Anger trickles across his expression when no-one utters a sound. “I am called Esht.” He steps toward the crowd, cackling when they recoil. “Until recently, I have been a resident of Obscuri.” Sloane scans the crowd for Sisiro. He is gone. “As you can see,” Esht says with a sly smile and outstretched arms, “it did not suit me.” Erim’s on the move, wading swiftly through the crowd, closer to the river next to the clearing.
Somboon steps forward. “Peace, please! There is no need for such—”
“Do not interrupt me!” Esht screeches, making everyone flinch. He takes a deep breath and rattles his head back and forth as if to get the voices out.
A crest of water soars over the crowd, defying all natural form. The group parts a little to give Erim room to move. He guides the wave from his wide stance, brows drawn in concentration. His arms twist and bow with the charging water, bringing it down right on Esht’s head. Esht collapses to the ground, his legs buckling under him. The water explodes across the floor with a spectacular splash. Sounds of shock erupt as people are sprayed with cold. Some take advantage of the chaos to flee into the trees.
Across the clearing, Dmitri breaks from the group. Charlotte cries out and dodges after him, but Erim grabs her. Just as Esht regains his footing, Dmitri swings at him. Esht ducks swiftly, still disoriented enough to miss by a breath when he thrashes his sword at Dmitri. Dmitri dodges to land a kick as Charlotte watches breathlessly from Erim’s restraint. Esht grunts in frustration and slashes towards Dmitri with lightning speed. The dark blade slices down the side of his chest. Dmitri gasps in pain just before Esht delivers a kick to the face that grounds him. Horrified, Charlotte shrieks Dmitri’s name. She beats against Erim’s grip, but he is too strong for her. Esht raises his sword, about to deliver the final blow, when someone grabs his neck from behind.
Bastian wraps Esht in a chokehold that makes him stumble back in surprise. With one hand, Esht grabs Bastian’s arm and throws him forward, over his head like a rag doll. Bastian lands roughly but leaps back up rapidly. He blocks Esht’s fist to the left and brings his knee up into the man’s ribs. With an infuriated shriek, Esht slices at Bastian’s head, but he bends away nimbly, getting in a few more punches.
Dmitri is still on the ground, grasping his side. Plasma leaks between his fingers, and anguish contorts his face. Charlotte is screaming and squirming in Erim’s arms, and he absorbs each elbow, kick, and insult. Bastian’s luck runs out as one of his kicks misses its mark. Esht takes advantage and cracks him across the face with the flat of his sword. Bastian stumbles backward and falls to the floor unconscious, plasma spilling from the gash on his head. Panting, Esht looks at the fallen heroes, and his laugh rings out.
“What a welcome, indeed!” he bellows with a deranged grin. He steps over Bastian’s motionless form and heads straight for Dmitri, who is reaching for Charlotte. Esht leans down to grab a fistful of Dmitri’s hair. He drags him to the center of the dance floor, where he forces him to his knees. He brings his blade up to Dmitri’s neck, resting it just under his chin. Charlotte sobs inconsolably, begging for him to be spared. Dmitri holds his head up bravely, a true soldier, not making a sound. Plasma runs from his nose, and his eyes are on Charlotte; he is thinking only of her. “Will you shut her up?” Esht booms. Erim whispers something convincing in Charlotte’s ear, and she quiets, whimpering softly.
With a satisfied smile, Esht takes a deep breath of the new silence. He takes a few seconds to regain his imitation of composure. “I understand congratulations are in order.” His eyes graze the crowd. When no one answers, he grows irritated that no one’s keeping up. “I wish to greet my new Arc!” Sloane’s breath catches in her throat the instant his words hit her ears. The realization is nauseating. She glances over at Rhuso, who gives her a tight shake of his head, urging her not to obey. “Come out, or I end him!” Sloane tears her eyes from Rhuso and takes a few steps forward, apart from the crowd. Esht’s eyes lighten when he sees her; recognition, like they’re old friends.
“There she is,” he whispers, mesmerized. He tosses Dmitri aside like a used toy, staring at her with fierce curiosity. Dmitri crawls towards Charlotte as someone drags Bastian off the floor. Esht allows it, his eyes riveted on Sloane. Peripherally, she sees Erim release Charlotte. He’s already shoving past people. Sloane stands steady, bracing herself. There’s a rushing stillness as Esht strides forward, like the hum of tracks as a train barrels towards you. He stops with barely an inch between them. Sloane holds up a hand to stop Erim, but he doesn’t slow until Esht lifts his sword arm and grazes the point against her collarbone.
