by Anna Bowman
“Yeah. Might be best to steer clear of him for a while.”
Sol took Will’s hand and was pulled to his feet.
“You going to check on Rayn?”
Solomand’s stomach tightened. He wanted to make sure she was alright.
I can’t.
He cleared his throat, pulling his gaze away from Will’s.
“You do it. I’ve got to check on our other guest.”
He gave his stoic first mate a meaningful look and started to leave. Will grabbed him by the arm. His head tilted to the side, forcing Solomand to look him in the eye.
“Are you afraid?”
Solomand paused, his eyes locked with Will’s scrutinizing stare.
“You see how she is. Damn right, I’m afraid.”
Will released his iron grip, his head leaning back as he laughed. Solomand didn’t waste any time darting from the door.
“Good luck,” he said over his shoulder as he scrambled down the grated planking—careful to avoid meeting Jank—and out the emergency exit.
The light of approaching dusk greeted him as a summer breeze stirred the forest. Solomand’s boots thudded rhythmically on the wooden walkway that wound up the valley to the ruins of a castle nestled in the side of the hill. Once an imposing fortress set high in the rim of Lubafell Valley hills, it was now overgrown with trees and vines, forgotten and hidden from view by land or air. Memories of himself playing here among the rocks as a boy slipped into his mind as he strode through the ruins, crunching crumbled stones beneath his feet. A man with tattoos on his arms showed him the tracks deer had made in the damp earth as a myst falcon circled the ruins overhead.
No.
Solomand buried the images in a dark corner of his mind where smoke and the smell of blood were locked safely away. Memories like those were dangerous. They might make a man long for something that didn’t belong to him, hampering resolve when it was needed most.
Crows ascended from the ground, cawing in indignation as they took to the trees. Solomand spared them an apologetic grin, wiping sweat from his forehead. He breathed easier here as he walked beneath the crumbling exterior of the castle. The last place of freedom; for him and his companions.
At the back of the ruins stood a more modern building, made of wood and concrete; it was not very big, but it was sturdy and well hidden under the remains of the fortress.
A thick, wooden door swung open, and Zee ran out.
“Sol!” She threw her arms around him. “Did you get what you needed from Ashbury?”
Solomand returned the girl’s embrace, breathing in as his arms closed around her.
“More or less.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that…cigarette smoke?”
Zee laughed, ducking past to go outside.
“Probably from your own coat.”
“Right…”
Solomand’s brow wrinkled, doubtful, but he had too much on his mind to interrogate her at the moment.
“Where’s our guest stashed at?
“In the cellar. Tristan said that would be the safest place. We had a hell of a time getting him down there.”
She handed him a small vile.
“Tristan said to give him this.”
“Watch your mouth, girl,”
Solomand frowned, staring with contempt at the bottle as his hand closed around it.
“Sorry,” Zee called over her shoulder, already running down toward the dock to meet Will and Jank.
Walking into the door, Solomand made his way down the cramped hall to the far end of the building. His hand paused on the metal doorhandle before he turned it and went inside.
Stairs covered in dust groaned as he trekked downward into the basement. He distracted himself by imagining what kind of hell the Pandora’s pilot was going to catch when his superiors found out he had lost them. There was almost a cruelness in his chuckle.
Wish I could be a fly on the wall listening to that conversation. Well, Sir, they just vanished.
His shoulder pressed against the dirt wall, his feet growing heavier as he took the last step onto the basement floor. A high window cut into the earth let light stream into the building. His throat went dry as he squinted through the iron grates of a makeshift cell in the corner of the cellar.
Ivan lay on a cot inside the cell. The filthy shirt he wore was ragged and torn, revealing the black outline of a spider tattoo on the side of his neck. His arms draped over the sides. Solomand felt a pang in his chest as he breathed in, wishing he could look away. There was a welt over the man’s right eye, which Solomand was responsible for.
Not my fault.
The Slavik’s stubbornness was to be reckoned with. Still Solomand regretted having to take him by force and hated being able to. Ivan should have been stronger than he was.
