Reaping Day: Book Three of the Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  Fela’s sensors must’ve picked up some reply from Drogan, because Jarek chuckled. “Tell me how you really feel, buddy.”

  He made a micro-flinch as he said the last word and shot her a surreptitious glance. She was too focused on the questions in her head to understand why at first.

  Buddy. There it was again.

  Whatever. She sure as hell didn’t want to restart that conversation anytime soon. And in the meanwhile, she wasn’t cool with being left out of this one.

  She cleared her throat and reached out to unceremoniously swat at the two raknoth minds with her own.

  Both raknoth frowned back at her.

  “We can talk in the ship,” Jarek said. “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Drogan and Lietha paused and shared a glance that made her think they were communicating telepathically, probably so Jarek wouldn’t overhear.

  What the hell had them so wound up?

  Lietha looked supremely irritated as Jarek and Rachel caught up to them and the raknoth broke off from whatever private conversation they were having.

  “Very well,” Drogan said to Jarek. “We will talk. But it must be quick. And discreet.”

  “Stumpy”—Jarek clapped a shoulder to Drogan’s hand, drawing an immediate scowl from the raknoth—“that’s the only way I know how to do things.”

  Eight

  “Okay,” Jarek said when the ramp of his ship had sealed behind them with the odd groan-clack one-two it had adopted since he and Pryce had resurrected the craft from its unfortunate tumble with Zar’Golga. “Just us now, Stumpy. So, again, what gives?”

  Drogan and Lietha traded a look, and Lietha answered instead. “My Zar has made contact with Kul’Gada.”

  “That’s what he stayed to do, right?” Jarek asked. The last he’d seen Zar’Kole, the raknoth had looked like he’d been fixing to go ask a lion to stop eating meat. “So what happened?”

  “He stayed,” Lietha said.

  “Yeah,” Jarek said. “That’s what I—wait, what do you mean?”

  “He intends to meet Kul’Gada in peace.”

  “Guy stomps out three fleeing raknoth and Kole wants to meet him in person to talk?”

  Lietha looked at Drogan instead of answering Jarek. “We cannot allow this to pass. Kul’Gada is impetuous, temperamental. He will cut my Zar down for daring to even suggest a negotiation.”

  “Zar’Kole knows the nature of the monster he thinks to face,” Drogan said. “Better than any of us.”

  “You will do nothing, then?” Lietha demanded. “You will let the greatest of our Zars die?”

  Drogan dropped Lietha’s crimson glare. “I did not say that.”

  “So what are we waiting for?” Jarek asked. “Rally the troops. Scramble the squad. Call the guy for Christ’s sake.”

  “He will not answer,” Lietha said.

  “And Krogoth will not send raknoth to aid a Zar who chooses to risk his life so,” Drogan added.

  “Can you blame him?” Rachel asked, speaking for the first time since they’d headed out for the ship.

  Jarek considered her, wondering yet again exactly what had transpired between her and Alton.

  She stared right back in quiet challenge.

  Rachel’s lack of raknoth love aside, Jarek couldn’t really argue that Kole wasn’t acting like a bit of an unreasonable old bastard right now.

  “What about the rest of Kole’s guys?” he asked, turning back to Lietha, who was openly glaring at Rachel. “They’re all just twiddling their thumbs while he goes off to tame the big scary monster?”

  “The rest of our clan are far more obedient than I,” Lietha said. “They worship our Zar’s wisdom as if it were divine law. They will not stop him. I am surprised the youngest of our Nans even dared to go as far as to inform me of the Zar’s decision.”

  “Well … shit!” Jarek said. “When is this going down? How much time do we have?”

  “I do not know,” Lietha said. “Nan’Alnar only told me that the Kul draws near.”

  “And Krogoth can’t reach out to him?”

  “Krogoth is no great admirer of Kole’s,” Drogan said. “I doubt he would greatly lament his loss.”

  Great. Clan politics. A bunch of multi-millennia-year-old beings and it all still came down to the same petty crap.

  “And you would?” Rachel asked.

