Interitum

by M. K. Matsuda

  That makes him look up at her. “No one has ever accused me of being a coward.” His voice is level, curious.

  Sloane almost laughs. “Well, get used to it if you keep acting like this.” She gestures to the door. “Just get out. We have to go clean up the mess your father created.”

  Rhuso shoots Erim a bitter glare as he exits.

  Once the tension of the morning has worn off, Erim and Sloane sit down for an intentionally carefree breakfast. Hubble begs at Sloane’s feet, and Nim is curled up on Erim’s lap strategically close to the bacon. They don’t talk about what’s coming or where they might be tomorrow. They tell jokes and watch the tide roll in. Sloane explains Spiderman and Stockholm syndrome, and Erim gets stuck deconstructing the science of Spiderman’s powers.

  “There’s something I want to show you before we go,” Erim says as they finish their food.

  He takes her to a secluded part of the shore, where the beach disappears, and the cliffs cut right down into the water. Erim beckons Sloane onto a large stone that overlooks the waves. The sun lights up the water, making it sparkle as it smashes against the rock. This looks like Sloane’s kind of field trip.

  “Wait, you can swim, right?” Erim asks.

  “Oh, please.” She snorts. “I could swim circles around you without your little magical water boosters.”

  He shoots her a grin. “Consider them off.”

  Sloane launches herself off the rock and dives into the water. As the cold rushes past her, she revels in the water’s rawness on her skin. She bobs to the surface just as Erim cannonballs in, spraying her. They leave Hubble and an especially distraught Nim above on the rocks.

  “It’s a few meters down,” Erim says.

  They swim down together, where an underwater cave tunnels deep into the rock. Sloane propels herself forward, passing Erim effortlessly. Her movements are faster and more exact; she coasts through the water like an arrow with each powerful kick. The sunrise is so bright that even the darker part of the tunnel is illuminated turquoise. Up ahead, Sloane sees an opening in the rock ceiling. She turns back to make sure she hasn’t completely left him behind, and he motions for her to go on.

  She surfaces into a grotto. The only light within is the bright blue splotches that adorn the walls randomly, in varied sizes. Sloane hoists herself out of the water onto the powdery sand. She wrings out her hair, stepping a little closer to the lights. They’re soft little things tucked into every crevice of moist stone. The grotto gleams like the night sky.

  “Casper’s gift for my inauguration,” Erim says, stepping out of the pool.

  “Glow worms?” Sloane smiles.

  “Wait till you see the best part.” He grins, pointing up. There’s a rumbling sound overhead, a massive wave exploding into the space above. Erim almost has to shout to be heard over the noise. “You don’t remember this, but that night you told me what you miss most about being alive.” He tilts his head back and opens his arms up. The wave washes down through the rocks above, spewing down thousands of tiny drops from each nook and crevice, like—rain.

  It takes Sloane a second to understand what’s happening, and the water is still coming down in droves when she barrels into Erim, throwing her arms around him. He grabs her reflexively to regain shared balance and prevent both of them from crashing down. She flings her head back to show the water her face, laughing. They’re drenched and gasping with mirth and spinning from their collision. Clothes cling to bodies as they clasp each other, trapping warmth between them. The downpour slows to a drizzle, and they’re left with nothing between them. He lowers her feet down to the sand when she hadn’t even realized she left the ground.

  “Thank you.” She’s breathless, bracing against his chest. Erim nods slowly, bringing his eyes up to meet hers. For the first time, she notices the hint of color, exquisite and unnamed and only his. It’s like every color, all of them, swirling so fast they’re merged into one perfect pigment. Black is the color of fear, of emptiness, and death. But Erim’s eyes are the color of certainty, selflessness, and they are so very alive. Sloane wonders how she never realized that they’re not really black. They never have been.

  Erim’s jaw clenches. “In case today doesn’t turn out the way we want….” His dark eyes are inquisitive, his breathing deep and slow.

  The vulnerability of his gaze overwhelms Sloane. “Wait.” She raises her fingers to his lips, the contact making him pause. “If you say anything now, I….” She shakes her head. “I won’t be able to go out there and pretend to be brave.” His smile is quizzical like he can’t comprehend those last words.