He looks over at Erim. “You keep going, and so will I.” Sloane winces as the cold tip erupts goosebumps all over her body. Erim stops dead in his tracks, fists clenched. The water freckling the floor quakes, each drop rising, joining into larger masses awaiting an order. Esht shoots him a sly smirk.
Rhuso takes a threatening step forward. “Esht, enough!” Esht scowls at him defiantly and puts pressure on his blade. Sloane inhales sharply as the spike pierces her skin. Pain blooms from her chest.
“Stop!” Erim roars. Rhuso’s stone face cracks as plasma dribbles down the front of Sloane’s dress.
“Esht,” Sloane says softly. He looks at her quizzically. As soon as his head turns, Erim begins to move. He is fast but silent. Sloane holds Esht’s gaze tight so he doesn’t notice. She needs to get him away from everyone. The weight of Adrian’s silver keychain in her hand gives her an idea; maybe she can conduct something bigger.
Erim is close now. She’ll have to do it before he reaches them. She searches her memory for a remote place, somewhere open. The wide field in the mountains she and her mom used to hike to, overlooking the city. That’s it. At the last second, a familiar hand wraps around her arm, but it’s too late to shake him off; they’re already through.
The three of them zap into the field. Esht’s sword is at Sloane’s heart, Erim’s arm around hers. It’s dark. Sloane had forgotten about that when picking the location. Esht’s blade arm glints in the dim light of the moon. Both men are startled by the change of scenery, but Esht is the only one who uses it to his advantage. He swings a kick right into Erim’s middle that sends him soaring back, his hand slipping from Sloane’s arm. Erim is back on his feet immediately but doesn’t approach them again, eyeing the blade on her sternum.
Sloane can see Esht’s frustration. “Now we can talk properly.” She nods. “Without all those distractions.” Esht’s eyes narrow like he knows better. Every hostage negotiation that Sloane has ever seen on TV rushes through her mind, and she does her best to follow the script. “What do you want?” Sloane levels her voice, trying to diffuse him. “Just tell me what you want, and we’ll make it happen. You don’t have to hurt anyone.” This is what he wants to hear, someone submitting instead of challenging him.
“Whatever I want?” he asks, stepping closer with a wicked grin. Before Sloane can blink, he swivels to her back and loops his blade arm around her throat. Her breath stutters as the edge grazes the soft part under her jaw. They’re both facing Erim now, who is in furious agony. Esht leans in and brings his lips to her ear. “Who killed you?” he whispers, barely audible.
“What?” Sloane breathes.
“Who killed you?” Esht screams, ringing Sloane’s ears.
“I—I don’t know, some reckless driver.”
Esht snarls at her response, yanking her closer. “Fresh as a plum.” His breath is hot and thick on Sloane’s cheek, and she fights not to wince. “Hard up here.” He pounds a thick finger into her head twice like a railroad spike. “No use to me that way.” He shakes his head. “No use at all.”
“I don’t understand.” She grunts.
He grabs her hair. She gasps as her head is yanked over. “Can’t crack this one open,” he snarls, freckling her face. “Needs time to ripen, get good and squishy.”
“Leave her alone!” Erim yells.
Esht releases Sloane completely, taking a few steps toward
s Erim. “Is that a challenge?”
“No, no, it wasn’t.” Sloane grabs the edge of Esht’s blade to pull his attention back. “He’s just overprotective. Arcs are hard to come by.”
Esht returns the tip of his weapon back to her chest. “Just an Arc, hm? Is that what you told him?” Sloane’s limbs go cold. This is what Rhuso warned her about. “Yes.” Esht smiles slyly, answering her unspoken question. “I know your little secret.” He turns to Erim, whose mouth hangs open a little in shock. “She did not tell you.” He laughs. “Be wary, man. Women are treacherous as eels.” He moves in and grabs Sloane’s face, squeezing her jaw so hard it might snap in half. “Such a special girl.” He muses over her face. “Special girl who will help me bring about the old world, the true order.”
“No,” Sloane says between his fingers.
