by Scott Moon
“What the hell is that?” Kin said.
Clavender looked up, crooning to the sliver of light that separated from the anomaly far above. Droon closed his mouth over her exposed throat, touching her skin with rows of sharp teeth, but hesitating as light danced around them. For a brief moment, he seemed to relax and Kin thought Clavender would fall free of the Reaper’s grip. But they began to fade.
A thunderclap knocked Kin off his feet. He landed on his back, unable to hear. For a moment, the universe opened and he was confused. Shaking his head, he climbed to his feet.
What am I seeing?
The moment passed. Incredible as it had been, he couldn’t describe the experience or remember it clearly. After struggling to his feet, he bent to hang his head near his knees. He couldn’t believe the pain. He was suffocating.
Not a good time to die, Kin. You got to breathe and keep your eyes open. Now he was talking to himself. Never a good sign.
Clavender. He ran through Stone Forest. “Clavender!”
He turned a corner too fast, slamming against the wall. Pushing away, he hurried outside. The day was brighter than he remembered. He watched Clavender’s miniature wormhole open a hundred feet above the ground. She released Droon, but as he fell, he tumbled, and as he tumbled, he kicked her in the face.
Clavender reeled in midair, flaring her wings as she fell into a glide. Kin, momentarily entranced, lowered his gun. He focused on Droon falling to the ground. A few feet in either direction would dump him in wetland, but he struck hard and was slow to get up.
Kin wasted no time. He rushed forward, closing the distance, but saw he wouldn’t arrive in time to stop Clavender. She hovered for a moment at the pinnacle of an aerial maneuver, then went for the Reaper again. She dragged her small wormhole toward the ground, crashing down on the Reaper as he stood.
Droon punched her. She fell to one knee, hand lifted to fend off the next attack. Kin, fifty meters away, took as much time as he dared to aim and fired a single round.
That’s a hell of a shot with a pistol, dumbass.
Droon flinched at the sound and so did the Clinger on his back. The hideous parasite expanded, catching the supersonic bullet, stiffening as shock waves radiated from the strike. The Clinger hissed. Droon staggered, but didn’t fall.
“Kin. Kin. Kin. Sexy Kin,” squawked a hopper bird as it landed near him. Kin glanced down. Clavender screamed, pulling his attention back to her. The Reaper had fallen on her. Droon roared the distinctive victory cry of his people and spoke in his native language before switching to Fleet speech.
“Come and get her, Kin-rol-an-da.”
Kin approached, holding his pistol in both hands. “What do you want with her?”
Droon didn’t answer, but the Clinger on his back writhed and hissed.
“Since when do Reapers feed parasites?” Kin moved closer, placing his feet carefully each step. Droon stepped away from Clavender, baring his teeth.
“The Clinger rides you like a donkey.”
“No one rides Droon.”
Kin laughed and took a step back. Droon followed. Behind him, Clavender pushed her battered form off the ground. Her wings hung weakly and she barely lifted her eyes to the scene. As Kin taunted the Reaper, drawing him away, Clavender called her wormhole with visible effort, creating a space behind Droon.
“You are the end of the Long Hunt,” Droon said.
Kin ignored the words and jumped forward, spinning in the air, slamming his boot on Droon’s chest. The Reaper fell into the trembling hole of black light Clavender had made. For a brief moment, Kin’s spirit soared. But Droon grabbed one of Clavender’s wings, pulling her after him.
“Clavender!” Kin fell to his knees where Clavender’s portal had been, running his hands across the ground. Thunder popped in the mountain pass miles away. Kin’s head shot up, catching a flash of light, just as the persistent hopper bird flew into his face. He batted it aside. The bird landed at his feet as he stood.
Kin looked down. “Stupid bird.” He retrieved the message, struggling to calm his breathing and control his shaking hands. “This better be good news.”
“Kin. Kin. Laauraaa,” the bird cawed.
Commander Westwood is investigating the attack on the sergeant, who is recovering.
Kin held the note and considered the words.
“Eat.” The bird landed on Kin’s shoulder and pecked his face as he scribbled on the paper with a stubby, much abused pencil from his pocket. The Reaper has Clavender. I’m going after them. He reattached the message.
