“He waits up ahead,” Ifede calls down. “Tali says the path looks clear of explosives.”
“What is he doing?” Sloane asks.
“Waiting,” Tali replies.
Sloane leads the group forward to a large clearing, perhaps the dining area when the terrarum was alive. Esht lounges on a low rock, like a lion, with his maimed arms outstretched and his legs dangling off the edge. He looks different from when Sloane last saw him. His left arm now mirrors the other, black and sharpened to a point. He’s twice as deadly.
Esht is elated when he sees her. “Sloane!” He throws his arms up like a small child to welcome her. “I’m so glad you’ve returned!” He slides off his seat and lands on all fours, using his arms as crutches. His movement is bestial, disturbingly alien. A gray chalky substance is smeared on his face, soul ash as war paint. His white hair flies untamed, and his pupils are pinpricks in cardinal eyes. Altogether, he’s a demented nightmare; there isn’t an ounce of human left. Sloane knows they are past the point of bargaining or even surrender.
He sours a little when he notices everyone behind Sloane, like he’s insulted. “Did you enjoy my welcome gift?” No one answers, studying his new look. “Every good party needs fireworks.” He chuckles.
With a zinging sound, an arrow embeds itself into Esht’s chest. Everyone turns back to Ifede and her freshly fired weapon. “I’m past tired of your nonsense,” she yells down, scolding him like a child.
Esht looks nothing but impressed by her nerve as he slices the protruding piece off, leaving the arrowhead within his flesh. “Fine.” He sneers. “This has grown tiresome anyhow.”
A black mass flares up behind him and swarms forward. Sloane turns away from the toxic wave as it rolls over her and the fighters. She shields her nose and mouth but recognizes the scorch in her lungs as brimstone. Sight of everything disappears, but sound remains; everyone is spewing and choking. Erim vanishes in the haze, but he calls out for her, gagging on the poison.
Sloane forces her burning eyes open as the noises morph to screams and clangs of metal on metal. She collides with a familiar shape in the dark; Erim grabs her, and they huddle together against the gas. The screams quiet for a moment, replaced by the sound of rushing air. Erim’s eyes widen, and he shoves Sloane away as Esht lands slashing, flinging carnage back. Erim’s blade meets his with a ring.
Sloane sees an open spot when Esht raises his arm and goes in low, stabbing his ribs. When he swats at her, someone else has already clambered onto his back, wrapping their legs around his neck. Riggs sinks his teeth into Esht’s arm, but the man just cuts him off. Erim swipes at Esht’s head with the scythe, but it only catches a little of his hair as he ducks. He boots Erim back just as Monty swings a gorilla fist right into his head. A man grabs Esht’s arm from behind, trying to restrain him, but Esht is exponentially stronger. He shoves the man off and, before anyone can intervene, slashes his throat, flashing Sloane a grin. The man’s ash flutters down slowly; he was gone before he hit the ground.
Blinded with rage, Sloane vaults herself towards Esht. It’s a foolish move, but in the moment, she doesn’t really care. Before she even lands, he swats her out of the air like a bug. Her body reacts defensively mid-air, crossing her arms over her chest. The blade slices across her forearms, and she is slung backward, cracking her back over Esht’s stone throne. She rolls across the rock, falling in the crevice behind it. The smoke fades around Esht as his swings blow through the air.
Erim appears behind Esht, aims his scythe correctly, and brings it down right into his back, almost to the handle. Esht yowls and hurls everyone off of him. He whirls on Erim, with the scythe still protruding from his back; the handle knocks out a few fighters on the spin. Dmitri veers in, like sliding into home plate, pushing Esht’s feet out from under him. Dmitri helps Erim to his feet and dives into the swarm of people on Esht, whose massive figure is mobbed by people. Esht plants his feet, sticks both arms out, and twirls upward, butchering everyone in his radius. Dmitri’s leg is severed just below the knee, and he is grounded, writhing in anguish.
Rhuso leaps in now when there are no other fighters in the way. Rhuso slips in a quick stab at Esht, which he swats away. Erim grips his scythe and rips it out of Esht’s back. He slides the blade under Esht’s neck and pulls back, attempting decapitation. But Esht swings his shoulders forward, throwing Erim to the ground in front of him. He jabs his sword right at his heart, but Rhuso’s blade pushes Esht’s aim to the left, so the sword only sinks into Erim’s shoulder. Rhuso shoves Esht back, so another wave of fighters can descend upon him. Erim screams as Esht’s blade is withdrawn from his shoulder, flesh and bone rearranged.
