Shanti could imagine what people saw: Cayan standing in the wake, a strong man clutching to him a fierce looking woman, pillars amid the destruction they wrought. The ground was littered with bodies in red uniforms, blood oozing from eyes or ears, faces screwed up in agony as their life blinked out, eyes staring blindly at the sky. Behind a screen twenty spans away lay a pile of bodies wearing black uniforms, their minds dead.
It was then that Leilius stopped. His mind registered sorrow and hurt and panicked impatience. He had found Sanders—or at least learned the location. Shanti still couldn’t get a reading on Sanders’ mind, which worried her.
“To me!” Cayan boomed.
Shanti stepped away but turned to him, a question in her eyes, her hand on Lucius’s shoulder, helping her Chance up.
“Go. I need to give direction, then I am right behind you,” Cayan said with a nod.
And she was gone.
Chapter XLIV
“WHAT WAS THAT?” BETTY’S VOICE had a slight tremor to it.
The metal door to the cell was open. They had propped Sanders up on a chair, tied in so he didn’t fall off. Three Black Shirts stood around Betty. Littered on the ground were Steaphen and Jasan. They looked dead but their chests were rising and falling. They were breathing but it was shallow. Barely hanging on. Like him.
“There are two,” someone answered. “They can Join.”
“We can Join!” Betty shouted. “Take them down!”
“They took down all eighteen of the Sarsher. At one time. They are too powerful!”
“Eighteen… No one has that kind of power! There must be more. Where are the archers?”
“You sound worried,” Sanders mumbled. He couldn’t feel his body.
“How many?” Betty was in his face, pushing at his chest with a knife. It pricked his skin. He knew this because his chest was bare and small dots of blood welled up where the knife touched.
“Well, there’s the girl. And it seems she has trained the boy. So—” His body wracked in a cough. When he regained his breath he finished with: “So you’re fucked.”
“Stop laughing!” Betty screamed.
Chapter XLV
SHANTI DESCENDED THE STAIRS TWO at a time. She could feel Sanders now. Pain, misery, he was flirting with death, barely hanging on.
Anger so hot she couldn’t control it welled up from deep within her. All the pain from the last year was resurfacing, and she was about to put a face on the man responsible for killing her love. Not the same man, surely, but it didn’t matter. They were all the same as far as she was concerned, and he would pay.
“Two running up. Kill them!” she hollered.
Sterling was in front, Lucius behind. She had inherited another Chance. Sterling was thoroughly on her side because he trusted she was thoroughly on his. His loyalty now encompassed her, and it was a deep well of loyalty indeed. Cayan had picked some good officers. Not that that was a surprise.
“Lucius, three running after. Let me know if you can’t handle them. At the end of the stairs we go right.”
“Yes, S’am,” Lucius said.
Sterling didn’t understand the title so he just grunted.
They turned the corner; Shanti didn’t have to do anything with her Chances on the scene. Cayan was making his way down with five others. Sanders was dwindling further still. Two others were dying at his feet. Four enemy surrounded him that were the walking dead, they just didn’t know it yet. Sometimes she loved breaking the bad news.
“Sterling, two more headed your way. They will appear around the corner in three…two…one—“
The first got an arrow, the second a knife punched through the gut and ripped upwards.
“Turn left.”
The tunnels were well kept and scrubbed, but dark. It was below ground, so there were no windows. No natural light. Hopefully Sanders wasn’t half mad already.
Rage bubbled. She still had to make it out of here, so she couldn’t expend all her power. But oh Elders, she wanted to. She wanted to take the enemy’s sanity apart by threads and light each one on fire.
“Right,” she barked. “Now peel away.”
Sterling did exactly that as she walked into the large room. There was a row of cells, the low light getting trapped in the crannies of the stone walls. The smell of sweat and urine accosted her. She stopped in front of the first cell and felt a piercing in her shoulder, something glancing off bone. If she wasn’t so enraged it probably would’ve hurt.