“Yes, you will!” Esht bellows, making Sloane flinch and Erim take a step forward. Sloane closes her eyes, anticipating the cool slit from the blade’s edge. Esht chuckles a little as he recovers himself. “Or I will dissipate every single soul in The Midst, and no one can stop me.”
“I have a feeling that’s what you’re aiming for either way, so why not start now?” Sloane dares him, the contempt souring her voice.
“Dissipate you?” Mock horror overcomes his expression. “No, no, no. I don’t want that.” He brings his face right up to hers, so she can’t avoid the stare of his blood eyes. “You are a pawn in a game you don’t even know exists.” He smells like rot. “I don’t want you dissipated. That would be no fun at all.” He snags Sloane around the neck again. Her feet stumble as he hauls her back to the tree line, where the gloom of the forest obscures him.
“You don’t need to hurt anyone else,” Sloane says.
“My dear,” Esht rests the tip of his blade on her spine, “That’s all I was created for.” The sword is lowered from her back, and Esht slinks into the shadows.
NOVENDECIM
Before Esht is even out of sight, Erim feels the air rush past him. His legs are lighting beneath him, but still not fast enough; he can count too many breaths before he gets to Sloane. Her own speed propels them into each other roughly as she flings her arms around him. His hands race across her back, feeling for any wound, but there’s only the silky slip of her dress. She is whole, safe in his arms. His relieved breath frays the loose russet hairs at the nape of her neck.
Next time Erim’s eyes open, they’re back in The Midst. He can feel the tension of the water reverberating in his veins again.
There’s only a sliver of yellow light blaring in from the party clearing. The rest of the light is shut out by the trees. Suddenly, Erim feels a seize in Sloane as she pulls back from him, leaving a black trail down his chest. He doesn’t need much light to see the whites of her eyes widen with strain. Her breath is ragged, uneven, and she steps away on trembling legs. He reaches out. “Sloane?”
She doubles over, stabilizing her angle on a nearby tree. She coughs and wheezes, but nothing clears her airway. Erim steps up to her, grabbing her shoulder. She waves him off as a sob slips between her fingers. Erim’s head pounds. He reaches for her again, but she steps back, slamming a balled fist into the wound on her chest. She gasps as the blow brings her to her knees.
Anger heats Erim’s hands. He wouldn’t have let her do it if he had anticipated it. But it worked; Sloane’s airway clears. Her breathing begins to regulate itself correctly like the pain jolted her body into a reset. She holds her head and closes her eyes, waiting for the residual discomfort to pass. Erim crouches next to her as the panic attack fades. A brush of fur slinks around Erim’s ankle; he reaches down to reassure Nim. She sniffs at his face gingerly.
Sloane looks up silently once she’s recovered. “Impressive, the lengths you’ll go to to get out of a dance with me,” Erim says, almost in a whisper. Sloane chuckles hoarsely and holds out her hand for his help. He suspects it’s only to pacify his desire to be useful, but he’s glad for it. He pulls her to her feet just as his eyes catch Somboon jogging towards them.
Erim takes Sloane’s wrist and pulls it across his shoulder. There’s a hiss through her teeth as it stretches her chest wound awkwardly. His height almost pulls her off the ground. He curls a sturdy arm around her waist to support her ribs. “Just go with it,” he mumbles as Somboon approaches. Erim’s never seen such an expression on Somboon before. His forehead isn’t smooth like always but ridged with concern.
“Thank Midst, you’re both safe,” he says. Erim turns Sloane away from him and the clearing. “Rhuso’s collected volunteers for a search party.”
Erim tries not to laugh at that, the notion that they’d find him. “I’m taking her to my quarters to tend to her wound.”
“Sisiro will want to speak with you both.”
Reporting to Sisiro would be protocol, a Soul Keeper’s first duty in a situation like this. But not for Erim. “After I get her cleaned up. Thanks, Som.” He nods.
Erim cuts through the thicket of trees, avoiding common paths on the way to his quarters. Someone else could bandage Sloane up, Somboon knows that, but he didn’t stop them. With every turn, Erim fears that someone will appear and interfere, but no one does.
Once in Erim’s room, he lowers Sloane onto the couch. She sits delicately, her eyes blank. Then she notices the black stain trailing down the front of her dress. “Oh, Charlotte’s going to be pissed,” she mutters.