Sloane’s ears throb at the awful sound, and she scrambles to her feet to get to him. But she doesn’t get far before being grounded again, tripping over Kazue, who is unconscious with a slice across his head. He’s lucky he’s not ash.
A thick heat flares up next to Sloane, like roasting her flayed arms on an open fire. The heat is emanating from a small pile of explosives. Esht must have been planning to use them later; maybe he still intends to. He’s beginning to overpower the forces. Sloane looks over at Kazue, and a hint of an idea whispers through her mind.
She looks up to Ifede and the other archers when her eye catches on an extraordinarily tall peak. Esht snarls; he seems to be looking for where Sloane landed but can’t focus while thrashing people off of him. Sloane approximates a trajectory and reaches for a bomb, yanking her hand back when it scorches her palm. She curses as a large red welt begins to grow, and she wracks her brain for another way to get it up that rock.
People gurgling on their plasma, and the clang of weapons stings her ears. She yanks the chain over her head and fumbles for the end, wrapping it around the explosive just enough to hold. She hears Erim scream again, her heart freezing at the sound. A rogue arrow flies next to her head, slicing the tip of her ear. She yelps at the close call but forces herself to move forward, get it done.
She races to the base of the stone, glancing up towards the towering summit. She backs up a little, swinging the chain to build momentum for the bomb. Monty roars behind her, plowing another fist into Esht that makes him stumble back only a little. Sloane will only have one shot at this. She lessens her grip at just the right moment, releasing the chain and letting the small sphere soar up through the air. It slams against the rock just below the peak and explodes, sending small chunks of stone down. A crack fans out along the cliff face, and Sloane runs as the top sways precariously.
She races straight into the thick of the fighting, screaming at everyone to run. She draws her sword, separates it, and sinks one blade into Esht’s shoulder as she passes. It’s not meant to be a severe blow, but one just aggravating enough to occupy him so her people can flee. Everyone obeys the flight orders. Erim hoists Dmitri onto his back, despite his limp arm, and sprints for the safety of the standing stones.
The slab of rock begins to topple down. Monty thunders next to Sloane as they run. At first, Esht thinks they’re running from him, and he howls triumphantly. By the time he sees the colossal hulk of stone falling towards him, it’s too late. What Sloane had not anticipated was the second explosion, created by the impact of the rock falling onto the small pile of bombs. The blast blows through her ears and lifts her off her feet as she runs, sprawling her out onto the ground. Everyone is sprayed with chunks of rubble.
When the ground has stilled, a cloud of fine earth mingles with the black gas, blurring everything. A peace settles; there’s only the sound of people wheezing on the brimstone-saturated air.
Sloane moves toward the fallen rock. Suddenly Esht materializes in front of her, alive and frenzied as ever. His blade stops three inches from her face, and he grunts, straining to close the distance. Something is preventing him from moving. His arm falls, and he wails with frustration. She waves away the dust between them. His right arm is completely trapped under the fallen rock from the elbow down. The rest of his body flails and convulse
s.
Esht screeches with agony; not in pain but driven mad by his inability to purge his fury. He snorts and thrashes and swears at his onlookers, calling them all sorts of inferior vermin. Every time he pulls, people wince like it might be the time he frees himself and comes at them again. But he never does; his arm is stuck good and tight.
Once everyone sees that he’s finally restrained, something spreads over the remaining souls. No one is in a position to relax, but maybe they can finally take a breath. It doesn’t feel like the victory Sloane thought it would. No one is cheering or applauding. They all just watch this deranged man bash himself against the stone and dare to wonder if it’s really over.
“Get the wounded back to Aquae,” Sloane instructs, her voice cracking. Slowly, everyone helps one another to their feet, picks up the wounded. The archers come down from their perches. Casper tends to all the injured creaturae. Sobs fill the thick air as people find their comrades dead on the ground or discover them missing, with only ash is left. The rest are just quiet and somber, drifting as if weights drag their feet. Others, obviously hardened by past wars, look upon the scene with numb eyes, dreary faces.
Minutes pass. The wounded are taken away by their friends, and the others have gone to help the healers or find clearer air. She hasn’t taken her eyes off Esht for one second; her remaining sword is quivering in her hand, waiting. The black swarm still lies heavily over the valley. Erim stands at the edge, Nim back by his side. Rhuso watches farther behind.
Sloane glances at Esht one last time and turns her back on him. He’s not deserving of a last goodbye or even a gesture. That seems to push him over the edge. “Do not ignore me!” he shrieks. “How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?” His pitch makes Sloane cringe, and she whirls around to tell him to shut up. She turns just in time to see him raise his free arm above his head and bring it down across his chest, severing his trapped arm with an awful crunch. She gasps with horror, stumbling backward.