Sanders was on a chair, completely naked, blood oozing down his chest from four different points. It looked fresh. He was filthy and covered in his own waste. His eyes were half open and unfocused, his mouth was turned up in a laughing grimace, and a wheeze that could have been soft laughter bubbled out of his mouth.
A man in a white shirt and gray slacks stood behind him holding a knife. To the left, a line of three men in black shirts battered up against her shields.
“Well, well, what have we here?” Shanti’s voice was a sharpened blade, rage so white-hot it turned her stomach to fire. Her eyes devoured the cold eyes of the man in the white shirt. “A Master Executioner. I wondered if I would find one of you here.”
His eyes went wide. “You lived.”
“Sanders, how are you doing?” Shanti asked seriously.
“Oh, swimmingly.” His voice was a thick, hoarse moan. “Thanks for coming. The party was just getting going.”
“Lovely, you still have your wit. That’s nice. Did you scream for them?”
“Not yet.”
“Would you like them to scream for you? Or is quicker better?”
“Black Shirts can die quick, but I would love to hear Betty’s singing voice before I die.”
Sterling stepped to her right, doing something to her shoulder. She couldn’t feel it. The rest of her arm was going numb.
The guy who Sanders called Betty stepped forward to stick the knife in his neck. Shanti grabbed his brain in a claw-like grip and held him, paralyzing him. He made a surprised gurgle. She tsk’ed. “Now, now. Don’t you want to see who is the better man? You or him? You couldn’t make him scream. Do you think you can hold out as well?”
She turned to the Black Shirts, all with white, fear-drenched faces. They were still working at her shield. “There is no point in that.” Her voice was soft. Melodic. “Your power is nothing.”
She stabbed, ending them quickly, per Sanders’ request. They each gave a shriek before falling to the earth. Lucius stepped in and grabbed onto Sanders, laying him on his back and checking him over.
Shanti stepped in as well, careful not to step on the men lying at her feet, unconscious. She slid a chair from the wall, its feet screeching against the stone floor. Her focus glued to her new little mouse.
“So,” she said, trying to force her anger back so she could focus. She opened her shields for a taste of his unique power. What she felt rocked her.
He wasn’t strong by any means. Not even a quarter of her power. To be effective, he had to be extremely close or touching. But it was the nature of the Gift that was startling. It was why he held the position he did. He could feed a person their worst nightmare through emotion. It was an imprint of emotion from a memory. Regardless of whether the memory came from him, her, or someone else, it felt so real. But this horrible maggot had a real memory with which to torture her. He was replaying the intense joy at someone under his command slowly sticking a knife into Romie’s gut, and drawing it upwards as two people held him down. She felt the life crushing pain of that knife blade slowly working up his sternum, and incredible loss, knowing he’d never see the love of his life again.
He had been thinking of her as he died.
Grief so fresh it bled washed over her, threatened to drown her reason. “You were there.”
It was so quiet she could barely hear her own voice. “You must be Sturgane. I wondered if I’d ever meet you. How unlucky for you that our paths should cross. And what a truly remarkable Gift you have. I am almost
speechless with the pain. But you see, I have lived through a great deal of agony in my life, much caused by you, it is true, but I am excellent at tucking it away. Your disgusting little Gift will not cause insanity in me. At least, not before I end your life in the most painful way humanly possible.”
“He died whispering your name.”
“Pouring salt in the wound, as Xavier would say.” Shanti took a ragged breath, her mind trying to shut down. But not yet. She still had work to do. She had Sanders to avenge. She had to tend to the living before she could join the dead. “In order for your power to be effective, you need real memories. Otherwise, it is a generalized tool that weakens the spirit instead of crushing it. Interesting. You aren’t a little mouse at all, are you? You are a filthy rat. I wonder if I will hold up. I certainly don’t want to; I will be honest about it. That is very, very unlucky for you.”
She felt Cayan’s hand on the back of her bare neck. His voice was soft and full of shared sadness, his presence still deeply entwined in her head, as he said, “We haven’t much time, mesasha.”
