren cursed and fumbled with the case, trying to get another dart, but by the time she'd loaded it, the group had moved deeper into the protection of the trees and Wren couldn't get a clear shot. Even if she could, at this distance she couldn't be sure of hitting Kari and not Ryker, and she wouldn't put Ryker at risk as well.
He was a good man, and the job wasn't for him.
Wren snapped the pipe closed, shoved it into her pocket, and glared at the trees around her. Another failure.
If the Guild could see her now, they'd disown her, probably have her thrown out and killed. They'd say that she wasn't trying, that she was failing on purpose.
But she wasn't! She wanted this job over as much as they did. If she'd been given the choice, she would rather not kill Kari, but that's not the way the Guild worked and wasn't worth thinking about.
No. She had to prove herself. Before the Guild—and she—started to doubt herself.
This had to end.
CHAPTER 20
Kari lay on her side, staring at the blackness in front of her. The wall was there somewhere, but the total darkness of the forest and the village made it impossible to see.
Piper breathed softly—asleep—behind her. Piper had been distraught when she'd seen Loko's body, had cried for hours, but finally she'd fallen into fitful sleep, and there at least she seemed to be getting some peace.
Kari kept a stony face throughout the day, through the funeral, and during the vigil that went deep into the night, but now, in the darkness, she let her emotions show. It was her fault.
If she'd never decided to come into the damn forest, then Loko would never have been in danger. He would have lived here in the village bringing smiles and happiness to people for decades to come.
Now he was dead. And it was her fault.
Insects droned outside, accompanied by the brush of the wind through the trees.
How many more people would die because of her? As long as there were people around, they were in danger. That included Piper, and Ryker, and even Atticus.
Kari rolled over and stared at the ceiling. She couldn't do that. She couldn't bear the responsibility for more deaths, especially not of the people she cared about.
That left only one option.
She'd known it since Loko died, probably before that although she'd been denying the truth. She had to leave.
Kari tossed the thin sheet aside and sat. She'd already put all her belongings into her bag and her holster lay by her side. She strapped it around her waist, careful not to wake Piper, grabbed her bag, and stepped onto the platform that surrounded their shelter.
A cold blast of air hit her. Unlike the humid days of the past week, today had been icy, as if the forest itself was reacting to Loko's death.
"So you're leaving."
Kari spun, heart in her throat, and found Ryker leaning against the side of the shelter, beside the door.
"How long have you been there?" she whispered. They'd said goodnight hours ago, and Ryker slept in a different shelter, up a different tree.
"Since you came back here. You're leaving?"
Kari hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder. "I have to."
"It's not your fault."
Kari didn't respond. No matter what Ryker said, he'd never convince her that Loko's death hadn't been her fault. The dart was meant for her, he'd saved her life. There was nothing about the situation that made it not her fault.
"You shouldn't leave."
"I have to. I won't let anyone else…"
Ryker rubbed a hand across his stubbled chin. He looked tired, more tired than Kari had seen him since their time in the revolution when they'd had to spend a straight three days running—more like stumbling—away from enemy lines without pause to rest or eat or sleep.
"You shouldn't leave. We can help you."
"You can't stop me," Kari said.
Ryker sighed, shaking his head. "I'm not going to. I just wanted to tell you that you shouldn't."
Kari nodded once. Ryker was a good man too, like Loko. What would she do if she got him killed as well? That was why she couldn't stay. She was a danger to all of them, as good as a bomb set to blow. "You'll look after Piper?"
"Of course," Ryker said. "You know this will hurt her."
"I know." That cut a wound deep in Kari's chest. Over the last few days she'd finally started to get through to Piper, to feel like they were family again. What would this—sneaking out in the dead of night—do to their relationship? What if Piper never trusted her again?
"Wren is dangerous," Ryker said.
Kari snorted. "You think I don't know that?"
"I just mean… be careful."
"I will."
"Where are you going? When will we see you again?"
"It's better you don't know."
"You mean you don't want me following you."
Kari caught his eyes, staring into their depths. How much had they seen and been through together? But that was just one more reason why she couldn't risk dragging him into it. If Wren had been after both of them then it would have been different. But she wasn't, she just wanted Kari.
"We'll meet up again once this is over," she said.
"And how will we know that?"
"You're not planning to stay in the forest, are you?" Ryker was as out of place in the forest as one of the tribespeople would have been in the city.
"I suppose not."
Kari nodded. "There's no reason for you to stay here once I'm gone. Go back to the city, do what you have to to be safe. I'll find you, once it's over."
"You should take these." He unhooked a thick shotgun from his waist, then pulled a half-dozen explosives from his pockets.
Kari raised an eyebrow. "You're carrying all that around in the middle of the night?"
"Well I can't carry everything. That would be weird."
"Right," Kari said. "That's the weird bit."
"Just take them. I think you'll need them more than I will."
Kari clipped the shotgun to her belt, then placed the explosives into her bag, checking the safety on each of them.
"They've got adjustable triggers. Pressure, heat, you know."