“Eat.”
“I don’t have anything.” He nudged the hopper bird into the air and watched it fly toward Crater Town. “Stupid birds.”
Tentacles spread from the wormhole as the entire anomaly expanded like an angry titan. Kin pondered the sky. He considered the angry red and purple tube of light. The sight didn’t reassure him. It seemed too close to the planet’s surface, dropping smaller and smaller fragments of itself into the mountain pass.
Clavender must be weakening, he thought.
The run to Crater Town was a mile of torturous thoughts. Droon had taken Clavender. She seemed to weaken each time she called on the wormhole, and from what he saw in the distance, she still fought the monster. Kin watched the sky as he slowed to a jog, then to an unsteady walk. For a moment, the wormhole became translucent and he imagined rivers of spaceships, asteroids, and debris cascading toward destinations unknown. He blinked. The vision disappeared.
The skin of the wormhole blazed orange. Lightning coursed across the surface.
“Was that the Reaper?” Rickson asked. “Aren’t you going after Clavender?”
Kin jumped.
“I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
“I saw you coming,” Kin said.
“Why’d you jump?”
“Never mind. I need supplies. Make yourself useful; fetch one of my pre-packed go-bags.”
“Right away, Kin!”
The boy sprinted toward town and Kin realized how slowly he was moving by comparison. The kid had too much energy.
“You’re not coming with me!” Kin shouted. He stopped several times to massage cramps out of his leg muscles and resisted the urge to pull off his boots and look for blisters he knew had already burst.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KIN scarcely arrived at the well before Rickson came rushing across the square carrying two heavy travel packs. He also carried a staff that had seen years of use. From the time he was a boy with his first flock, Rickson could be seen on hilltops and mountain slopes whirling the staff against imaginary foes. His rough spun tunic was long and simple, but Rickson had dyed it purple, claiming it was the color of royalty and he was the prince of shepherds. The color had faded and the edges were beginning to fray. His pants and shirt were patched and mended. He did everything himself.
“I only need one pack and a water skin. The Reaper moves fast. I have to move faster,” Kin said.
“Shouldn’t you ask Commander Westwood for soldiers and an armored vehicle?” Rickson asked. “I thought the woman captain was supposed to find the Reaper.”
“Has Captain Raien returned?”
Rickson shrugged. “I don’t think so. Ask the commander.”
Kin had no intention of going near the commander. He had already pushed his luck farther than was prudent. “That’s a good idea, Rickson. Go and find Laura. Ask her to meet me at the commander’s headquarters.”
Rickson eyed him skeptically but took one of the travel packs and his staff and left. Kin waited for several minutes, searching the area to be sure the young shepherd wasn’t lurking about, then left Crater Town. He set an aggressive pace despite cramping muscles.
The day passed with endless tedium — hiking on a near empty stomach and sore feet. His mind wandered among memories of Becca, nightmares of Hellsbreach, and speculation of what would happen to Crater Town if he didn’t rescue Clavender. She had called the wormhole down on Droon. Kin replayed the scene
over and over in his mind. Believing she could do magic wasn’t the same as seeing it. For the first time, he truly believed she protected Crater Town.
Darkness fell as he ascended the mountains. He sheltered under a rock outcropping and lit a small fire. He cooked food and ate. He tended his blistered feet as best he could and allowed himself to sleep for almost two hours.
Hunting the Reaper alone was a fool’s quest. His only hope was to ambush the monster and even then he’d have only one chance. The first time had been lucky, but at least he understood what he was up against. Droon might be injured or sick, but he was more dangerous than most of his kind. If Kin had allowed Rickson to accompany him, he might have slept longer and taken turns standing guard, but the boy would be a liability when it came time to fight. Bear, on the other hand, would be a useful ally.
Kin obliterated all signs of his campsite and left the Reaper’s trail, confident he could find it again. Marcus Michael Robert was a mountain man who lived alone and rarely descended to Crater Town. Laura called him Bear because he was big, hairy, and uncivilized. He was also a superb hunter and knew every trail and creek in the area. Kin climbed the path to his cabin as soon as the sun peeked into the sky.