  She stopped him before completely understanding why herself. Maybe it was the feeling that whatever he was going to say might keep her in this cave forever, and she can’t do that. Or maybe the promise of hearing his words will force her to survive, giving her the first glimmer of hope that they’ll make it to tomorrow. “Tell me after,” she whispers.

  “You mean a rain check?” He baits her.

  She rolls her eyes and shoves him gently. “Yes.” She chuckles and stretches up on her toes so their foreheads meet. “And I’m going to hold you to it.”

  The two sit on the cave floor with their legs dangling in the pool, under the glowworms and the rain. When only an hour is left until midday, they can feel each other’s reluctance to leave everything behind. But nothing happening today can be avoided, so they swim back through the tunnel.

  They each go to their own room to gather their weapons. A suitable length of chain had come back with the other weapons from Mac’s. Sloane thought they could use it to restrain Esht. She collects her blade and retrieves the chain from upstairs before noticing something abnormal in her bath. A dark metallic liquid swirls within the center. Sparkles twinkle within the darkness, like individual grains of sand spinning.

  Sloane retrieves a flower from the vase on the dining table downstairs and tentatively drops it into the center of the black mass. She pulls her hand away from the backsplash like it’s boiling water. The flower bobs up on its side, twirling a little with the current, completely unharmed. The next obvious step would be to test the water, but Sloane is hesitant at first. Then, she considers that whatever happens can’t be much worse than dying again, and there’s a good chance she’ll be doing that today.

  So Sloane extends one finger and gently dips it into the edge. An unseen force grasps her finger, and the dark thing wraps up her arm like vines climbing towards her neck. She squawks with panic, trying to claw it off, but it only spreads across her chest. It’s not painful but alarming to watch, so she forces herself to freeze and clamp her eyes shut.

  The substance stretches across her torso, solidifying into a sheet that molds to her shape. It fits around her waist securely, curves around her chest, wraps behind her back, and skirts down to her hips. When the movement stops, Sloane is fitted with a customized plate of black armor.

  When Sloane and Erim meet outside, he’s been suited with one as well; dark as night to match his hair. “The Midst,” he says, “it wants us to win.”

  QUADRAGINTA DUO

  Warriors from all different eras and homelands are gathered in front of Aquae’s cor. Weapons have been distributed, and every person who is to fight wears The Midst’s dark armor. Most have already said goodbye to loved ones, but one couple at the edge of the cluster is still entwined.

  Dmitri’s arms are wrapped tightly around Charlotte’s waist, just above where a greenpack falls on her hips. She is running a hand along the edge of his breastplate, no doubt hopeful that the armor will mean the difference. “You better come back to me,” she orders fiercely, twisting her mouth to avoid tears.

  Dmitri watches her lovingly like she’s the only light in an eternal darkness. “Yes, my love,” he murmurs, bending down to kiss her. She squeezes him tight and then releases him with a sigh. They part, and Erim claps Dmitri on the shoulder.

  “Will you watch Hubble for me?” Sloane asks Charlotte.

  “Of course.”
She pulls Sloane into a hug. “Be careful. Be smart.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep them safe, Char bear.” Everyone turns to Ben, who’s dressed in a camouflage jumpsuit, holding a pike twice her size.

  “Where’d you get that?” Erim asks.

  “Found it.” Ben shrugs.

  “Nope.” Erim slips it up out of her hands and tosses it to Dmitri. “No armor means no fighting.”

  Ben sputters. “This is discrimination!”

  “Oh absolutely. Take it up with HR.” Erim winks at Sloane.

  Sloane, Erim, and Dmitri make their way to the front of the crowd, where the other leaders wait. Bastian has his shaggy hair pulled back into his hat and mud streaked across his face: war paint. Somboon is fitted with two greenpacks of remedium. He’s joining the cause in his full capacity as a pacifist, going to heal, not fight. Ifede has her curls pinned up like a crown on her head, armed with her bow, a quiver, and a greenpack.

  Somboon steps before everyone. “Thank you for all for volunteering. My beliefs teach that if you struggle earnestly, you will triumph. If you persevere in your quest, you will find what you seek. And if you pursue your aim unswervingly, you will gain victory.” His brows draw together. “My friends, we have struggled, we have persevered, and today we pursue. The Midst will never forget what happens this day.” A few people nod.