"Yeah, I know."
Ryker nodded and pulled her into a quick hug. Neither of them was the hugging sort, but it seemed right in that moment and Kari was grateful for the brief touch of his warm arms. How long would it be before she felt a kindly human touch again? What if she never did?
"Thank you, Ryker."
"Be safe," he said, giving her a final squeeze.
Kari turned before he could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes and tossed the rope ladder over the side of the platform. She scurried down it—three days in the place had given her a level of confidence with the ladders that she would never have imagined when she first arrived—and then darted away from the tribe into the thick of the forest.
A full moon loomed overhead, casting the faintest of silver glows on the trees. It didn't penetrate all the way to the forest floor and so Kari kept tripping on roots and getting caught in the underbrush, but at least she was moving. Even someone with Wren's keen senses would struggle to follow her.
The smell of campfires from the tribe drifted on the wind. Some people were still awake, continuing to hold a vigil for Loko, but most of the tribe slept. Wet leaves gave way beneath Kari's feet. It must have rained during the day, although she couldn't remember it. She had passed most of the day in a daze, regretting every decision which had led to Loko's death.
Perhaps if she had told Loko and the other tribespeople of her plan to lure Wren out, then they would have been ready. Maybe they would have spotted the assassin where Kari and Ryker f
ailed. But she hadn't, and now Loko was dead, and that would weigh on her conscience for the rest of her life.
Kari hardened her heart and pushed forward. She wanted to put as much distance between her and the village before daybreak as she could. Her trail would be easy to follow once morning came, but at least Wren would know that she was gone, and would hopefully leave the village people, including Ryker, Piper, and Atticus, alone.
Once dawn came…
Kari hadn't thought that far ahead. Her only goal now was to get as far away as possible from the people she cared about. Perhaps once she wasn't worrying about them so much, she'd be able to think clearly.
She'd work out some way of trapping Wren and ending things. Her previous attempts hadn't gone so well, but this time she would be ready. This was no blind scheme that involved wandering out in the open. No, she'd think it through, plan the perfect place, choose the perfect weapon.
Vines with spikes scraped and grabbed for Kari's jacket. A thorn caught her cheek and scratched a hot line of pain, almost to her eye. She shoved the vine away, swiping at the blood. It was no less than she deserved.
She should have known that Wren would be well hidden, that she and Ryker would never be able to retaliate in time. Stupid. She'd been stupid. But no more.
Forest animals scraped and scrabbled in the undergrowth but nothing bigger than a dog. Loko had told her that the scrags were attracted to light and noise, although they'd learned to avoid the tribe for the most part.
Lone travelers rarely attracted the notice of the scrags—according to Loko—but groups who wandered into the forest were often caught, their voices attracting the creatures through the trees.
So Kari did her best to stay silent, not just for the scrags, but for Wren too.
Ryker had known that she would try to leave. Admittedly, he knew her better than anyone. But if he could predict what she'd do, maybe Wren could too. Perhaps Wren was waiting in the forest just ahead to slice Kari's throat.
Kari's neck tingled and she laid a hand on her gun. No. Ryker had known her for years, had fought with her, knew almost everything about her. Wren was just some assassin. She couldn't know, and even if she suspected, she couldn't know which way Kari would go. Even she had only chosen once she was actually on the forest floor, and it had been random.
Wren couldn't be lurking behind the next tree, knife drawn.
Still, Kari's heart thundered and she jumped at every tiny noise.
The forest was a damn difficult and noisy place. Perhaps it wasn't the best choice for her. Perhaps she should aim to get back to the city, at least there she wouldn't be attacked by trees.
Kari trudged onward. The thought of Loko kept her going even when her legs ached from exhaustion and cuts and stings burned her arms.
She would not let another good man die because of her.
She refused.
CHAPTER 21
Atticus woke to a scuffling near the door of the shelter he shared with Ryker. He reached for the plasma pistol that Ryker had forced him to keep, swinging it toward the door.
"Whoa!" said the silhouette, outlined by the flickering lantern outside.
Atticus recognized Ryker's voice and lowered the weapon. "What are you doing?"
Ryker came inside, eased the door shut, and sat on the thin mattress that served as his bed.
It occurred to Atticus that maybe he didn't want to know where Ryker had been sneaking off to in the middle of the night.
"I went to see Kari."
"Kari?" Atticus hadn't read anything more than camaraderie in their relationship, but perhaps he'd missed something.
"She's gone."
"Gone? What do you mean, gone?"
"She's gone." Ryker waved his hand. "She figures we'll be safer without her."
"But she already tried that and—"
"I know," Ryker said, his voice heavy. "I told her all that."
"But she still left."
"Yeah."
Atticus sat, wrapping his arms over his knees. He didn't have to try too hard to imagine what Kari had been thinking. The captain might be headstrong, but at heart she was a good person. If she thought for a minute that she was putting Piper at risk, then she'd burn herself alive to make things better. And poor Loko's death would have brought everything crashing down.
