Chaos (Guards of the Shadowlands Book 3)

by Sarah Fine

  After a few blocks, we passed another Takeshi sign, this one older and faded. Ana smiled. “He’s been free for a while.”

  I smiled, too, and rubbed at the ache in my chest. Where was Malachi—was he free as well? Could he have escaped the Mazikin’s control? “If there’s a resistance movement within this city, we’re going to want to find those people. Maybe they can help us destroy the portal and take care of the Queen.”

  “Maybe.” Ana nodded toward the flutter of a dark cloak disappearing around a corner up ahead. “And they may have already found us.”

  We picked up our pace, our leather soles nearly silent on the concrete. Everything in the city was fashioned from cement and metal. Like the dark city, nothing green seemed able to survive in this dome, but ugliness flourished. Only here, it was sharper. Harsher. Cruel.

  We reached the corner we’d seen the dark figure disappear around, but as we looked the streets up and down, they appeared deserted. “You think they’re watching us?” I asked quietly, wiping my hand over my sweaty face and tucking my hair behind my ear. It lay like a thick, wet blanket over the back of my neck.

  “I don’t know,” said Ana. “The only thing we can do is keep going. It’s damn tempting to hide out in one of these buildings until the sun calls it quits, but we have to take advantage of the empty streets.”

  I was melting inside my cloak, but I had a feeling that I’d be blistered and charred without it. The heat was nearly unbearable, but—“You got it, Captain.”

  Our heads snapped up at the sound of a low moan. A man lay crumpled in the road about a block ahead. Blood oozed from a gash across his forehead. Ana and I locked eyes, then crept toward the man, sticking close to the shelter of the nearest building. Ana reached him first and knelt at his side. The back of his neck was blistered and raw from lying in the sun, as were the backs of his hands. He wore a stained and torn leather smock, similar to the ones Raphael had given us. His lips were a startling color, redder than the most chapped lips I’d ever seen. He groaned as Ana touched his shoulder. “Hey,” she said to him. “You need some help?”

  The man said something in a language I didn’t understand. I turned to Ana, who spoke several languages, but she looked as lost as I felt. “Let’s at least get him off the street,” she said. “He’s roasting alive.”

  We grasped the guy under his arms and lifted him off the road. His blistered fingers clutched at our cloaks, and he licked at his crimson lips with his tongue, which was an equally violent shade of red. Though I wanted to help him, revulsion made my throat tighten.

  “It’s all right,” Ana soothed as we dragged him toward the nearest building. Both of us sighed with relief as we entered the shaded, dank space. It was at least twenty degrees cooler than the street and felt downright awesome. We set him on the floor and began to rise, but our wounded companion grabbed our cloaks, speaking urgent words we couldn’t decipher.

  I squatted next to him, trying to get him to look at me, to see we didn’t mean him any harm. Next to me, Ana stood up abruptly.

  “What should we do for him?” I asked her.

  “Nothing,” she whispered. “I think he’s served his purpose.”

  Then I heard the growl, deep and vicious. It rolled like a wave up my spine, raising goose bumps. The bleeding man let go of my cloak, shot to his feet, and scrambled across the space to press himself against the wall. I looked over my shoulder. Ana stood between me and the threat. She’d already drawn her knives. “He was a decoy,” she muttered.

  I looked over at the man, whose eyes were fixed on something just beyond Ana. My hand traveled to my thigh, drawing a knife of my own as I rose.

  The Mazikin, standing on his hind legs, his claws flexing by his sides, grunted at us, rhythmic and guttural.

  “They want to know who our master is,” Ana said.

  “They?” I stepped to the side—we were completely surrounded. Four Mazikin had emerged from the shadows. All on two legs, their black eyes shining like oil slicks, their mouths snarling.

  I let out my breath slowly, focusing. “Orders?”

  “Hold your own and let me do the heavy lifting.”

