by Stu Jones
I lower my sister to the ground and meet the Gracile’s eyes. “I will help you. My name is Faruq, and I am a man of my word.”
“I’m Oksana,” she says. “There isn’t much time, Faruq. Help me with the satchel.”
Standing, I lift the bag and move with her to the far wall, the glass eggs glistening in the pale light. She pulls the primary brick and I lift the second, unravelling the wires as I move away. I watch her peel the glue pad’s cover and slap the brick against the glass. I move to follow suit, stopping when my eyes focus on the tiny form inside the glass globe before me. Though young, it is undoubtedly human. My heart skips a beat.
Is this murder? Is this all that is left of the Graciles? Will I be dammed for committing such genocide? I swallow, hesitation paralyzing me.
Mila cries out, her voice echoing down the empty corridor. She’s pleading. It’s a sound that turns my blood to ice. Stay alive, Mila.
I exhale and slap the charge against the glass. It must be done.
“Good. Remain focused, Faruq,” Oksana says. “Now affix the next. We’ll not make it out of here if we delay.”
I do this for you, Husniya. It’s all for you.
Chapter Forty-six
VEDMAK
“What is this supposed to be?” I say, watching her as she stands poised in the strange semi-crouched position, waiting. She lunges to the side, stripping the weight from my front leg. I stumble, my footing unstable as she strikes me in the gut with two open palms, then rises, hovering in the air. The blur of her twisting body preceeds a spinning kick that whips across this face like a twirled lariat. I fall back, rolling to my knees, where my hand moves to the radiating soreness of this jaw.
“Tricky move.”
“It’s called the sparrow hawk,” the little rodent says, baring her teeth at me. “Come have some more.”
Bouncing and skipping, she throws strike after strike designed to injure but never deals a fatal blow. First a hooking punch glancing the jaw. Then a kick that feigns for the groin as she switches feet and spins, catching me square in the stomach. Like some little irritating bird, she pecks. “Stand and fight. Are you so afraid to engage me in real combat?”
She comes again and I aim to smash her with the hammer, but it sails in an arc over her head as she drops low and throws an open hand against the knee, a spike of pain firing into my spine as my balance falters. Dammit all to hell.
The time-dilation protocol installed into this mask has failed. I’m too slow with this heavy garb. Even this damn Red Mist fails me. I can feel the Gracile pushing through—forcing his way to the surface. He pulls on these muscles, clawing at the inside of this skull for a foothold.
I suck in another deep lungful of the nebulized stim, but it seems to offer no advantage. Damn the Alchemist. A fleeting glimpse at total control only for it to wear thin too soon. Should have known better than to trust that wasted hag. Another roundhouse kick skims too close and I near tumble over Merodach’s lifeless corpse. Everything—everyone—fails me. I am surrounded by constant failure.
You are the failure, a voice whispers.
Demitri. No.
Frustrated, I tear the mask free and cast it aside. Beads of salty sweat pour into these eyes, blurring my vision. The Red Mist hisses freely from the dangling nozzle. “Sarding piece of dog meat.” I grab the hose and yank it away from the tank on my back, shrugging off the heavy cylinder. It clangs to the floor.
“Come at me, whore,” I scream.
She doesn’t flinch. There’s an unnerving serenity in her movements. She floats in and out, the punches and kicks landing precisely in the solar plexus or the inside of a thigh, or against the chin.
“Worthless insect. Be still!”
She pauses, her chest heaving. “Demitri, if you’re in there give me a sign, please.”
“He’s not coming back, you stupid bitch. He’s de—”
Every fiber of this engine freezes. I’m seized, unable to bend the flesh to my will. And then, these lips move on their own.
“Mila, I’m here.”
No!
“Demitri!” Mila cries back. “I knew you were still with me. Fight him. You have to fight!”
“I’m trying. You have to kill us. Kill us befoggg—”
The jaw we both struggle to control locks, the tongue rolling in this throat as I push his consciousness back. “Not this time, boy.” I reclaim the body, tearing it from his ethereal grasp and stomp toward the Robust bitch. Her weakness is the soul that resides in here with me. Showing his presence has only stupefied her.
