Killers, Traitors, & Runaways: Outcasts of the Worlds, Book II

by Lucas Paynter

  She nodded her acceptance. “Thanks for being honest with me.”

  “Yeah, well … anything else? Sounded like you had more stuff on your mind.”

  “That was most of it. There is one other thing I was wondering about, though,” she said with a sly smile. “Chot Vot?”

  “Right,” he said with a laugh. “Some of the boys I used to work with in Stoten liked putting on plays during downtime. Chot Vot was the first thing I thought of when I saw this mountain.”

  Zaja tried to suppress her laughter as she asked, “I never actually read it … but didn’t Chot Vot turn out to be a shit-house by the end?”

  “It did, it did!” he agreed with a boisterous giggle before quieting down and adding, “But don’t tell the girls. They think it’s a sacred word—would break their hearts to find out now.”

  *

  Stayed too long, was Shea’s first conclusion. She’d scouted the outskirts of Chot Vot to make sure, but there was nothing growing that could save her: her cigarette case was empty. She had gone days without a smoke, and the absence was becoming increasingly irritating. It was enough to overcome any feeling of guilt as she searched the mountain chambers; Yetinau, she hoped, was the sort of man who enjoyed a good smoke, and likely wouldn’t miss a few cigarettes from his stores.

  Her search was disrupted by a sound coming from one of the rooms. It was muffled, repetitious, and wholly familiar. Someone sobbing and trying desperately to hide it. Shea peered in and found a girl, one of Yetinau’s devotees, crying into a pillow. Shea paused, unsure what to do. Instinct said to comfort the girl, but she had no clue how.

  The girl, realizing she had company, looked up. For a moment, she looked alarmed, and whispered something incomprehensible.

  “What?” Shea asked, and got the same uncertain plea. It was no use—they were far from Tryna, and the local dialect was wholly different from her own. “So–sorry,” Shea muttered weakly before escaping to the halls. As she clutched her cigarette case, she found herself in the path of another of Yetinau’s flock, and was desperate enough to try anything.

  “Oi, listen. Any smokes down here?” she asked, rapping the case emphatically. The girl protested, held her hands up, and said something foreign. It could as easily have been denial as confusion. Shea tapped the case again and staggered her request. “Smoke. I. Need. A. Smoke.”

  “Is there a problem?” Flynn intruded, and the worshipper spoke with him, quickly and nervously. “No, it’s nothing bad,” he said to her. “She’s just asking for a cigarette.” The girl said something back to him, and Flynn looked to Shea and relayed her response. “She says they don’t have any here. Yetinau doesn’t approve.”

  “That so?” Shea replied. “Bugger.” After the girl left, she glanced at Flynn. “You talk plain as day—how’s it she understands you?”

  “I’m not speaking her language, or yours. I just understand you, and you understand me. Same with her.” He smiled, and added, “It’s a benefit to having traveled around. When we leave Keltia, you’ll see what I mean.”

  “Nice to have it now,” she huffed. “Damn bints chat nonsense or ignore my crossing by. Rather not be seen like I’m about to rat out some hidey-hole.”

  “Who … looked at you like that?” Flynn asked, bewildered.

  Shea shook her head. “Just one. Forget it. Saw one crying, few minutes back. Not so happy family as it looks, right?”

  He thought about this for a moment, then asked. “Can you show me?”

  “A’ight,” she said with a shrug, and led Flynn back the way she’d come. She could still hear the girl sobbing, and there was another voice now. They were exchanging words, but it was still empty rhetoric to her. Flynn leaned in close. “What they saying?” she whispered.

  He gave no answer at first, then whispered back only sparse phrases. “Keeps asking for me,” he translated the crying girl. “Not the deeds that sicken … debased myself in the past … it’s how I have to act. Loyal. Fawning. Not just during…”

  The other girl shushed her companion, and Flynn picked up again as she spoke. “Done well. All knew what we were getting into. No one made us.”

  The sobbing girl again. “Didn’t expect to be one of his favorites. Every minute spent … can’t help his believers … they pray to him … never known a better god.”

  “It—” Flynn stopped, and paled.