  As soon as she said it, the knives flew from her hands, and the room erupted in chaos. Two of the Mazikin let out choked shrieks as the knives hit home with muffled thumps, but the other pair moved before Ana could draw again. They leaped at us, and we only had time to get our arms up to shield our faces from their claws. My shoulders hit the wall behind me, but I kept a grip on my knives, even as a Mazikin closed its jaws around my forearm. It felt like my bones were being crushed in a vise, but its teeth didn’t penetrate the sleeve of my leather smock, and its claws scraped down the side of my cloak without tearing it.

  Ana cried out and rolled to the side, entangled with her opponent. I threw my weight forward and twisted as my own attacker held on tight, its eyes squeezed shut as it shook its head side to side, trying to rip my arm off. I rammed my steel-shot-coated fist into its body over and over again as it clawed at me, searching for vulnerable flesh within the folds of my cloak. Finally, it let out a whine as I drove my fist into its ribs, and its mouth opened wide enough to allow me to tug my arm from its jaws. With a fierce growl of my own, I grabbed the Mazikin by the ear with my newly freed hand and slammed my knife straight down, burying it in the Mazikin’s eye socket. It let out a soft whimper and fell limp to the ground.

  I stumbled away from it to see Ana wrestling on the floor with the other Mazikin; it had both of her arms pinned and was going for her throat. I dove forward, planning to bury my blade in its side, but before I reached it, it jumped to its feet with a snarl. It grabbed my raised arm and twisted, filling the echoing space with a sick popping sound. Lightning strikes of agony jolted through my shoulder, and my knife clattered to the floor. With a strangled scream, I landed on my back, waves of nausea crashing over me. My tunic had flown up to expose my belly, but I managed to get my feet up to shove the Mazikin away from me before it could tear my stomach open with its outstretched claws. It disappeared from my line of sight, but the shuffling feet and growls told me Ana was up and had taken it on.

  I rolled to my side, cradling my limp right arm. I tried to rise to help Ana, but then I heard a gurgling whine, followed by the splatter of blood hitting cement, and I knew that she could take care of herself. She appeared by my side a second later, breathing hard. “Thanks for having my back,” she said, looking at my limp arm. “Can you move it?”

  I tried and then doubled over, retching with the pain. I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead to the cool concrete, trying not to faint. “Is it broken?” I gasped out. My whole arm was limp, and there was an odd bump on the front of my shoulder.

  “Dislocated.” Ana hunched over me. “We’re going to have to—”

  She froze. And over the uneven sound of our breaths, I heard it. Claws, clacking together.

  Yet another Mazikin stepped from the shadows. It had a cloak pulled low over its head, so all I could see was its ugly snout and half-open mouth. And its clawed hands, slapping together in a muffled slow clap that reeked of amusement. Ana cursed. A second later, her knives were flying.

  They clattered against the concrete walls as the Mazikin moved with a speed I couldn’t even track. The dark blur ducked and dodged, able to anticipate Ana’s every movement. A deep, guttural laughter rumbled from the shadows far across the room.

  “I think this is the last one,” said Ana in a low voice, her attention on the black corner where the Mazikin lurked. “But it’s faster than the others. Can you get up?”

  I shoved myself up with my good hand but couldn’t stop the gasp of agony at the dead weight of my right arm pulling on the socket. I wrenched myself to my feet, then grabbed my dangling limb and pressed it against my stomach, my breath whistling from my throat.

  “Get against the wall. You’re useless,” she said, but her voice was gentle,
protective.

  I took a few steps back at the same time the cloaked Mazikin emerged from the shadows. I couldn’t see its eyes, but somehow I knew it was focused on Ana—the only other dangerous predator in the room. It grunted at her as it stalked forward, more like a tiger than a hyena. She stepped to the side, drawing its attention away from me as I withdrew into a corner and noticed the wounded man was gone. Had he been a victim forced to be bait, or a willing collaborator in this trap set for anyone strong enough to show mercy?

  As Ana and the last Mazikin circled each other, my gaze darted to the bodies of the ones we’d killed. All of them wore dark leather cloaks with a black triangle sewn onto the back. I wondered if they were part of the Mazikin guard, some kind of enforcement squad. I looked at the Mazikin squaring off with Ana. His cloak, too, had a black triangle. I suddenly wished I was better at throwing; I would have loved to bury my blade in that thing’s back. But as I shifted my weight and considered trying, my knees buckled with another shock of pain.