I lean back to deliver a devastating pressing kick to her scrawny chest, but in that moment the little suka is gone. Instead, the pallid and tortured face of Ida stares back, the bullet hole in her forehead once again oozing blood.
“No. This is you Demitri. I will dig you out of this skull if it’s the last thing I do.”
Do it Vedmak. Dig me out. Kill us both.
I slap at this Gracile face, trying to block out the image of my beloved.
Run, Mila. Why aren’t you running?
I howl with a lust for death and draw all of the strength I possess to turn this earthly vehicle against her, focusing on what Demitri noticed. The whelp clasps a small syringe. “What is it you have there, child? Show it to me.”
“Why don’t you come find out,” she wheezes.
“A stim won’t help you, stupid kozel. Go ahead. Stick yourself. Show me the best of the creature in which your Yeos has put so much faith.”
But she doesn’t inject herself. Instead, she rushes for me.
It’s not meant for her.
I ignore my Gracile demon to perfectly time the backfist strike. Hardened knuckles catch her across the jaw. Her tiny Robust body crashes into the cold floor and her precious stim clatters about until coming to rest a hair’s breadth from the emerald green dome of energy. With fevered determination, she crawls on her belly toward the syringe, bony fingers outstretched, the skin blistering as the energy wall crisps her flesh.
There’s the click of an old hand gun hammer cocking. The Kahangan. He’s got me. I spin and charge him. As he pulls the trigger, the deafening crack of the weapon is drowned out by a resounding boom that shakes the foundations of the lillipad.
What the hell was that? An explosion?
I turn back to the Kahangan. A burning gouge is seared into this Gracile cheek where the bullet grazed. “You missed,” I hiss. With the room still shaking, I raise the great hammer to strike the death blow.
But it will not fall.
I told you, I’m going to stop you.
Si, Nunca ganarás, another voice says.
What? What new foe stalks me?
Husniya’s guardian haunts you too. You inadvertently let her in when you connected with the girl. You’re finished, Vedmak.
Si, vuelve al Infierno, demonio.
“Arghh!” I scream, frozen in mid swing, unable to move as I wish.
The ground beneath shakes with one quake after another. The room starts to come apart, the heat of the energy dome licking at exposed skin, leaving behind the unmistakable stinking odor of charred hair.
This lillipad is coming down, and we’re going to die in it together.
Juntos, Margarida says.
As I stand there, arms raised high, the ever-approaching dome of fire crackles and pops, then fizzes and seems to choke as if starved of its source of power. No, that’s not possible. The green light increases in intensity until it becomes a blinding white. Suddenly, it collapses, imploding on itself with a high-pitched sound that scrapes the inner ear. Bitter cold Siberian air is sucked into the void left behind, whipping debris and mutilated bodies with it. And then, nothing.
Snowflakes and dust motes dance in the air.
They did it!
“The embryos. My legacy!”
Rage fills whatever fragment of a soul is left in here. Power surges to the muscles of the stolen engine and I’m free as the whore comes again, fearless determination in her dark ey
es. I parry away strike after furious strike, my own speed matched play-for-play by this insect. She dances and spins, edging ever closer into my circle of death.
I’ve got you now.
Mila. Don’t, please, I’m not worth it.
“Silence your wailing. She dies,” I reply aloud.
“You first, Vedmak,” Mila says, and steps full into me.
Foolish woman. She’s left herself wide open, an undeserved look of victory plastered across her wretched face. The moment slows to a crawl, allowing me to savor the sweetness of my victory. The blood-soaked hammer catches her across the side of the head. Her skull cracks and her eyes roll back, her feet lifting from the floor as she parts from me.
There’s a tug in the stomach of my Gracile form. I look down to see her hand gripped tightly around a syringe, the needle of which now slides from this stolen flesh. What is this?
She crashes into the floor and grows still. The empty syringe tilts from her limp hand and clatters free.
“Mila, no!” screams the Baqirian as he stumbles back into the room, the flaccid body of his sibling in his arms, the pretentious Oksana at his heels.