Playing their usual game, Kin crept toward the cabin until he realized Bear had slipped out the back and was stalking him. The man moved with surprising stealth despite his size and propensity for loud conversation. Once, long ago, Kin had tired of the game and merely went into the cabin to wait. This prompted Bear to go fishing and return at dusk, an inconvenience, but they had eaten well. Now, as the game progressed and Kin’s frustration grew, he realized there was a third player. He whistled three times. Bear answered with two. They started working together.
Kin intentionally revealed himself, moving with feigned caution toward a dense stand of trees that would be an excellent hiding place, then turned and ran the way he had come. The ruse was artless and loud, but he needed to find the intruder before Bear did. If his assumption was correct, he didn’t wish to see Bear attack.
“Kin! Kin, it’s me!” Rickson shouted as Kin bore down on him, pistol drawn.
He shoved the young shepherd to the ground and stood over him. “I told you not to follow me.” He sensed Bear moving behind him and soon felt the presence of the large man. Ogre jumped from the underbrush, undaunted by the tension among the men. Other dogs would have growled and bared teeth, but Ogre seemed to recognize the game from the beginning.
Rickson stood. “I never listen to you. I thought you knew that.”
“Sometimes, Rickson, you must do what I say. This isn’t a game.” He turned and shook hands with Bear. Ogre jumped on Kin, who wrestled him down and scratched him behind the ears. The dog huffed, twisted free, and approached from a new angle, tail wagging. Kin roughed him again.
“Good to see you, Kin,” Bear said. He was a giant man with broad shoulders, thick chest, and a torso like a tree. He wasn’t fat. Scrawny rabbits, fish, and wild vegetables didn’t exactly pack on weight. Hair and a beard framed his face. The hair on his knuckles suggested he was slightly closer to being a Neanderthal than any other man on Crashdown. He hadn’t arrived on the planet with the Goliath, although he wasn’t a native. Kin had learned that much during their conversations and adventures.
Kin nodded. “Have you been in the woods?”
“Are you looking for someone?” Bear asked. “Ogre, you smelly mutt, I thought you settled down years ago with some Crater Town bitch. I’ll still feed you, even though you never visit.”
The dog huffed.
“We better get inside. I’m starving,” Kin said.
“Me too,” Rickson said.
Kin and Bear turned as one to stare at the boy.
“What? I don’t get to eat?”
Neither Kin nor Bear answered. They went inside and Rickson followed cautiously. Ogre waited outside.
“What kind of mutt refuses to sit by the fire?” Bear asked.
“He’s a guard dog, or was,” Kin said.
“Take off your boots. You’re walking like an old man,” Bear said. He knelt and examined Kin’s blistered soles. “You have to take care of your feet. Bad feet will kill you up here.” He washed Kin’s feet and dried them. “Sit by the fire.”
“Did you see what came through the wormhole?” Kin asked.
Bear nodded and checked a pot on the fire.
Kin warmed his feet as the smell of the stew filled his nose. “There’s at least a division of ground forces, more ships than they need, transports and science vessels, although they all took damage. The commander’s name is Westwood. I think they fought a hard campaign before stranding themselves on Crashdown. The troopers have a certain look in their eyes — glad to be alive but dangerous. They know there’s a Reaper on the loose but aren’t hunting it, as you’d expect.”
“They’re licking their wounds,” Bear said.
“Probably. But the commander and his officers spend most of their time in the meeting hall studying space charts and reports I didn’t get a good look at. If you ask me, they’re in a big hurry to get off Crashdown.”
Bear moved around the small room preparing the meal. “It takes time to become accustomed to the wormhole. After my ship crashed, we thought it was going to swoop down and whisk us into space.”
“What happened to the people you landed with?” Rickson asked. He sat on a stump near the door.
Bear stared at him, briefly touching his wrists as though to adjust a uniform that wasn’t there. Hard lines creased his expression. He gazed through the young man. After several uncomfortable moments, he shook away a private memory and glared around the room.
“I was just asking,” Rickson said.
“Don’t.” Bear served Kin a bowl of stew.