  Drogan tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Zar’Kole is as honorable and strong as he is cunning and wise.”

  “Clearly,” Rachel muttered.

  Lietha bristled and took a step toward Rachel. “You dare ques—”

  Drogan barred Lietha’s way. “Current decisions aside,” he said, glaring at Rachel, “Zar’Kole is an admirable leader. His loss would do us no favors.”

  Jarek didn’t doubt that, but was it worth risking more necks trying to pull his peaceful old ass out of the fire? Objectively, he was pretty sure they should sit back and let Zar’Kole martyr himself to his scaly heart’s content.

  Hell, maybe Kole would even get somewhere. Maybe they’d sign the Great Rak-Rak Treaty of 2042 and the rakul would shrug, say, “Hey, not worth the effort,” and stomp away to let their wayward raknoth and their lowly human blood bags sort out their own considerable shit.

  But probably not.

  And as much as he’d like to wash his hands of the situation and focus on preparing to fight the rakul alongside those allies who didn’t appear to have a death wish—not to mention handling the new rage-pocalypse on the home front—he couldn’t quite shut out that damned noisy conscience of his telling him that Kole was worth saving, raknoth or no. And moral dilemmas aside, if Kole was half as strong as Zar’Golga had been, they’d be wanting him on their side.

  “We need to go get him,” Jarek said.

  The only question was whether he could convince the commanders to see it that way. He was about to voice his concern when Al spoke quietly in his earpiece.

  “Commander Weston is coming, sir.”

  “Shit,” Jarek mumbled.

  The surprised looks trained on him turned to curious ones.

  “Our disappearance has not gone unnoticed, methinks,” he said.

  Maybe this was a good thing. Alaric had met Kole, had seen that he was strong and reasonable and probably far more likely to win the trust—or at least the cooperation—of the Resistance. If anyone in Resistance command would be willing to lay it on the line to keep the old Zar alive, it would be Alaric, right?

  Jarek crossed the cabin and slapped the hatch switch. The ramp gave an indignant pair of clacks and began its mournful descent to reveal Alaric standing at its edge, looking as if he’d been about to reach up and knock on the ship’s hull.

  “Howdy there, cowboy,” Jarek called. “Just the man we wanted to see.”

  Alaric shifted his suspicious stare from Jarek to the raknoth and back again, jaw steadily chomping on a mouthful of chew all the while. “Somehow I doubt that,” he finally said, plodding up the ramp. “Anyone care to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Jarek was about to propose something stupid,” Rachel said.

  “I resent that,” Jarek said.

  And, joking tone aside, he really did—not so much because of her words as the aggressive tone behind them.

  This shit was starting to get old fast.

  “We’ve got a Kole problem,” Jarek added to Alaric, trying to keep his head in the game.

  Alaric listened attentively as they filled him in.

  “Shit,” he agreed when they’d finished. “I need to bring this to the council.” He glanced at Drogan. “Zar’Krogoth should be consulted too.”

  “Krogoth will not raise a finger to help Zar’Kole,” Drogan said, “no matter how much we will need him in the coming fight.”

  “Well then,” Alaric said, “maybe Zar’Kole should get his ass outta Dodge while he can.”

  “That’s what I said,” Rachel muttered.

  Jarek shifted his weight, not liking where this was headed. “Ye
ah, but—”

  “We can’t extend ourselves so far,” Alaric said, his expression firm. “Not when this Kul’Gada could just as soon drop down on our heads at any moment.”

  “We need Kole alive, Alaric. He’s probably the only one our people might be willing to—”

  “You need to stay here until we get this sorted out properly,” Alaric said. “No gallivanting off with dreams of saving the day. Is that understood?”

  Try as he might to conjure up his cheerful charm, Jarek couldn’t seem to find a carefree joke to turn aside the sudden feeling of the chains of command wrapping tight around his chest and arms.

  “Is that an order?”

  Alaric studied his face for a long stretch. “That’s an order. No one leaves until the council has discussed this with Krogoth.”