The Musul’s bawl melds with the wild screaming of the Gracile inside this skull. Yet, something else is wrong. My very soul feels as if it is untethered, flapping in the cosmic wind, no longer anchored to this world. “What did that little bitch do to me?”
Demitri hasn’t stopped bawling.
“No, this can’t be. I am Death. I cannot be undone.”
My Gracile demon’s hatred burns me away like the flash of tinder. His consciousness, hot and bright as the sun, swells inside until I can only see an arresting light. His soul consumes this corporeal shell and forces me back into the void. I flail in the dark, twisting, grabbing, but touching nothing. The emptiness is absolute. There’s a roaring blast of absolute pain the likes of which I’ve never experienced before. I fall, hurtling back to my prison. Back to Hell—and this time, there is not even a thread of the living world on which to hold.
Chapter Forty-seven
DEMITRI
“Mila! Oh, Mila, no.”
I crash to my knees at her side, my fingers trembling and outstretched for her face, but I can’t bring myself to touch her. What have I done? This can’t be. It isn’t supposed to be how it ends. Mila, get up, move, anything, please. You can’t die. It should have been me.
She lies there, unmoving, sprawled awkwardly. Blood runs freely from her nose and mouth, her skull indented from the devastating blow Vedmak bestowed. My insides feel liquified, my heart a heavy stone that threatens to tear its way through my body and slap against the cold hard floor.
Vedmak, you bastard. Where are you? Vedmak!
He doesn’t answer.
“Vedmak!” I scream, but my voice is lost to the rumbling concussions shaking the lillipad.
Metal squeals and electrical wires fizz and spark as the structure comes apart. In a fit of anger, I tear at the leather straps holding the killing device strapped to my arm. They break, the hateful thing knocking to the ground.
I grab Mila by the old leather jacket she’s always wearing. “You stupid Robust, you did that on purpose. You knew what would happen. You did it ... to save—” Tears cut a path through the grime on my cheeks and I choke on my words. I bury my head in her chest and cry harder than I’ve ever cried in my miserable life. My shoulders shake, the sobs uncontrollable, the tears soaking her shirt to the skin.
Can’t breathe. Can’t make it stop. My heart burns with a thousand things I need to say but will never get the chance to. “Mila ... Mila, no.”
She stirs under me, eyes fluttering.
“Mila?”
“D-Demitri, is it you?” she croaks.
My lungs falter and for a moment I have no breath to speak. “Yes, Mila it’s me, I’m here.”
Her face is ghostly white, her head lolling. “I can see Him now. He’s waiting for me.”
“What? Who?” I ask, stroking the hair from her face.
“The Lightbringer. He’s—” She slips into unconsciousness again.
Another quake rumbles through the lillipad and chunks of the ceiling fall away, exploding into clouds of dust all around. Faruq approaches, a terrible slack expression on his face. In his arms he cradles his sister.
“Stay with me, Mila, c’mon.” I sniff hard and remove the damn cloak Vedmak had me wear and lay it across her. My arms slip under her head and knees and I brace to lift.
“Demitri?” Oksana’s voice reaches out. My tear-filled eyes take in her beautiful face. “Is it you?”
I can only gasp, my body trembling. “What have I done?”
A moment passes and a hand touches my shoulder. “It worked,” she whispers. “I can’t believe it worked.”
“I couldn’t stop him before he ...” I mumble.
Oksana regards the headless form of the Creed, who looks so much like my brother Nikolaj, with a sad pursing of trembling lips. She turns back to Mila and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “She’s gone. We have to go, Demitri. This place is coming down.”
Mila sputters back to consciousness, blood oozing from her nose and ears.
I recoil and brace to take her weight. “No, I won’t let her die here alone.”
Mila’s gaze rests firmly centered with mine. “I’m not alone, Demitri,” she whispers, her words slurred. “Never was.” Her tongue moves to wet her lips, “You saved us all. You ... didn't know that, did you?”
“You’re concussed, Mila. It’s bad. You need help.”
Slowly, Faruq kneels beside us, lowering Husniya to the ground.