Only a dim stream of light filtered beneath the door from the lantern outside, but Atticus could still see pain twisting Ryker's face.
"She'll be fine," Atticus said. It was true he hadn't met many people as stubborn or tough as Kari, even in the Marines, but he didn't know how much good that would do against a Guild assassin.
"Yeah," Ryker said, although he sounded about as sure as Atticus felt.
Atticus squeezed his legs tighter against his chest. If only there was some gadget or device he could create that would solve all their problems. It was so easy to fix mechanical things. It was always obvious that something had come unplugged or unstuck. People were so much harder to understand. Like who could have predicted that Wren would turn on Kari?
"We should talk to her," Atticus said.
"You can't, she already left. Besides, I tried."
"Not Kari. Wren."
Ryker looked up at Atticus, his thick eyebrows casting deep shadows over his eyes. "Try talking to Wren?"
"Why not?" Atticus said.
"Because she's a trained Guild assassin on a job?"
"But we're not the targets."
"So? That won't stop her killing us if we get in the way."
"I'm not saying we get in the way, just that we talk to her."
"And then I kill her while you've got her distracted?"
"No," Atticus said. "I mean talk to her. Try to convince her that what she's doing is wrong."
"Ha! She'll never listen to you. She's a Guild assassin. They don't stop a job until it's done. You don't know Wren like I do. She'll never change her path."
"We have to at least try."
Ryker shrugged. "You can try if you want. But I'll probably be lining her up with my sniper rifle at the same time."
Atticus' stomach twisted. He didn't like the thought of that. He didn't want to lure Wren into a trap, he just wanted her to see the error of her ways. If she could see that there was another path… "Let me talk to her first."
"You're going to have to be quick," Ryker said. "She'll know Kari is gone as soon as first light comes, if not before, and she'll be off."
Atticus stood, letting his sheet fall to the mattress.
"You're going to try talking to her now?"
"I don't want to miss her."
"You won't be able to see a thing."
"Neither will she."
Ryker snorted. "Hopefully, but honestly, at this point I wouldn't put anything past her."
Atticus tugged on his coat, strapped his holster to his waist and stood tall, looking down at Ryker. "Are you coming?"
Ryker leaned back and pulled his sniper rifle from its place near the wall. "I'll watch from here."
"You said I wouldn't be able to see anything. How are you going to aim?"
"Because you're taking a flashlight," Ryker said. "Try to get her to step into the light if you can. That's if she doesn't kill you."
Atticus' stomach did an uneasy flip. Wren wouldn't do that, would she? She didn't seem the type to kill in cold blood, unless it was for a job—then apparently all bets were off.
"Right," he said, stepping onto the platform that surrounded their shelter. Noise and music drifted from some of the other trees, the last of Loko's wake, but otherwise the gentle sounds of the forest filled the air.
Atticus tossed the rope ladder over the side of the platform and started the torturous climb down. He hated every second of it. A single misplaced step could mean death. Surely the people could install small stairs, or something? The scrags couldn't climb stairs, could they?
He reached the bottom an eternity later and flicked on the flashlight he kept looped in his belt. It cast a shaft of light
that caught on wide tree trunks and then disappeared into the thicker jungle that surrounded the clearing.
He had no idea where Wren would be, or if she was even close, but he strode to the edge of the forest regardless.
"Wren!" he yelled. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called louder. "Wren!"
"What do you want?" Wren's voice sounded as if she were standing right by his shoulder.
Atticus jumped and turned, but she wasn't there. Had he imagined it? But no, it had been too real. Then where had it come from?
He shone his light through the undergrowth, then up into the trees but he couldn't see her.
"Well?" Wren said.
Atticus' heart flickered and he had to swallow before he could talk. "Where are you?"
"You think I'd tell you that? Ryker might use that pretty sniper rifle he's got. You know, I'm offended. I could shoot him right back and teach him a lesson."
"No!" Atticus said. "No. Don't come down then."
"Sorry your plan didn't work."
"I didn't come here so Ryker could shoot you."
"Could have fooled me."
Wren's voice seemed to move and twist through the trees, as if it came from a wraith that could move without being seen. Sometimes it came from high up in the canopy, and other times it came from Atticus' own feet.
"I just wanted to talk," Atticus said.
"You're telling the truth." She sounded surprised.
"Yes."
"Then talk," Wren said. "But be warned, I have a short temper and a long knife."
Atticus cleared his throat, forcing himself not to dab at the sweat trickling down his forehead. "You don't have to do this."
"Do what?"
"Kill Kari."
"You know nothing."
"I know you and Kari were friends."
"I don't have friends." Wren's voice was cold, like flat steel, without inflection or emotion.
"Not friends then," Atticus said. "But you had some respect for her, and she trusted you."
"Her mistake."
"You don't have to kill her."
"The Guild orders it, so it shall be."
Atticus gaped at the trees. How could he argue with that kind of blind loyalty? He'd hoped he could bring reason, hoped he could appeal to Wren's relationship with Kari, now he'd been shot down in barely the space of half a minute.