  With that, Alaric gave them all one more stern look, turned on his heel, and strode down the ramp and back toward HQ.

  Jarek watched him go, feeling the chains tighten.

  This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. In fact, it was exactly why he’d avoided signing up for anything and everything since he’d learned his lesson well and good nine years earlier. Or maybe not so well and good, considering.

  It had all sounded tolerable when the mission was simple, their goals unified. But the problem with agreeing to give yourself over to an outfit like the Resistance was that you just couldn’t count on anyone else to always see shit straight when it started to bend.

  Of course, it wasn’t like the Resistance owned him. Sure, he’d agreed to participate in their command hierarchy and everything, but it wasn’t like there was some supreme court of law that would be waiting to strip his suit and toss him in the ol’ irons if he took matters into his own hands. And why shouldn’t he?

  Because bucking the reins would probably only drive the wedge deeper into the heart of this piss-poor alliance they all had going on—not to mention further ostracize him personally from the Resistance. It might even lose him any chance at having their support in the fight that was probably going to end up finding all of them, one way or another. Which would be ridiculous, sure, but Jarek had a feeling the force of nature that was human spite wasn’t about to just lay down for something as trivial as the end of the world.

  “Goddammit,” he whispered.

  As Drogan, Lietha, and Rachel all looked at him, Jarek knew that, no matter how solid the logic arrayed against the idea, he couldn’t just rationalize his way out of it. He needed to do something.

  “I don’t suppose you have some master plan to rescue Saint Kole?” he asked.

  Lietha looked affronted by the question. “I will take whatever ship I must and fly to my Zar,” he said, red eyes brightening. “And if anyone tries to stop me, I will—”

  “Okay,” Jarek said. “So no plan. Got it.”

  Lietha gaped at him, too furious or indignant to make a sound.

  “I’ll take you,” Jarek said before the raknoth decided to try to take his head off instead.

  “You can’t,” Rachel said.

  She looked tired, disappointed, as if she’d been waiting for him to say those exact, distasteful words all along.

  “We can’t wait for the council to somehow magically convene with Krogoth for once.” Jarek waved a hand at Drogan. “We’ve got his envoy right here. Plus, they’re gonna say it’s a bad idea anyway.”

  “It is a bad idea,” she said.

  “But it’s our bad idea.”

  Rachel was less than impressed.

  “You think this is funny?” she asked, quiet anger flickering in her tone.

  “We can’t just let him die, Rache.”

  “He’s probably eight or nine thousand years older than both of us combined. I think he can make his own decisions.”

  Jarek held her gaze, uncomfortably aware of the weight of Lietha’s and Drogan’s stares. “And what about the people living down the mountain in Katashina? None of them decided to be ground zero for the heavyweight round. Do they deserve to die too?”

  She hesitated, jaw tight. “We might not even be able to stop it, for all we know. If Kul’Gada is even a fraction as powerful as the rakul Haldin showed me, it’s insane for us to try to take him out away from our seat of power.”

  Lietha looked like he wanted to refute the statement and declare he’d rip the Kul’s throat out himself, but apparently his fear of the rakul trumped his indignant fury.

  “I think we’re all totally with you on that one, Goldilocks,” Jarek said. “Which is why I’m thinking a snatch and grab is in order.”

  Her eyebrows raised. “You want to kidnap a Zar and drag him back here?”

  He shrugged. “I wanna convince Kole it’s best to have his peace talk where his friends are all within easy stabbing distance of his enemy. If a little elbow grease is required for said convincing, so be it.”

  Rachel looked at Lietha. “And you don’t have anything to say about that? No, ‘You dare lay hands on my master, pathetic human?’ or anything?”

  Lietha showed teeth that were quickly becoming sharp fangs. “Zar’Kole must live. Even if it must be at the intervention of … humans.”

  “We’ll be there and back in the blink of an eye,” Jarek added.

  Rachel splayed her hands incredulously. “It’s literally across the world.”

  “Two blinks of an eye.”

  She shook her head. “This is ridiculous.”