  Sloane catches eyes with the woman from Harenarum, the soldier. They’re not looking for some big speech about hope; they know the stakes. “We don’t need to tell you why we’re here,” Sloane says, looking out over the steely faces. Mina’s last expression floats through her mind. “The souls we’ve lost have been your friends, your family.” Mumbles of agreement spread across the crowd. “We don’t need to tell you that our quest is honorable. We’re fighting for survival.” People clap, a few call out with enthusiasm. “Esht fights for nothing.” Her voice rises to a shout. “He is powerful, fast, and dangerous. But together, we are faster, stronger, and angrier!” Cheers explode, people thrust their weapons into the sky. Sloane plucks the first cor leaf and holds it up. “The Midst is with us!” She strikes her armor. The crowd’s roar is deafening, amplifying off the rock. Weapons pound the ground, shaking the earth. Monty shrieks, baring his sharp teeth and beating his thick chest. Riggs howls into the noise.

  Sloane is the first to arrive in Lapidis, with Erim a step behind her. The rest of the warriors follow. Sloane scans the men and women within the sanctum; they’re utterly silent, waiting for a command. Their posture is ready, each one sporting a unique fighting stance, weapons drawn. Sloane quiets the anxious ripple in her chest; she squeezes her sword handle to keep it from shaking. With one last breath and a nod at Erim, she pulls back the leaves.

  Walls of stone, rugged like shards of glass, stretch towards the sky. The gaps between form a maze, a deserted city of stone, silent and grim. The group creeps out a few paces with the healers positioned at the back. It remains quiet and still, even when they spread out to weave through the rock. Erim, Kazue, and Sloane lead a small troop down one path. Bastian, Ophelia, and Dmitri lead another crew. A few other Soul Keepers take the third group. They still feel like one unit, thanks to the rifts in the slabs.

  A hand signal from Ifede sends archers slinging their weapons over their shoulders and scaling the stone. Kazue shifts the rock to give Ifede a more gradual passage up, and she takes her place above everyone, commander of the peaks. She is of limited use down on the ground with her restricted mobility but will command the archers overhead. Padapaw joins his hominum up the rocks in one leap.

  A few other creaturae followed their hominum into battle: the wolf Riggs, Monty, a couple of bigger cats, and Veneno. Erim only brought Nim because there was no way to leave her; she would’ve clawed out the eyes of anyone who tried to restrain her.

  The grass underfoot helps them advance soundlessly. Sloane tries to keep the metal chain from clanking against her breastplate, wrapping it tighter over her shoulder. The anticipation is painfully raw as they creep through the silent city of rock. Something on the wall flares crimson light that catches Sloane’s eye. It’s a round, dark stone, the size of an apple. Red, heated cracks lace through it, like trails of lava. Something buried in Sloane’s instincts tells her it’s treacherous. There’s a sudden crunching sound as more cracks split open, and the red glow intensifies. “Get down!” Sloane shouts just before the world is engulfed in blazing heat.

  Peaceful darkness.

  Then Sloane’s head flips to the side. Pain blooms on her cheek. She shoots up, throwing her eyes open and hands out defensively. Her hips are pressed to the ground; someone’s on top of her. Her vision finally focuses, and the blur above materializes into Rhuso’s face. His eyes are tunnel-like, focused, and primal. The back of his hand hovers above her face, ready to hit her again. He lowers it now that she’s awoken and lifts off her.

  As soon as the weight disappears, she rolls away from him, right into the body of a soldier, whose glassy eyes stare through her. She shrieks and scrambles to her feet as he disintegrates into ash. A sudden panic shoots through Sloane, and then she is stumbling over each corpse, looking for one in particular. The thought of never seeing him again sends tremors up Sloane’s arms, and the ringing returns in her ears, drowning out everything else. She tries to steady her breathing. One by one, the bodies begin to dissolve, and when one huge man crumbles, Erim is revealed underneath.

  A relieved sob whooshes out of Sloane, and she falls to her knees next to him, gently wiping the ash from his face. His shoulder caught some shrapnel, but other than that, he looks unharmed. “Erim,” Sloane calls, patting his cheek. He wakes with a start and groans when it pulls his wound.