  “Spit it,” Shea prompted.

  “They’ve gotten word,” he said. “The Reahv’li are near.”

  “The Reahv—” she stopped. From what she’d been told, the Reahv’li had numbers, and the last thing they needed was to get cornered by another army. “Good as anything to get us off our arses,” she said as they hurried back down the hall.

  “I’m going to warn Yetinau,” Flynn said as he broke off for the main hall. “He needs to know what’s coming for him.”

  “Do your bit,” she confirmed. “Get the others set on my end.” While Flynn took off toward the throne room, Shea dashed off to find the rest of their party.

  *

  A cadre of worshippers was stepping out of the throne room, some still adjusting their attire as they passed Flynn by without a single glance. Yetinau was draped across his throne, wet with their sweat, and content, until his eyes met Flynn’s and his expression turned to disappointment.

  In the moment after eye contact and before Flynn could speak, a series of questions fired through his mind. Even if Flynn warned Yetinau, what good would it do? The hedonist on the throne wouldn’t take the threat seriously, or would handle it ineptly. Moreover, if a deal could be cut, he would likely sell them out to be spared what misfortune the Reahv’li assuredly promised.

  A change of plans was in order.

  “The Yet-man!” Flynn bellowed with garish confidence.

  “Hey … you. Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk—having you guys around for a while was novel, but if none of the girls are planning to join in my worship, it’d be great if you got going.”

  “Actually, we were already preparing to leave,” Flynn replied coolly. “Occurred to me though, you and I haven’t really talked since that first meeting. Thought I owed you a proper ‘thanks’ for being such a great host.”

  Yetinau softened a bit. “I can be pretty great. I mean, sausage quota around here has been up three hundred percent, but I didn’t say a word.”

  “Trust me, I know what you mean,” Flynn replied. “Used to have another guy on my team, lost him a few months back. Once Poe gets what he’s after, though, it’s just me and the ladies. I think you see where I’m going with that.”

  Yetinau nodded knowingly. “I do. I do. But you don’t have the whole godly edge backing you up. I’m just saying, don’t expect Yetinau Gruent levels of success.”

  Flynn smiled subtly. “I still have a way of getting what I want.” Before Yetinau could read further, Flynn perked up. “Still, Yet-man! I’ve gotta say, it takes some balls for the God of Neutrality to hide out in a war zone.”

  His host rocked cheerfully. “Yeah, thought there was a nice bit of poetic irony in that. I do my little service to humanity by making a safe space, let some of them live here and do a little service to me. Worked out pretty nicely, really.”

  Flynn paced around the chamber as Yetinau spoke. There was a level of craftsmanship to it all: the throne and ledges carved into the mountain wall, the way the chambers had been hollowed out. There was the sound of running water from the far corner of the room, but no river to be seen.

  “Gotta say though, place like this,” Flynn started. “You’ve got to have something cool hidden away here. I mean, why stop at the walls and the rooms and that big, bitchin’ throne?”

  “Well…” Yetinau squirmed in his chair. He wanted to brag. His whole identity was invested in this mountain. “It’s all a man really needs—”

  “But you’re more than just a man,” Flynn reminded him.

  Yetinau chewed on that for a moment before gradually conceding. “Okay, okay, but only ’
cause you’re leaving and—by the way? Don’t tell the girls. I banished the workers who carved this mountain up for me a decade back, so this is strictly between you and the Yet-man.” Flynn nodded his assent. “Okay, so the main corridor was the only way in when I found it. And I’m thinking, what if there’s trouble? What if the Yet-man needs to get Yet-gone?”

  Flynn laughed, realizing, “You have a back door.”

  “Secret passage,” Yetinau corrected. “You don’t build something like that and call it a ‘back door.’ And anyway, nature did half the work for me. There were partial tunnels, so I just had the workers carve the stuff between. The underground river, you see, connects to the outside, but the cavern ceiling ducks too low to wade through. There’s a second passage, though, like the river erodes it bit by bit every time it floods, but never finished the job. My guys did.”