“Do you hear that, filthy rat? You will get a quick job. It seems your circle of gods partially feel sorry for you. Or maybe they wish to punish you themselves. So, where shall we start?”
Chapter XLVI
SANDERS FELT HIS BODY GENTLY dabbed. Well, it might’ve been stabbed for all he could feel, but he liked to think Lucius was being careful. He saw the Captain above him, his hand on the girl’s neck, his body bent over her protectively. He was yelling at someone about a knife in her shoulder or some such thing.
Sterling was leaning over him, his eyes a worried mask. “What ails you, Commander? I see no serious wounds.”
Only Shanti would know how to fix him. If it were possible. So why ruin the moment? “Ssshhhh, I’ve been praying for this. Let me hear her revenge on him. I want to hear him scream. Don’t let the Captain restrain her.”
At that the Captain looked down at him, worry and grief in his eyes. When those glowing blue orbs met his, he saw a nod through the haze, then the Captain was looking straight ahead again.
“You see, filthy rat,” Shanti said from somewhere close, “I am unimpressed with your brand of power, though I think I will use it on the Being Supreme before I kill him.”
“You won’t see that day,” Betty spat.
“No? Hmmm. Cayan, you might disengage. This is about to get…nasty.”
“I’m a part of this, mesasha. I will continue to be.”
“You’ll think less of me, but since we don’t have time to argue, so be it.”
The room stilled into a pregnant silence. Sanders felt the stress of those around him as if it was a palpable thing, but no one moved. No one walked forward to grab Betty or even tended to the wounded, including Shanti.
A sharp intake of breath had Sanders trying to look in Betty’s direction. A harsh groan, then shallow breaths, panting like a dog in the sun. The foreign woman was starting her revenge.
“No screams, yet, huh Sturgane? You see, I learned your name. I wanted to know who killed my future. The whole way here I had a feeling I would see you—strange, isn’t it? If I believed in Fate, I would think this meeting was destined. Instead, I see it for what it is—you were always the most ambitious of the Inkna when it came to scouring for new wealth. Of course I would find you chasing the wealthy nations. But enough about that now; you must scream for me or Sanders will never be happy. How about this?”
The Captain shifted his stance, his palm spread along the back of her neck. A high-pitched keening crowded the space, chasing away all silence. Nails scrabbled on stone, clawing, screeching where they scraped.
“He just tore two of his nails off on the floor,” someone said in a terrified whisper. He looked like a swirling mockup of Tobias hovering over Sanders’ head. Good fighter. Great in a pinch. Wise choice to bring along.
“You have to scream, filthy rat, otherwise I won’t have done Sanders justice,” Shanti said with fierce tears in her voice. “I owe him my life. My destiny. You will pay him with yours. Let’s increase the pressure.”
“How did you escape?” Sturgane shrieked. “They said you were dead!”
“No, no. I prayed for death, oh yes I did. You and your filthy brethren stole my life from me. But alas, I am not dead. Some days that is the biggest travesty of all. No, I am not dead,” she said softly. “But you are about to be.”
“He will claim you and rape you over and over until you beg for death! You will bear his children in chains like the dog you are!” Sturgane screamed.
The Captain shifted again, his body leaning farther over Shanti. Suddenly the air was solid, everyone in the dungeon struggling to breath, backing to the walls, looking for the exit.
“Cayan, no. He is mine,” Shanti said urgently. “I have to finish this. I have to finish what he started. For Romie. For Sanders.”
“There are…” Sturgane’s voice cut off in a whine.
“Two of us, yes,” Shanti answered, her attention never far from Betty’s face. “It seems I found another one before the Being Supreme could. It will be a wonderful joke when he finds out, don’t you think?”
“Impossible.”
“Improbable, not impossible, as you see.”
“Two swine that will be chained and tortured! You are nothing!”
“Well, Sanders, your friend is very rude,” Shanti said simply. “No more stalling.”
“Their eyes are glowing,” someone uttered in a hushed whisper.
The fast breathing was back. Then the keening, animalistic sound. Primal. Agonized.
