by Greg Dragon
Adele lets out a yell and chases after her friend. “Take El somewhere safe!” she calls over her shoulder to her white-haired friend.
This can’t be happening. I can’t let it happen. Regardless of whether she’s trying to hurt me with her weird stares and fire-hot touch, I have to save her. Rivet will rip them both to shreds. I don’t doubt their fighting ability, but am just being realistic. Rivet is a pro and a sadist. A deadly combination.
I start after her.
* * *
Adele
Why did he touch my hand, hurt me like that? And why did Cole knock us over? Is the whole world going crazy? Something moves behind Tristan. Glancing past him, I see Rivet let loose an arrow. Cole lets out a roar as it pierces his shoulder, the sharp tip exiting through his back. Blood spatters from the wound. His entire body torques hard to the left, forcing his head around toward me.
Those eyes. Dark, serious, strong. I know what he’s going to do.
Despite the excruciating pain he must be in, Cole turns and charges Rivet. This is it. All his pent-up emotions: first and foremost, sadness; then anger; misery, loneliness, and desperation follow; all sprinkled with a lust for revenge, hidden well by sarcasm and joviality in stressful situations.
It’s suicide—I have to stop him.
I push away from Tristan and race after Cole. Rivet’s next arrow zips past us, narrowly missing Cole’s legs, my stomach, and Tristan’s sprawled-out form.
I brush past Tristan’s friend, whose mouth is opening and closing like a fish out of water. He looks shocked by the whole situation, unable to cope with what’s happening. I’m probably in shock, too, but I don’t have time to think about it.
So I won’t slip, I avoid stepping directly on the trail of blood that Cole leaves in his wake. Cole’s faster than me, reaching Rivet twenty feet ahead. Lifting his bow, Rivet tries to get off another shot, but Cole plows into him, sending the arrow twanging end over end into the air. The bow flies out of Rivet’s hands and clatters harmlessly to the stone.
On top of Rivet, Cole is in a rage, pummeling him with iron fists. Five other men charge out of the thinning smoke, aiming to help their leader. I’m ten feet away when I hear Rivet yell, “Get the girl!” in between taking punches from Cole.
His men stop just short of him, hesitate, and then follow his order, rushing past him and toward me. I’m running so hard it’s difficult to stop, but I manage to plant one of my feet, only skidding slightly on the stone before stopping.
They’re already right on top of me. The first one has a sword and a gun in his belt, but leaves both hanging, probably in the mood for some hand-to-hand fun against a helpless girl.
Not so helpless.
I duck under his haymaker punch, kneeing him in the groin and then cracking him in the back of the head with my elbow as he flies past. He crumples to the ground. Seeing what I did to the first guy, the other four decide against the idea of fighting fair, and whip out their swords. Still no guns. Are they trying to take us alive?
They’re too close for me to run. I have to dodge their swords and somehow manage to win. I have to do it for Elsey, for my father in Camp Blood and Stone. For my mother wherever she is. For myself, too.
One of the guys swipes at my arm and I dance away. He wasn’t really going for me, though. It was a fake, a feint, a trick maneuver to get me moving in the direction he really wants. A highly trained swordfighter’s move. Mid-swing, he reverses his blade and sends it slicing in the opposite direction, right into where I’m moving. There’s no way he can miss.
I close my eyes.
* * *
Tristan
I’m impressed by the big guy. He’s manhandling Rivet like a rock cutting machine on a boulder. Then the other guys show up and go straight for Adele. I sprint so hard that I don’t really see how she takes the first guy down, but it looks quick…and impressive. The others pull out their swords.
Adrenaline is a weird thing. I’ve heard of miners who are able to lift massive boulders off of their friends who’ve been trapped by a cave-in. Boulders they have no business lifting and which, after the fact, they can’t budge even an inch. Well, the adrenaline makes me run faster than I’ve ever run before. There are a few steps where I swear I don’t feel my feet touch the ground, as if I’m running on air alone.