  “Secret passage,” Flynn repeated, making sure to sound impressed. “Damn.” He nodded, satisfied. “And don’t worry, my lips are sealed. It’s time my friends and I got on our way.” Flynn walked backward toward the exit, and gave Yetinau a nod and a wink. “See you around, Yet-man.”

  *

  A thin layer of stone was all that concealed Yetinau’s secret passage, and it only took a single strike from Jean’s mace to collapse it. Beyond that, she and the others would have to rely on Flynn and Shea to lead the way; the tunnel was dark save for what light seeped through the cracks above. They were passing under Chot Vot’s many chambers, and could soon hear the voices of the intruders, which Jean ignored until she realized some were familiar. A narrow breach in the upper corner of the tunnel offered a view into the throne room. While the others carried on, she and Flynn stopped to watch and listen.

  “Before we begin, one moment.” Crescen stood at the fore of a group; it was difficult to count how many through the crack, but she saw several Reahv’li, as well as Arronel. Her fist tensed at the sight of him, but a gentle touch from Flynn was all the reminder she needed. “Gaspar, make sure everything’s in order.”

  “On it, sir.” A Reahv’li soldier with a lilting voice began scurrying around the edges of the room, checking for something unseen.

  “Listen—Crescen, was it?” Yetinau began nervously. “I know about your boss, and I’ve been making a point not to make waves with him. Do we really have to do this?”

  Crescen nodded apologetically. “It is necessary. If this could end any other way—”

  “It doesn’t have to start! I mean, look around you! I’ve created a safe place!”

  “A safe place?” Crescen replied. “Tell me, Yetinau Gruent: Where are the men? Where are the children? Where are the elderly and the infirm kept and cared for?” He shook his head. “You have kept the armies at bay, yes, but how many more could you have saved? How many more have you turned away?”

  Yetinau avoided Crescen’s judgmental gaze.

  “A false god must be unmade,” Arronel said, stepping forward.

  “False?!” Yetinau scoffed. “I’m no less legit than yours!”

  Gaspar had come near the edge of the room beneath which the tunnel ran. Jean began to duck, but Flynn held his position; he seemed confident they would not be found.

  “All accounted for, sir,” Gaspar declared as he knelt over something shimmering. He returned to his companions, but Jean and Flynn were giving the object of his inventory curious scrutiny. A fragment was embedded in the stone floor, no larger than a pocket knife; a jagged shard with a familiar sheen.

  “That looks like—” Jean started.

  “Poe’s Dark Sword,” Flynn finished.

  “Chunk of it, anyway.”

  “What is accounted for?” Yetinau demanded. “Look—you guys can’t do anything to me. You have to have come here knowing that.”

  “Can’t we?” A girl spoke from beyond their field of vision. “You’ll ensure we can. You’re nervous, and nervous people make mistakes.”

  Yetinau scrutinized her, unsure of something he saw. At Jean’s side, Flynn was having a similar reaction, and tried to lean for a better look, to no avail.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Something … I’d swear she’s a Mystik, but … not.”

  “Ya mean on the lower end, like us?” Jean asked. “Or like blue boy on the throne there?” Flynn shook his head. He had no answer.

  “You have one chance—” Crescen started.

  “You’re wasting your breath,” Arronel muttered.

  “One chance,” Crescen sharply reaffirmed. “Swear fealty to Taryl Renivar. We’ve no desire to cause unnecessary destabilization, but your trinity remains complete. Order and Chaos can still balance for a time without you, albeit less perfectly.”

  “And what do I have to give up?” Yetinau asked. He sounded like he already knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

  “Everything else. We’ve had agents among your worshippers for months, and you’ve manipulated a great many women, most of whom deserved better. There is no place for you in the next world, but you can still do good in this one. Amplify your power, make this place into a hospice—your very nature will winnow out the worst and protect your guests from harm. And Yetinau,” Crescen firmly added. “You may touch none that do not know you for who and what you truly are: a man from another world whose divinity was granted, not inherent.”

  Yetinau smiled, amused at this. “Well, great as that offer sounds … I think I’ll just get gone.”

  No one moved. Jean waited for Yetinau, Crescen, the Reahv’li—someone to do anything. As Yetinau frantically looked around, real worry dawned on his face.