“No, no,” Shanti said in a hush. Her voice quivered. “You are just like the little mouse, trying to end your own life. I can’t let you do that.”
Clothes rustled in the darkness. Sanders struggled to hear, needing this revenge even if administered by another. Betty started to howl, out of control. Deep, wells of pain, both emotional and physical, saturated his voice, split his vocal chords.
“I hate your Gift.” It sounded like Shanti was fully crying now, her own voice laced with life-consuming pain long endured. “But I can see how effective it is. You must have no soul to use it.”
“Naaahhhh! Hhhaaaaaaa! Aaaahhhhhh!” It was a collection of wails. Eternal suffering. Anguish beyond reckoning. Sanders almost felt guilty Betty had to endure it.
Almost, but not quite.
Everyone was shifting now, uncomfortable, scared even. The Captain huddled closer, nearly smothering the sobbing foreign girl with his body. Clothes ripped, hands slapped skin, Betty rolled and stamped his body. Then screaming. Wild, shrill shrieks, echoing off the walls and drowning out all thought.
Men were turning away. One vomited. Still Betty screamed. Louder and louder, his voice nothing but a guttural scraping. His vocal chords sounded like they had been burned away. His back was arching as he lay, his stomach extended, his legs twisting in on themselves.
Finally the Captain said softly, “Enough, mesasha. Let him die.”
“Why, when I cannot?” Shanti sobbed.
But the sound cut off as if ripped away. The woman wavered.
“What did you do to him?” Tobias said in a fearful whisper.
“Punished him for killing my love and helping destroy everything in the world I hold dear. Sanders, please know that your suffering, while longer in duration, was nothing compared to his. I used his Gift on him along with the pain. It is…an effective way to torture. A soul-killing way to torture. For me. My debt to you has been fulfilled. We are even.”
“That’s all well and good, but I still feel like shit,” Sanders rasped. It was true. Why lie?
He was loaded onto a stretcher as a cooling mist enveloped his mind. The voice of the foreigner, soft and feminine, whispered in the din, “Sleep, Sanders, I will help heal you. Not everything I learned from these nasty rats was awful.”
Sanders barely held onto consciousness as his stretcher carriers followed the Captain out of the dungeon. The Captain carried a limp
Shanti, who, shortly after putting him in a wonderful, numbing kind of fog, sank against the disgusting stone wall and hung her head, grief etched in every line on her face. Whatever Betty had showed her had worked its way deep into her being and eaten away at her core.
When the Captain informed her it was time to go, she didn’t even look up. Apparently she wasn’t even planning to bother continuing on. Despite all that Sanders had been through, somehow that knowledge was the worst. Her quitting seemed the end of all things. Even though he couldn’t say why, some part of him registered that for her to give up would mean great peril to them all.
The Captain bent and scooped Shanti up easily, waving everyone away, including Marc, who was trying to look after her shoulder where Betty had pierced her with a throwing knife. Good thing the weasel was a terrible shot.
It seemed the Captain had developed some kind of kindred spirit with her, and from what Tobias had told Sanders when the tight-lipped Sterling wasn’t hovering close by, whatever the foreign girl could do, the Captain could do, too, and they could do it better when they were together.
Wasn’t that some shit. Sanders felt bad for the Captain. She would be a helluva woman to have to share a kindred spirit with. Though, he had to admit, a good one to have in your corner.
Chapter XLVII
THE DAY AFTER THE BATTLE Marc sat beside the woman who was responsible for his success thus far. She had believed in him when everyone else had given up. She had given him patience when others showed him frustration. She had literally kicked him in the butt when others had walked away. There was just something about her to look up to. She always had a reason for what she did, and she knew how to work with each guy, no matter how different, to bring out the best in him. Leilius was living proof. And now Leilius was a celebrity. He couldn’t walk two steps without someone giving him a nod, or a pat on the back, or a job well done. On the way there, those same guys had shunned, or ignored, or sneered at the younger soldier.
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 52