  I sank to the floor and watched helplessly as the Mazikin leaped at Ana. She lunged with her knife, but it caught her wrist in its clawed hand and spun her around. She jabbed her knee into its belly, but it arched back and received only a glancing blow. Ana’s face was alight with frustration as she pressed her attack and the Mazikin knocked away her punches and knife jabs with relative ease. It was playing with her.

  Her eyes glinted with the same realization. She glared at the beast, searching for its vulnerability. Without letting her gaze waver from her enemy, she shed her cloak to give her more freedom of movement. Her black hair was so long that it fell over her shoulders from the ponytail high on her head.

  The Mazikin made the oddest sound, this faint, hungry sigh, and its arms dropped to its sides. I watched Ana, expecting her to take advantage of the Mazikin’s loss of concentration, but instead, her eyes went round and filled with tears. “It’s you, isn’t it?” she whispered.

  The Mazikin let its hood fall away from its face. Ugly stitches tracked along its skin and neck. “Only if it’s you,” it said softly.

  SIX

  THE MAZIKIN TUGGED AT its own ears, lifting its head away—and dropping it to the floor. A mask. It had been hiding a man who stared at Ana like she was the only person in the universe. His honey-colored skin was flushed with exertion, and his breaths sawed from his lungs as he pulled furry, clawed gloves away from his very human hands.

  “Ana?” His shaky voice drove the breath from my lungs, because it was pure, raw want.

  Takeshi had found us.

  Ana’s face crumpled as she dove into his open arms. Muffled Spanish flowed from her lips as she clung to him. He bowed his head into her shoulder, his arms trembling as he threw them around her. Something about their embrace made my chest feel like it was ripping right down the middle. I closed my eyes, unable to bear it.

  A few minutes later, a hand touched my good shoulder, and I looked up to see Takeshi crouching in front of me. Ana stood behind him, tears dripping down her face. “Lela, this is Takeshi,” she said like she couldn’t quite believe it.

  “Hi.” I couldn’t summon more than that.

  “She said your shoulder is dislocated,” he said in faintly accented English, lifting a fold of my cloak to peek at my right shoulder. “Aaand she was right. Can you stand up?”

  He offered me his arm, but I couldn’t reach for it. I needed my left arm to hold my right against my body. It was the only way to keep the pain at a level that allowed me to stay conscious. I braced my feet and used the wall to push myself up.

  Takeshi rose as well, giving me an assessing look. His gaze lingered on my face for a few seconds before he said, “Neither of you were possessed, were you?” He lifted my cloak again to eye the knives strapped to my legs and waist. Quick as a cat, he snatched one of my blades from its sheath. He held it up to the faint light flowing in from the street. “I know exactly who made these, and it wasn’t anyone in the city. How the hell did you two get here?”

  “Raphael made an opening in the dome,” Ana said.

  “This is an official mission?” His eyes were wide. “The Judge sent you here? Or”—his jaw clenched—“did she sentence you here?”

  Ana put her hand on his shoulder, and he turned to her. “She didn’t sentence us, but she did send us.”

  “The lights and the explosions against the dome this morning—was that when you came in? It’s got the guards on the lookout. But I never thought, I never even considered—”

  “Malachi was taken,” I blurted out.

  “What?” The shock and disbelief on Takeshi’s face sliced right through me. “When?”

  “A day or so ago,” I said, my voice breaking. “I don’t know how time passes here, but it hasn’t been that long.” Though it felt like forever.

  “He’s the one,” he muttered, still looking stunned. “The rumors that they’ve captured a Guard are spreading through the city. I was heading to the square to find out for myself. But I didn’t for one moment think it would be Malachi.”

  “Things have changed for him,” said Ana, her gaze drifting over his shoulder to land on me.

  Takeshi twisted around to look at me again, almost like he was seeing me for the first time. “Who are you exactly?”