  “What’d you guys do?”

  “Our sheep have been preparing for our arrival for weeks,” Arronel gloated. “You cannot abandon this neutral space for another.”

  “Alright, alright,” Yetinau said nervously as he at last stepped away from his throne to confront the unwelcome guests. “Stalemate then. You still can’t do a thing to me.”

  “And I say again, we won’t start anything.” The unseen girl spoke once more. “You will.” This time, she stepped forward—not far enough to get a good look at her face, but something on her hand caught Jean’s eye: a gauntlet, shimmering in the light.

  “So who the hell are you, girl?”

  “Ezara Xevus,” she replied, taking a step toward him with each word she spoke. “And you, Yetinau … you’re the type of man who’s had to learn to avoid conflict, aren’t you? We met with your old coworkers in Stoten before coming here. They’re getting on in years, but many still remember you.”

  Yetinau grew visibly perturbed as she closed in, and began backing up against his throne.

  “Not a violent man per se, but always ready to roughhouse if the situation allowed. Something you found came in conflict with your station as the Mystik of Neutrality, something that’s in your nature but you’ve learned to suppress. Something—”

  Yetinau raised his hand to stop her.

  “—that with the right prodding—”

  She leaned in, her left hand grazing his forearm before striking her fingers gently through his hair.

  “—is bound to come out.”

  “Get away!” Yetinau yelled, pushing Ezara back. She fell and rolled to the floor, but before she even landed, something nameless reverberated through the air. Yetinau froze, wide-eyed and dumbfounded at what he’d done.

  “Shit,” Jean whispered.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” Yetinau stammered as the Reahv’li began drawing closer. “Look, I’ll take the offer, okay? I’ll serve the Living God—”

  “You’re not worthy,” Arronel condemned. “You shall never look upon my august lord and bow in supplication. Your selfishness and cowardice have assured that.”

  “Then I’ll step down,” he begged. “I’ll give up my godhood if you’ll just let me go.”

  “You haven’t been a god for very long,” Crescen said. “Even if we let you go today, you still have the potential, and your life force is vibrant. Who’s to say another w
on’t pass you their divinity? We’d find ourselves at the same impasse.”

  Unable to will himself away from this place, Yetinau did the only thing he could: he ran. He pushed through the Reahv’li in a feat of superhuman strength, but they raised their spears up for him; one snagged Yetinau and sent him crashing to the ground.

  Though blood was spilt, the wound closed as soon as it was cleaved, and he attempted to break for the corridor passage out of the mountain, throwing off every Reahv’li that caught on to him. Arronel caught Yetinau by his silk shirt, and it tore as its wearer twisted free and threw his assailant back. He tried to run once more, but the other Reahv’li began hurling spears and volleying arrows at him, and with every one that landed, Yetinau’s momentum slowed.

  “You can’t kill me so easily!” he cried desperately.

  But as the assault went on and he staggered for his exit, Jean realized Flynn was barely paying attention to Yetinau—he was looking at Ezara, who still stood confidently by the throne. She extended her left hand, and in an almost surreal motion, an arrow fired by a Reahv’li soldier that seemed to arc too low managed to hit its target, connecting with Yetinau’s ankle. A flick of Ezara’s wrist, and he was wrenched wider than the injury should have caused, crashing against the chamber wall.

  Crescen only shook his head in disappointment as he walked over, grabbing Yetinau by the ankle and dragging his spear-ridden body back into the room. Even then, Jean knew he was still alive.

  “Begin,” he ordered the Reahv’li, who gathered around Yetinau to pull their spears free and began stabbing him again and again. He screamed in agony—as deification did nothing to numb his sense of pleasure, so too did he still feel pain.

  As this merciless assault continued, Crescen went to a corner of the chamber and carefully pried free one of the shards that had been embedded in the floor. The circle had been made to keep Yetinau trapped, but he might well be able to escape if he only had the clarity of mind for it. As Crescen approached Yetinau, he slowed his steps, looking at the blade he’d plucked loose.

  “He doesn’t want to do it,” Flynn whispered.