Recalling their conversation in the rotting slum he’d dragged Ivan from made Solomand cringe.
He’s going to be pissed.
Dragging a hand through his hair, he breathed out quickly and then unlocked the heavy door. Chains rattled as he undid the lock and threw back the iron-grating. It creaked on its hinges as it opened and shut. The man jerked a hand to his forehead. “Solomand…” he mumbled.
Bloodshot eyes of icy gray shot open. Ivan licked his chapped lips and eased himself off the cot. Stumbling forward on bare feet, he hurled himself at Solomand with a murderous snarl. “I…kill…you!” he rasped.
Solomand grimaced and stepped aside. Ivan crashed into the grating before falling to his knees. The man’s dirt-encrusted fingers clung to the grating as he rested there, breathing in loud, labored gasps. He forced himself up and spun around, lunging at Solomand again. This time Solomand threw him back against the door.
For god’s sake, Ivan…
There was a time when he would never have been able to beat Ivan in any kind of combat; he was an Ice Wolf, an elite assassin from the North Continent. Ivan had proved that the group’s legendary skill was not idle rumors.
Sweat soaked his clothes and was already dripping from his face. Solomand could smell the pungent scent of the drug that had consumed his life. Most people who did not wean themselves off were dead within two days.
Sol’s fingers tightened around the small, glass vial in his hand and he wanted to destroy it. He saw a mere shell of the man that once was, reduced to nothing by this unrelenting drug. And, the growing tightness in his chest reminded him whose fault he believed it was.
“Ivan, look what you’ve done to yourself, you idiot,” he said.
“Zyat!” Ivan cursed in Slav, shaking the grating, saliva dripping from his mouth. He pulled himself to his feet.
“I’ve left you alone in that shithole long enough.”
Solomand squared his shoulders.
“I’m not letting you kill yourself with that damned Furi any longer!” His jaw was set.
Ivan jerked his head up. Dark circles under his eyes accentuated the gauntness of his features.
“You…you bastard son of Kree whore!”
That’s it.
Solomand’s jaw tightened. He answered this insult with a blow to the face that sent Ivan sprawling against the far corner of the cell.
“You’ll not bring my mother into this!” he exclaimed.
Blood seeped through Ivan’s fingers as he cupped a hand over his nose, still managing to stare menacingly at Solomand.
“Well now. I think that’s cleared the air, hasn’t it?”
Solomand shook his throbbing hand and set the vile on the floor by the cot.
“From Tristan. To help with the withdrawal.”
Ivan’s eyes widened. His head tilted to one side.
“Tristan?”
Solomand regarded the contents with contempt.
“Yes. He’s still alive—more alive than you’ve been the past five years.”
His hand leaned on the door while he looked back at Ivan, locking his gaze with that stony expression. He wanted to say he was sorry: for the blow to the head, for Tristan, for everything. But all he could man
age to do was clear his throat and walk away.
✽ ✽ ✽
Ivan glared at Solomand as he relocked his cage and disappeared up the stairs. His eyes flashed to the vial of Furi, and he slid forward on his hands and knees until he reached it. Sucking in a heavy breath, he cradled it in his hand and stared at it. Furi will make you forget. That’s what they had promised; that is what he wanted to do. Even now he could still hear the gunshots and smell the scent of smoke and blood.
So much blood!
Ivan doubled over, tasting the acidic bile at the back of his throat as he dry-heaved. His fingers quivered as he popped the cork and stared at the swirling liquid. Looking at it he could already feel the welcoming arms of nothingness.
Tristan.
Ivan’s deep-set eyes, once proud, misted over. His shoulders shook as he hurled the bottle against the walls of his prison. It smashed, the contents now a dark splatter on the black grate. Ivan gnashed his teeth together and ran a hand over his shaved head, leaving a smear of blood. He collapsed into furious sobs.
✽ ✽ ✽
A cigarette burning in his hand, Solomand watched from the stairs. He felt a mixture of relief and fear as he eyed the glistening liquid. But then, if anyone could quit Furi like that and survive, it would be Ivan.