“Lucky for you, she’s angrier at me.” Erim dips into the small tin watering can on his table, where he keeps the few remedium leaves he has. He’s never needed a large stash before, but he has a feeling he will now. “If she attacks, she’s coming for me first, and you’ll have time to run.”
Sloane wrinkles her nose. “I’m not a fast runner.”
“Well then, you are doomed.” Erim collects two leaves and his jar of paste. He perches himself on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. His sight is drawn to the black pattern on the dress. There’s a broader spatter pattern that used to be Mina and a thick black trail from Sloane’s chest wound. “Can I see?” He motions.
“I want to get out of this,” Sloane groans, looking down at herself. She curls her fingers into the frayed sheer material. It tears open easily like paper, revealing the circular puncture a few inches below her collarbones. Erim scoops a finger into the chilly paste of the jar. He waits for a confirmational nod from Sloane before he reaches forward.
“Listen, I don’t know how much time we have.” He gently grazes the aggravated skin with the remedium paste. She tenses at the feeling; he forgot to warn her that it might be cold. “They’re going to call a convocation and ask what happened out there.”
“I’d like to know too.” Sloane’s words sound vacant.
“You conducted all three of us to Earth,” Erim says. “That’s a very unique skill.”
Sloane thinks for a moment, absorbing the information. “Rhuso said it was dangerous.”
“Wait, you told Rhuso about your abilities?” Erim’s hands drop. Rhuso has never been a thought in Erim’s mind. They’ve only interacted in a few formal capacities. He’s always been reserved and standoffish. Erim can’t recall a time he got more than an unimpressed grunt from the man. “Sloane, you can’t do that!”
“I didn’t.” She frowns. “He was in my room. He found me. I don’t know how.”
Alarm surges through Erim’s veins. “He broke into your room?”
“Well, that implies doors that actually lock.”
“This is serious, Sloane.” She amends her expression to be more solemn, which has the opposite of a calming effect on Erim. “I’ve seen it before, with a friend of mine who was like you. One day he just vanished; gone like he never existed.” He spreads a remedium leaf on the flat of his palm, his voice lowering. “Something or someone bad happened to him because of his powers, and it’s not going to happen to you.” He swears it to himself. “We’ll pin the conduction on Esht. They don’t know him, don’t know his power. But there needs to be a story for
what happened after, something that the convocation will believe.” She doesn’t answer, her lips pressed together thinly. Erim huffs at her quiet stare. “Have you no regard for your own safety?” He already knows the answer, of course. She practically dared Esht to end her right there in that field.
“No, I—”
“Sloane, what happened to Mina has never happened before, never.” His voice rises, widening her eyes. “It shouldn’t be possible.” Erim pastes another leaf on her chest. His movements are coarser than he means. “She didn’t go Onward, she’s just….”
“… gone,” Sloane croaks, watching him from narrow-set eyes. “We don’t know what happened to her or where she went, if she went anywhere at all.”
“Exactly!” Erim is shaking in anticipation of her understanding. She takes his hand, lifting his fingers from her chest. His breath holds, finally looking up at her.
“Yeah,” she whispers, pulling him into her glassy mismatched eyes. “That’s just a part of being human.” There’s a realization in the angle of her brow that swells him with unease. Perhaps she is finally seeing him for the fraud he truly is.
He looks down at her slender, cool fingers stilling his hands. “You can’t tell anyone, trust anyone, okay?” He waits for her to acknowledge him. Sloane nods finally, in defeated agreement. Erim gently twists his wrist, clasping her hand beneath his against the leaves on her chest. “Hold this.”
A whistle echoes off the walls, and Ben slides into the room. Relief trickles into Erim at the thought of her diversion. “Well, if it isn’t the stars of the horror show,” Ben’s changed into her baggy cargo pants and tank top. Erim is surprised she stayed in the dress as long as she did. He bet her she couldn’t stay in it for the whole inauguration, and after what happened, they’ll never know.
Ben’s eyes roll over to Sloane. “Congrats on breaking the record for the most exciting inauguration. You bumped E-boy here right out of first place.” Erim shoots her a disapproving look. “What?” Ben crosses her arms. She scans Sloane up and down, biting her lower lip. The look is an odd combination of mischievous gnome and ravenous wolf, one of her most efficient ways of putting someone on edge. “At least it’s an improvement on the dress.” Ben nods approvingly.
Interitum Page 18