One of the guys fakes a move and then attacks in the other direction. It’s a professional move, but he’s so focused on her that he doesn’t see me coming. Clang! I barely get my sword in front of the stroke before it cuts Adele in half.
I shove her out of the way and jam my sword into my surprised opponent, whose eyes roll back into his head before he topples to the ground. The other three swing at me simultaneously, two getting in each other’s way and missing completely. I parry the third’s stroke and slip my sword between two of his ribs, thrusting upwards for good measure. As he falls, blood bubbles from his lips.
The other two improve their communication in a hurry, circling to opposite sides of me and closing in. One goes for my head while the other aims for my legs. I hop over one sword while blocking the headshot with my blade. Using my off hand, I backhand the guy that tried to cut off my legs, stunning him and knocking him backwards.
The guy that wants my head on a platter continues taking aggressive strokes at my neck, but I block them all, and manage to slash his hand, causing him to drop his sword. He throws his hands up in a request for mercy, but I’m not in the mood so I stab him in the heart.
Searing pain rips through my body as the final guy slashes me across the back. A cheap shot but this is a fight for life or death. I’m rooting for both life and death. Life for me; death for Rivet’s guys.
I spin around and block his next attack—a jab at my midsection. My back is on fire and starting to spasm, making it hard to hold myself up. I need to end the fight or I’m toast. I swing desperately for the guy’s head, but I’m not as fast as before, my energy waning as the adrenaline burst expires.
He easily ducks my attempt and slashes at my leg, splitting my thigh open and forcing me to the ground. He looms over me, his sword black and ominous under the night sky. Raising the hilt above his head, he prepares to thrust the point through my chest.
Goodbye, Adele, I think, I hope my death isn’t what you wanted all along.
* * *
Adele
My death is painless. For that I’m thankful. The sword makes a weird clanging sound when it contacts my body, like I’m made of metal. Weird. I feel myself being shoved back, tripping, falling to the ground.
I feel fine.
I open my eyes, wanting to see what really happens when you die.
I hear the shriek of metal on metal so I turn my head to see what’s happening. Tristan! I’m not dead. He saved me and is battling my attackers, cutting them down, defeating them one by one. I watch in awe until there’s only one left, who takes a cheap shot at Tristan’s back. It looks bad, but Tristan reacts well, getting back in the fight.
Then suddenly he’s down, on the verge of death, a fish about to be shot in a barrel. “No!” I manage to scream.
Out of nowhere his friend appears, holding a sword in front of himself awkwardly, like a jouster with a long spear. Although the maneuver appears amateurish, it gets the job done. His sword pierces the guy through the back, causing him to drop his sword, which is pointed tip down, right over Tristan’s fallen body.
The sword falls like a guillotine. At the last second Tristan roars and rolls sharply to the side, the sword thudding dully on the stone. His friend kneels beside him, his face pale, despite his naturally brownish skin.
I scramble to my feet and head for Tristan, but stop when I see movement out of the corner of my eye.
Amidst my own battle, I forgot about Cole, who was winning against Rivet when I last saw him. I don’t know what happened since then, but the tables have turned, and Cole is on his back, getting smacked around by Rivet pretty badly. With a roar, Cole pushes Rivet off of him and staggers t
o his feet. Rivet snaps to a standing position with a karate move, and launches himself fearlessly at Cole, whose nose is bleeding profusely over his lips.
Cole hits him in midair, but Rivet’s forward motion is too powerful, knocking him to the ground.
I want to help—have to help; to freaking do something, anything—but I’m frozen in place, shocked by what’s happening.
In one swift motion, Rivet swings around Cole’s back, clamps his arms around his head, and jerks it violently to the side.
I’ll never forget the image, never forget the crunch of breaking bones. Precious, life-giving bones.
“Oh God, please no,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears. Not him. Please not him. Take me. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s had enough. Oh, Cole. Not Cole. Beautiful Cole. Please come back.