  “Present,” he manages. Sloane sits back and surveys their surroundings. Survivors all around are rising, but many of the forefront warriors were hit by Esht’s first offensive move. Sloane catches a glint of white in the carnage; Nim’s tiny form is sprawled out a little farther back. Sloane collects the fox in her arms and lays her on Erim’s chest. She guides his arm around his creatura. He looks down when he feels her still fur.

  “She’s fine,” Sloane assures him, “just knocked out.”

  She helps him sit up, and he surveys the land. “How are you okay?” he asks, astonished.

  Sloane looks back to where she was lying, where Rhuso is inspecting the blast site. His back is turned to them, entirely exposed. His shirt is shredded, the skin warped by fresh burns and spotted with exploded pieces of rock. Anyone else would be in excruciating pain, but he doesn’t even seem to realize he’s injured.

  “Rhuso must have thrown himself in front of me.” Sloane shakes her head. Ifede calls to them from above and points to Somboon’s group. Erim follows Sloane around the corner where the other unit was hit by more bombs.

  A circle of people shields someone on the ground from view. Sloane pushes her way through. Bastian is cradling Ophelia’s head in his lap. The blast punched a sizable hole right through the side of her neck. Her breath is ragged, and plasma trickles from her mouth. Her wound is overflowing with it, despite Somboon’s attempt to hold it in. When Ophelia sees Sloane, her eyes light up a little. Her hand twitches toward her, and Sloane bends down to take it. Ophelia’s other hand rests atop Veneno, who is coiled on her chest, watching.

  Bastian’s face confirms what Sloane already knows. There’s an odd sort of instinct that makes a person smile when holding a dying friend, maybe to keep the friend calm or hold back their own grief. “I’m sorry,” Sloane mumbles.

  “No,” Ophelia rasps. She seems tranquil, despite the involuntary spasms of her panicking body. “I go to my people.” Each word is a struggle, though her voice is level. Erim settles next to Sloane, brushing the stray hairs off Ophelia’s face.

  “Little Erim,” she says, looking up at him, “always running around my legs.” She sputters, choking on plasma.

  Ruusa takes Ophelia’s hand from Sloane as the Soul Keepers kneel around her. Sloane stands behind Erim. The Soul Keepers re
st their hands on Ophelia, haloing her body with their touch. Her face relaxes as her family encircles her. Veneno lays his triangular head down as if preparing for a long sleep.

  “We release you Onward, dear sister,” Erim whispers, beaming at her. “Entrusting your soul to those who have gone before….” His breath shakes.

  “May you awaken in the true peace….” Kazue continues.

  “And watch upon us….” Basanti squeezes her shoulder.

  “Guiding with your wisdom….” Ophelia fades away, her head slumps to the side.

  “Until the day we earn our place alongside you,” Nafisa finishes.

  Somboon slowly reaches forward to close her eyes. Ophelia and Veneno dissolve, their pieces fluttering to the ground. Sloane squeezes Erim’s shoulders as his hands empty. Basanti sobs softly, and Ruusa leans forward to hold her.

  Sloane lets the moment sit as the Soul Keepers collect themselves. She imagines that the traditional Soul Keeper release ceremony is a celebration full of joy. This one was tainted with grief. Ophelia was not released Onward; she was released to the unknown. Sloane helps Erim to his feet, and his eyes meet hers with a hollowness that she’s never seen. They’ve always been black, but never so… empty, like someone carved them right out.

  She takes a quick survey of the forces, diminished and shaken but steadfast. She narrows in on her rage. “Forward.” People salvage the weapons they can—now there are too many, so people double up—and push on. Somboon, Kostya, and the other combat medics are left with the wounded who can’t be moved. The fighters leave the death patch behind them, now moving as one group. The only reminder of the slaughter at their backs is the plasma on the walls and the piles of ash.

  The troop advances, past the vacated dormitories and empty common areas, until Ifede brings them to a halt. One of her scouts, an agile young woman, leaps between the peaks of stone above everyone. She moves like a tight-rope walker. Every move is centered from her core; even on her toes, she is perfectly balanced. Her dance among the rock tops is so graceful, one could almost forget they’re in a war zone. She reaches Ifede and whispers in her ear.