  “As is this pointless dallying,” Lietha said, shifting impatiently. “We do not require your aid, human. If you do not wish to be here, perhaps you should step off the—”

  Lietha’s compact Japanese frame lifted off the deck and slammed into the bulkhead before he could finish telling Rachel exactly what she could step off of. After a brief moment of stunned inaction, he gave a growled curse and started struggling.

  Drogan stepped forward with a low warning growl of his own.

  Jarek planted a firm hand in his chest and took a calculated risk in turning his gaze away from the raknoth and back to Rachel.

  “Goldilocks …”

  For a long few seconds, Rachel did nothing aside from furrow her brows at the strain of keeping Lietha telekinetically pinned. Then her face contorted in a snarl, and Lietha dropped back down to rock the deck with a small thump.

  Jarek didn’t need to catch Lietha when he threw himself at Rachel. Drogan was already on top of that.

  “This is a bad idea, Jarek,” Rachel said, her eyes not leaving the struggling raknoth until it became clear Drogan would not be letting Lietha pass. “We should wait.”

  Would that he could.

  But leaving a good ally and a bunch of innocents hanging in harm’s way? Going against his instincts because of orders? Because it was the safe thing to do?

  If Jarek was built for anything in particular, it wasn’t that.

  He was thinking about what he could say to make her understand when it properly occurred to him what she’d just said.

  “We?”

  She rolled her eyes, and there was nothing playful about it. “If I can’t convince you not to run off like a dumbass, I’m sure as hell not gonna let you do it alone with two …” She looked at Drogan and Lietha once more, then shook her head and pushed past Jarek for the cockpit with a muttered, “Whatever.”

  Behind, Lietha finally stopped his struggling.

  Jarek traded a long, somber look with Drogan, told Al to close the hatch and plot the course, and headed for the cockpit after Rachel, trying to remember any other time he’d felt so wholly unsatisfied in getting what he’d wanted.

  Flying at top speed, it turned out that two blinks of an eye, or at least the first half of it, was still going to end up taking about ten hours.

  This had been a terrible idea. Rachel grew more certain of it with each passing mile.

  The rakul were too close—within a day’s travel by every estimate they had. What if they arrived at HQ while she and Jarek were off on a wild goose chase with a couple of raknoth? What if there were
more events, more furors, and something happened to Michael or the others?

  Any one of a thousand things could go wrong, and somehow she’d still let her concern for Jarek pull her into this exercise in lunacy. But maybe it wasn’t all for naught.

  For one thing, there were the innocent Japanese civilians whose proximity to Kole made them ripe targets for Kul’Gada’s fury if and when he arrived there. Much as she loathed to admit any such thing right now, Jarek was right: they couldn’t just ignore that.

  At the very least, though, they should have told Resistance command what they were doing before jetting off. Not that they wouldn’t figure it out the instant Alaric finished briefing them and the commanders realized the four of them had disappeared from HQ along with Jarek’s ship.

  What they would do when they did realize … Well, that might be the least of their concerns right now.

  “Time zones, man,” Jarek was saying in what had to be his thousandth attempt to spark some conversation from her.

  For some reason, she hadn’t exactly been in a talking mood since take-off.

  “It’s been 2 PM for like nine hours,” he continued. “Am I the only one who thinks that’s weird?”

  Given that the raknoth had chosen to heed her not-so-subtle disdain and remain in the back cabin for the flight, Rachel had to assume the question was directed at her.

  She fixed him with her least captivated stare.

  He shrugged. “Well excuse me for my undying childlike sense of wonder.”

  “Childlike implies you’re no longer a child,” she said.

  Hope lit in his eyes. “Touché, my golden-haired—”

  “Incoming, sir,” Al said through the ship speakers.

  They were both upright and alert in an instant.

  “Talk to us, Al,” Jarek said. “What are we dealing with?”

  “It’s … Oh!”

  “Spit it out, Mr. Robot.”

  “It’s the Enochians, sir. They’re hailing us locally.”

  Jarek traded a frown with her. “Locally?”

  “See for yourself,” Al said.