I hear a wailing, an eerie, awful pealing, that sounds more animal than human. I realize it’s me. The sound is coming from my throat, unrequested, but appropriate.
I know I’ll never get over this moment, will never cope with the loss I’m feeling, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do something about it. For him. For Cole.
No plan, tears streaming down my cheeks, I stride toward Rivet, whose bloodied face is filled with satisfaction, his eyes gleaming, his lips twisted into a deranged smile. With both arms outstretched, he flicks his fingers back to himself, as if to say C’mon! It’s unnecessary. I’m coming.
He could use one of the weapons hanging from his belt: his sword, his gun, his razor-sharp dagger. But that isn’t Rivet. He lives for the challenge. He stands with his fists clenched, snarling as I approach.
The few times I’ve fought before, I’ve used fast, powerful strikes, ending the fight as quickly as possible. This time I try the same tactic.
I aim a kick at Rivet’s groin, but he dodges it with unexpected speed, catching my leg in midair and swinging a kick of his own toward my head. I try to duck, but it’s difficult with him holding my leg. Adjusting the arc of his attack in mid-kick, Rivet’s foot slams into my ear. Fierce pain shoots through my skull as Rivet releases my leg and lets me tumble to the ground. My head is ringing and I’m seeing stars.
I look up, and between the flashes of light that disturb my vision, I see Rivet standing over me.
Now he has his knife out.
* * *
Tristan
My attacker is a strange creature, growing a sword from his stomach. At least that’s what my mixed up mind thinks. That is, until I see the spot of blood widening around the blade. He drops his sword.
It’s headed straight for my head—my eye, to be more specific—but I’m so shocked I just watch it fall. In my distorted mind it looks beautiful, like a falling star, sprinkling magical stardust on everything in its path. Subconsciously, I know it’s a deadly sword, and the stardust is just the reflection of distant lights on the broad side of its steely blade.
Awe battles reason.
At the last second, reason makes a surge and I spin away, narrowly avoiding being impaled by the star, which, of course, is really a sword.
A rough hand pushes my attacker to the side and he falls away. A face appears. My friend—my beautiful friend. Although he looks as white as a ghost, Roc is grinning.
“You look injured,” he says, kneeling down and inspecting the gash on my leg.
“A minor wound. Not deep,” I say. “Where is she?”
Roc cranes his neck and then moves aside, points at a fleeing figure, moving quickly away from us. Adele, her long, black hair billowing behind her, runs like the hounds of Hell pursue her. With my eyes, I follow her path to its likely destination and see Rivet watching Adele charge right at him, goading her with his hands, standing overtop a fallen figure. The big, dark guy. Adele’s friend. Oh no.
Based on the crumpled body, the sneer on Rivet’s face, and Adele’s mad dash toward Rivet, I suspect her friend is dead. She isn’t running away from Hell, she’s streaking toward it, without regard for her own life.
I hope her friend isn’t dead, but if he is, I certainly don’t want to add Adele to the list of casualties piling up. Ignoring the intense pain that courses through my leg and back, I push to my feet and chase after her, limping badly.
Adele is like a raging beast, attacking Rivet immediately with a kick similar to the one she used to knock me down. He’s more ready for it than I was and easily catches her leg and punishes her with a vicious kick to the head. Dread fills my heart as I see Rivet remove a knife from his belt.
I swat away the dread like a pesky mosquito. Nothing can stop me. No amount of pain, no distance, no obstacle can prevent me from getting to her, killing Rivet, saving her.
Or so I think.
My brother appears from the side, seemingly arriving out of thin air, traveling through some crack between dimensions. He’s flanked by a dozen men. There isn’t time to ask questions. The whys and whos and whats can come later. I lower my head and charge between two of the men, but they’re big and strong. It’s like hitting a stone block. My feet keep moving, churning, trying to push them out of my way. I’m screaming something—I have no idea what—but they won’t move, won’t relinquish their grip.