“No, Demitri.” Her cold fingertips rise to touch my face. “I got to see my friend one last time. I got to make a difference.” She swallows, her stare growing distant.
Faruq reaches out and grasps her fingers. “Mila?”
“Tell Faruq,” she mumbles, her eyes far away.
“Yes, Mila, I’m here,” Faruq says, tears running down his face. “I’m here.”
“Tell Faruq I loved ...” Mila’s body relaxes with a sigh, her pupils dilating as a whispered breath caresses my cheek.
Faruq’s head drops, his shoulders shaking.
“Mila?” My scream fills the room, long and loud, becoming hoarse until only a barely audible hiss escapes my throat. I clutch her as close to me as I can. Lungs burning and empty, I can’t even cry.
My gaze drifts from Faruq to Oksana, and to the battered monk and the broken Kahangan who have gathered around us in silent disbelief. Each one of them ignores their own injuries and the devastation all around, as if dying here with her were the only just thing to do.
“Demitri,” Oksana says as softly as she can, “Mila is right, you saved us all. I need you now, to help me. I’ll explain, I promise. Right now, you have to come. Don’t let her death be in vain.”
No one says anything.
“Up. Everybody up, c’mon.” Oksana stands and tugs at me and Faruq. The ceiling rumbles long and low.
Pressing Mila to my chest, I rise. My eyes burn with tears of hatred for Vedmak and guilt at my own impotence. “I’m not leaving her behind. If I die carrying her out, so be it.”
Faruq climbs to his feet, holding Husniya. Ghofaun shoulders a broken but mobile Mos. I’m sure they wish me in her place. For now, the vengeance in their eyes is replaced only with despair. Both men dip their brow. Oksana simply motions us forward and leads the way out of the crumbling lillipad.
I follow her out, Faruq, Ghofaun, and Mos at my heels. We stumble through the smoke and debris and out into the hostile Siberian cold. The battlefield before us is a wasteland of bodies and blood. Few are left standing and fewer have any fight left in them. They wander around, lost, probing the now cold bodies of friends and brothers in arms. At our approach, Baqirian, Kahangan, Zopatian, resistance fighter, all become still and silent, fixated on Mila’s lifeless body hanging in my arms.
A small group of Rippers, still furious with rage and led by a large Robust
adorned with a necklace of skulls, approach. There’s a roar and I flinch. It’s the tiger. Anastasia is atop the beast, a notched arrow drawn. Together, they form a formidible shield against those who would do us harm. The Rippers stall, fear and doubt upon their blood-stained faces.
The tiger roars again.
The chieftain glares at Mila’s broken form long and hard but finally turns and, with a wave of his arm, his Rippers disband, dissappearing with him through the broken wall of ice. I am sure it will not be the last we see of him.
Anastasia lowers the pulled bowstring and takes note of Mila’s limp form hanging in my arms. She stares deep into me. “Demitri?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
She closes her eyes and exhales, her cheeks wet with tears.
A screech of twisting metal echoes from behind us and the broken lillipad finally collapses in on itself, sending a rush of ice and snow against our backs. We don’t even acknowledge it. Instead, we trudge out from the shadows of this hell and onward to, well, who knows where. Forward, I suppose. The only way for us now is forward.
Epilogue
DEMITRI
I should say something, but I can’t.
A bitter wind bites at my cheeks and stabs at my eyes. The icy blast only serves to remind me that I’m alive and she’s not. The hollow space inside, once filled by Vedmak, feels deeper than ever. And without my friend, I fear it is a wound that will never heal.
The faces of friends who knew—no, loved—her longer and better than I, are withered and cold. They flick the occasional glance at me, the bringer of so much death. What right do I have to be here, to send her on to wherever she believed she would go after this life? She’s dead because of me. Her life was given to save me. I gaze at the headstone, a meager boulder, bearing her name and carved with an inscription. Perhaps they entertain me simply in fear of Anastasia’s tiger, sat at my side now. I turn to the Soufreit, searching her eyes for that look—the one that told me I’m a good person. Anastasia rests a hand on my lower back in a comforting gesture and gives me a nod. I offer a weak smile, but it quickly fades.