  “She sneaked into the dark city from the Countryside to try to rescue a friend of hers,” said Ana. “Malachi . . . well, I think he was done from the moment he saw her. And I guess Lela here got herself sentenced to be a Guard right alongside him.”

  Takeshi gave me the faintest of smiles. “Poor Malachi.”

  I couldn’t return his smile, but I had to agree with his words. If Malachi hadn’t met me, he wouldn’t be here. “The Judge agreed to allow us to try to get him out, as long as we destroy their portal and kill the Queen.”

  Takeshi laughed, then stifled it with his sleeve. “So sorry,” he mumbled. “That’s quite a mission.”

  “We’ve heard there’s some sort of resistance movement here in the city. Are you part of that? Could they help us?” Ana asked.

  The laughter died immediately, and he frowned. “The Resistance is a myth, bred by people who haven’t yet given up hope.”

  Ana’s brow furrowed. “You haven’t given up hope.”

  “I will never give up,” he said, so softly I knew his words were meant only for her. Especially when his voice hardened as he added, “But here I take care of myself, and I cause as much trouble as I can, and that is all there is. All there has been for a very long time.”

  Ana glanced at me and looked away. When she’d told me she thought he’d be part of the Resistance, she’d said it with such pride, but this was a reminder she hadn’t seen this man in a decade or so. It was certainly a reminder to me—he’d been a Guard, but did that mean we could trust him? What had so many years in this hellish place done to him and his allegiances?

  A soft crackling sound from the street drew our attention. Takeshi cursed. “I lost track of time. The fire hour is coming. We need to get below, and then we’re going to put your arm back in its socket.”

  He said it like he did that kind of thing every day. I shoved off the wall as he strode to the center of the room and picked up his Mazikin disguise. “I have a place close by. We won’t be on the streets for long. Still”—he pulled the Mazikin face on over his own—“best to be cautious.”

  While Takeshi collected Ana’s knives from the bodies of her victims, Ana tugged on her own cloak, then came over to me. She pulled my hood over my head as I clutched my right arm and swayed unsteadily. Even distracted by my pain, I could see the glow on her face. She didn’t care whether Takeshi had changed. She had been waiting for this reunion for years, and now she had it. I couldn’t begrudge her—I was hoping to have a reunion of my own very soon.

  With our hoods low and our cloaks pulled around our bodies, we exited the building. The heat nearly flattened
me as I drew the searing air into my lungs. Ahead of me, Ana cringed under the blazing sunlight. The enormous ball of flame, magnified through the dome, was directly overhead. Takeshi glanced up and growled something incomprehensible, and both he and Ana began to jog. I stumbled along as quickly as I could, but each step jarred my shoulder joint. It was all I could do to keep from screaming with every footfall.

  A sudden explosion close behind me sent me careening off a wall. Takeshi pivoted on his heel toward me, his cloak swinging, his half-open Mazikin snout leading the way. It bounced off the side of my face as he slid a steely arm around my back and wrenched me away from the wall. He hustled me down the street, muttering urgently in Japanese. A flash of flame erupted not a block away, and I started to turn my head toward the threat, but Takeshi lugged me forward with a sharp, merciless strength.

  “Up ahead,” he said to Ana, who was right in front of us, her steps halting as she tried to figure out where to go. She froze in place as another nearby explosion sent a wave of heat at us. Black smoke billowed into the air from the flaming carcass of a mechanized cart up the block.

  “Are those car bombs?” I asked as we drew parallel with Ana, Takeshi practically carrying me as I tried to hold my arm still.

  “No. It’s the rays of the sun magnified under the dome. We’re going to combust if we don’t get inside,” he said, his voice muffled by his mask.

  Ana’s eyes flew wide. Takeshi’s arm was so tight around my waist that I could hardly draw breath. His gloved, clawed hands were digging into my side. “Here, right here,” he said as he propelled me into a generic concrete building, right as a power line crackled above us.

  Ana burst through the doorway in a shower of sparks. She threw her hood back and smiled, and I felt Takeshi’s rigid body relax.

  “Let me guess,” she said to him. “The fire hour.” Her statement was punctuated by another explosion outside.