Hang in there, Ice Wolf.
He took a shaky drag on his cigarette and crept up the stairs.
Chapter 7
Rayn
The dark-haired boy fell to the ground as the guard struck him across the face. He stood over the boy, and then, raised his hand. Rayn stood up, not caring if anyone saw her. Her heart pounded, and she took a step towards the square. The whip cracked through the air, but instead of the boy’s face, it wound around a wooden staff.
“Leave him, Ranger,” a gruff voice demanded.
The man who it belonged to towered over the guard in a menacing way, his back toward Rayn. Her shoulders relaxed as she breathed out a sigh of relief.
“He’s a thief! And you shouldn’t interfere in matters that don’t concern you,” the guard snarled but shrank away.
The man took a step forward, his staff directed towards the guard.
“You go back to your own jurisdiction and leave crimes in The Mud to me.”
Rayn didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. Her eyes were on the boy. He rolled over, inched forward on his stomach, and slipped away down an alley before either man could stop him.
“Wait!” Rayn tried to call after him. “What’s your name?”
Rayn was awake long before she opened her eyes. The pain in her side was still there, but at least the headache was dulling. Hot and sweaty, she rolled over, her eyes flickering open. Solomand sat at the foot of her bunk, staring.
Jerking up with a start, Rayn’s side felt like a dagger was thrust into it.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she gasped and kicked at Solomand, catching him in the ribs with the heel of her boot.
Her throat felt like sandpaper had been scraped down it.
“Owe!” Solomand fell off the bunk, catching himself with one hand and grabbing his ribs with the other.
“Shit,” he wheezed, his face scrunched up in pain. “I only came to check on you!” He stood and retreated a few steps. “And…I only just got here,” he added as if he knew what she was thinking.
With an injured look, he pointed to a fresh pitcher of water that sat on the table by her bunk. Rayn gave him one last glare and snatched it up, water drizzling down the sides of her mouth as she tipped it back and drank.
Solomand took a cautious step toward her.
“Here,” he said, drawing a paper packet from his vest and offered it to her. “It’s for the headache.”
Rayn could not hide the look of suspicion that crept onto her face.
How did he know I had a headache?
“The gas the 201st set off can cause them for days after you’re exposed to it,” he said.
She set the empty pitcher down and wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. Not breaking eye contact with him, she took the packet. Solomand jerked his hand back like he was feeding a lion a slab of meat. He studied Rayn while she swallowed the bitter-tasting powder.
“Why are they after you, anyway?”
Solomand shrugged, crossing his arms.
“It’s really a simple case of mistaken identity.”
“Mistaken identity?”
Rayn sat up, cradling her head in her arms.
“Yes. Their dimwitted jackass of a commander has me mistaken with someone else, apparently.”
He rubbed his eye then wiped his hand on the side of his pants.
She looked up, the throbbing becoming duller now.
“Who does he mistake you with?”
Solomand’s brow furrowed.
“Someone from the war. Someone he never caught…because he’s a dimwitted jackass.”
His face clouded and he crossed his arms. Rayn decided not to ask anymore, for now.
“Hungry?”
Captain Black seemed eager to change the subject.
“Yeah.”
Rayn ran fingers through her tangled hair, trying to recall the last time she ate.
“Feel up for a walk, or shall I have something brought to you?”
“I can walk,” Rayn said, scowling as she forced herself to stand.
The room felt like it was spinning, but she couldn’t let him think she couldn’t handle herself.
Solomand raised an eye.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Rayn pressed a palm against her forehead, then raked sweaty hair from her face. Talking made her head hurt worse.
Solomand held his hands up, shrugging at the same time.
“Alright, suit yourself. Follow me, then.”
Rayn stepped out into the narrow corridor and followed him, her hand trailing against the wall for support. The smell of Solomand’s tobacco, combined with the lack of air, made the pounding in her head begin to grow worse.