One of the guys twists around behind me and locks my arms behind my back.
Adele is already dead. Too much time has passed since Rivet pulled out the blade.
It’s over, all over. All is lost. My mother. Adele. Roc will be imprisoned—maybe worse. My life is over.
Killen’s in front of me, saying something. I can’t hear, don’t care to hear. Nothing he can say will matter to me. All of our childish kicks under the table, our childhood fights, were nothing compared to this. He’s no longer my brother in any sense of the word, blood included.
Adele is already dead.
I lunge forward and head-butt his moving lips.
He goes down hard, but is on his feet in seconds, kicking me in the ribs, punching me in the face, spitting and snarling at me. Screaming at me. I still can’t hear him and don’t react to his physical abuse, which makes him even angrier. There’s no physical pain that can eclipse the emotional anguish I feel. The only antidote to how I’m feeling is death. I hope Killen will finish me off.
Although I’m sure Killen wants to kill me, he doesn’t. But only because he fears my father more than anyone. Bringing home a dead brother won’t sit well with my father, not because he values my life, but because of what I know. He needs to know who, if anyone, I’ve told his secrets to. I could’ve told half the Moon Realm by now. Yeah, me dying will create far too much damage control, which is a headache the president won’t want.
Eventually he stops beating me. Through my bloody, swollen eyes, I see them drag Roc forward. He’s badly beaten, too. They sit us next to each other, back to back so that we stay up.
My hearing finally returns in a blast of noise. Bombs are still thundering around the subchapter. Roc is groaning. My brother is speaking. “Why, my dear brother, were you following this filthy traitor all over the Moon Realm? Answer me, or she dies.”
Huh? My head is throbbing so badly and my mind is so muddled that I don’t really understand what’s happening. My brother is asking me about Adele, I think, but he’s threatening me with her life, which is meaningless. He can’t take something away that’s already gone. “Already dead,” I manage to whisper.
“No, brother—not dead. You can add Rivet’s murder to her list of offenses.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Adele
I’m not going to die until Rivet does. If we both die, that will still be a victory. A way for me to honor Cole.
Using my legs like scissors, I clamp them around one of Rivet’s legs and roll, forcing his knee to buckle to the side. He lets out a cry of pain as his cartilage twists. I move faster than I’ve ever moved, kicking to my feet in one swift motion, a move my dad showed me countless times, but which I’d never been able to master.
Rivet’s knife falls out of his hand and to the side. I scoop it up and attack, plunging
the blade deep into his chest before he has a chance to react. His eyes widen and his lips let out a strange groan, a ghoulish gurgle usually reserved for the damned. Which he is. Or is about to be. Blood trickles from his lips and his life ebbs away. Justice is served.
I’d hoped my revenge would lessen the pain of the loss, but it doesn’t. Now that Rivet is dead, the pain resurfaces, flowing out of my eyes in rivers of tears. My breaths shorten and I find myself gasping and sobbing. The urge to wrench the knife from Rivet’s chest and stab it into my own is so strong I see my hands clench around the hilt.
An image of my sister fills my mind. Then my father. My mother. Tawni, my only friend. Tristan. Tristan is last, his very presence so full of questions.
At the moment my grip loosens on the knife, strong hands pull me up and away from Rivet. I don’t know what is happening, but am powerless to stop it. On both sides of me are gargantuans, guys so big they could’ve only been manufactured by a steroidal experiment. They drag me to a cluster of similar-sized giants.
As they pull me into the circle of bodies, I gasp when I see who’s in the center. First I see Tristan’s friend, the scared one, the hero. He’s beaten to a pulp, his face puffy and red. Next to him is Tristan, equally battered.
A young boy, no older than fifteen, is talking to Tristan. “…answer me or she dies,” he says.
I hear Tristan mumble, “Already dead,” through bloodied teeth and swollen lips.
“No, brother—not dead. You can add Rivet’s murder to her list of offenses.”