“The Reaper has Clavender,” Kin said but was disappointed by Bear’s response. The man raised an eyebrow and spooned food into his mouth, staring at Rickson.
“Without Clavender, the weather around here is going to grow more dangerous every day.” Kin wondered what was on the mountain man’s mind. He never seemed impressed with Clavender, but Kin expected more of a reaction to her being taken.
“Probably. But Clavender isn’t the only one of her kind on this rock. I’ve heard there is a kingdom on the far side of the world where abundance is the rule and scarcity is barely understood. I might have to move. Your townspeople will probably find the change more difficult, since half of them will be too stubborn to journey inland through the mountains,” Bear said. “It’s not so much the weather they need to worry about, but the things that come out of the ground without a Sun Princess.”
Rickson frowned. “Clavender is a Sun Princess?”
“Each settlement has a different name for the natives, although I’ve never heard of anyone like her,” Kin said. He barely glanced at Rickson. His attention was on Bear. “Can you help me track the Reaper?”
“Never seen a Reaper. Heard stories.” Bear drank something that smelled like alcohol and honey. “How’s Laura?”
“She’s not your type, Bear.” He watched his friend carefully. They had spoken several times about Reapers. Bear knew a lot about them. They had been drunk, but Kin remembered the conversation well. Talk of Reapers usually sent the mountain man into a fit of depression. Now he acted as though they were imaginary.
“I think she likes me.”
They laughed. Kin drank some honey mead and told his story of the Reaper and the Valley of Clingers.
“That explains the Clinger I killed by the gorge,” Bear said. “But that was yesterday.”
Kin pressed his friend for details, all the while remembering his encounter with Droon at Stone Forest. The Reaper was still wearing a Clinger. It didn’t make sense there would be another one this far outside the Valley, unless they were following the Reaper. In all his years on Crashdown, he found only one Clinger outside their territory.
He didn’t like the thought of a Clinger migration.
Bear began to tell Rickson a st
ory, part humor, part terror, and Kin’s thoughts wandered.
“Kin,” Bear said.
He looked up. A hopper bird sat in the window. Laura had sent more birds to him in the last day and a half than she had sent in six months. The bird landed on his arm. He untied the message and then shook his arm gently but firmly. The bird hopped to the ground, wandering around looking for food.
Commander Westwood demands your return to lead Raien’s search for the Reaper.
Kin wrote on the back of the note. I’m already tracking the Reaper. He fed the bird, attached the note, and placed the bird on the windowsill. It squawked, apparently being the only bird that couldn’t be taught to harass Kin with speech, and flew away.
“Laura wants me to help the Fleet track the Reaper.”
Bear grunted.
“I told you to wait for them,” Rickson said.
Bear put away his bowl and smoothed his beard. “Why don’t you use them? I know you do everything yourself, but they have weapons, armor, and vehicles.”
“The last time I led Captain Raien’s company on a mission, they were more interested in Gold Village,” Kin said. He didn’t want Commander Westwood to capture Clavender. She would never be released. He would probably take the girl with him when he eventually left the planet and that would leave Crater Town vulnerable. The thought of Clavender in captivity sickened him. The thought of Droon being turned into a weapon also bothered him.
“Do they need gold for their ships?” Bear asked.
“No.”
“Well, you should tell them a good animal hide or a sharp saw is worth more than gold here. You told me once that the Fleet Weapons Research and Development Division had a bounty out for a live Reaper. You were drunk, but I remember what you said.”
“Raien will want to capture the Reaper, now that she thinks it’s alive. There was a debate about the unidentified ship. Most of the officers refused to believe it was a Reaper craft. When I find the Reaper and Clavender, I’ll ask for the Fleet’s help if I have to,” Kin said.
“It’ll be too late.” Bear rolled a bundle of food in a fur cloak and tied the assembly on the back of his belt. He adjusted his broad hunting knife on his hip and picked up a wood axe that made Kin’s seem small and light. Kin’s weapon was balanced for fighting and was sharper, but the wood axe was intimidating. Bear had split more than a few logs during his long years as a mountain man. Kin suspected the axe may have damaged a few bandits and raiders as well.