“You can meet the rest of the crew—well, most of them, anyway,” Solomand said over his shoulder as they made their way down the dimly-lit passage.
Rayn wished he would be quiet. It was hard enough to concentrate on walking. A cold, dizzying, feeling worked its way through her body, and she broke into a sweat. Leaning on the wall with her shoulder, she paused, pressing a hand to her head.
“Are you alright?” Solomand asked.
She glanced up to see him shaking his head at her.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, not as assertively as she would have liked.
“Here.” She tried to jerk away as he took her by the arm. “Would you rather pass out and me have to carry you back to your room?”
“No.” Rayn scowled in defeat and put her arm over his shoulders, leaning her full weight on him.
“Don’t worry, I promise I don’t bite—hard, anyway.”
Rayn’s murderous glare caused Solomand to drop the playful look he was giving her and throw his head back in laughter.
“Alright—no more jokes.”
He placed his hand on her waist as he started down the winding staircase toward the cargo bay.
Beneath the layer of strong-scented tobacco, Solomand’s coat carried hints of engine grease and the kind of antiseptic odor that never washed out. She closed her eyes, focusing on breathing in the fresh air. Sunlight warmed her face as she felt wooden planking beneath her boots, and she opened her eyes to see the dock.
The scaffolding built into the side of the cliff swayed with the breeze, and the aged planks creaked as they walked towards the path.
“Where the hell are we?”
Rayn pressed a hand against her head once more.
“The Lubafell Valley.” He nodded to the crumbling building on top of the hill. “The splendid garrison there is Castle of the Wind, what’s left of it, anyway. We call it The Castle.”
Castle?
The hulking stone building looked like it had given up l
ong ago and was swallowed by the thick vines and trees that sprang out from its courtyard.
Leaning sideways so he could see her face, Solomand winked.
“Good place to disappear when you need to.”
“I can see why.”
Rayn allowed herself to lean more on his arm. So that was how they had escaped from the 201st.
“Need to disappear often, do you?”
There was a feigned look of bewilderment on Solomand’s face as he glanced at her from the corner of his eyes.
“Watch your step through here,” he said.
The majority of the Castle was unsalvageable ruins. Bits of crumbling stone lay in heaps and vines slithered every which way. Solomand’s hideout was a much smaller building constructed in the center of the Castle. The thick tar-blackened wood gave it the dismal appearance of a bombed bunker, but it was solid and well-concealed within the shell of Castle of the Wind.
Rayn took one look at the building and groaned.
“You’re nothing but a bunch of smugglers.”
Solomand held the finger of his free hand to his lips.
“Shhh. Don’t tell anyone, will you?”
He pushed the door open, and they stepped into a dimly lit corridor. Rayn remembered all the various tales pilots relayed after having one too many drinks, about the ruthless air pirates and smugglers who’d attacked their ships. And here she was, alone and unarmed in a place where no one would ever think to look for her. Not that there was anyone who would notice she was gone. The whole town probably thought she had died in the fire.
Reclaiming her revolver would be the first thing to do. For now, she still had her boots on, which was almost as good. A trapdoor in the heel of each concealed a sharp blade that would spring out if she stomped her heel hard enough.
If Solomon tried anything, he would be on his knees before he knew what hit him.
The mouth-watering aroma of stew interrupted her thoughts. Laughter and talking echoed through the corridor as they turned a corner and came to an arched door that was cracked an inch. Solomand pushed it the rest of the way open with his foot and the scent of stew spilled out.
The kitchen was small. A stove and cabinets with peeling white paint were on the far side, a wooden table and benches were bolted to the floor in the center. The engineer who Rayn had met earlier sat with his back to the door. Will stood by the stove, sleeves rolled up as he ladled stew from a pot into bowls. A girl who looked to be eleven or twelve sat on the counter by the stove, swinging her bare feet. She had a light complexion, her cheek smudged with dirt, and silky-black hair that hung over her eyes. She stopped chewing when Solomand walked in and fixed her peculiar golden eyes on Rayn.