Plasma spurts from the stump of Esht’s arm, but he doesn’t notice. He crawls towards Sloane. She scrambles back into the black haze until her spine hits a wall. He pursues her into the darkness, cornering her in a pocket of stone. When he stands, he sways off balance. His disturbed eyes narrow on her.
A voice screams in Sloane to run, but she kicks it back. This is how it has to end; just her and him. No one will be able to find them in the blinding fog, anyway. She grips her last remaining sword with both hands. Esht is still off-balance, so she’s able to see his swing coming early and throws her sword up to block it. The clash sends tingling vibrations up her arm. A few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have had the strength to stand against one of Esht’s blows; it would have cut her right in half.
Staying low and grounded, Sloane follows up her defense with an offensive kick that she drives right into his gut. Esht takes a step back to stabilize himself and then prepares a stab right at her chest, but at the last moment, she swivels to the side and watches him slice the air in front of her. Sloane can feel the serket venom in her speed, her precision. She’s never been more evenly matched with him. Each missed shot frustrates him even further. A jagged edge juts out of the stone beside Sloane, and she barely sees it in time to avoid it. But the glance costs her, and Esht cracks her across the face with his elbow. She grunts as the blow snaps her head back and cups her crunched nose.
The Esht thrusts his knee into Sloane’s stomach, and she gags as the air is completely expelled from her lungs. She hits the ground roughly, and he presses his boot into her arm to keep her down. With one stroke, he brings his blade down on hers, shattering it. He bends over her, and she just needs him a little closer, closer. The second he opens his mouth to say something, Sloane propels the free half of her body upward and digs a clawed hand right into the stump of his arm.
It is disgustingly wet and warm, but she only bores deeper, moving her fingers like the blades of a blender. Esht screams and leaps up, releasing her from the ground. Sloane’s hand is yanked out of his wound, and he retreats a little, holding the stub of his arm. One of her hands is sticky with his plasma, and the other holds the handle of what used to be her sword. As Esht turns back to her and prepares to charge, Sloane realizes that she no longer has a weapon.
Sloane hears Rhuso call her name once through the smoke, and when she looks up, a weapon appears, soaring through the air towards her. Esht runs at her, eyes erupting with fire. Sloane throws her hands up, waving them to increase her chances of catching the projectile. Esht is two steps away, arm above his head, ready to cut her down. The blade drops into Sloane’s arms stiffly, and she fumbles to point the sharp edge out.
Esht’s psychotic eyes are fixed on her face, anticipating all the ways he’ll cut it up. “Tell me who killed you!” he screams. With one last exacerbated cry, Sloane drums up a final push forward. The second they collide, Sloane sees the surprise overtake Esht’s face as he realizes his momentum will betray him. The tip drives straight through his sternum, jamming out through his back, just like what he did to Mina. Sloane stumbles back with the force of his body. Pain twists his eyes as he stills for a second, registering where he is and what it means.
“Who the hell cares?” Sloane hisses, her legs trembling through exhaustion to support Esht’s weight as well. She looks down and gasps, realizing that Rhuso didn’t throw her a sword, but Esht’s own severed arm. She wants to drop it, but she doesn’t let her weapon falter.
Refusing to show any weakness, Esht grunts and takes a step forward, impaling the blade further into himself. He keeps moving closer, not stopping until his skin touches Sloane’s hands. He heaves at her, baring his teeth, lips stretched into a snarl. His other arm hovers above her face for a second, then falls to his side.
Sloane watches as a flood of emotions rolls through him. First, he’s furious, and then confused, afraid, and… relieved. Esht’s skin grows gray as white plasma runs through his teeth, staining his lips.
“Doesn’t matter.” He laughs, speckling her face. “You’re in it now.”
“What does that mean?” Sloane shakes him. He just giggles, earning him a smack in the face. Erim’s shadow appears behind him, waving through the sooty cloud.
Esht’s voice fades to a whisper. “Maybe that’s why he freed me…” He thrusts his arm up, burying the blade right under Sloane’s rib cage. “Your father.”
Sloane flinches as skin and flesh are torn, every organ ruptured. Erim yells, but it’s a different kind of anguish than before. Sloane watches Esht’s delight, his final expression, flicker out as his eyes become glassy. As the shock fades, the pain rips through her, like the blade has set fire to her insides. Every nerve ruptures, overloaded with agony. Reflexively, she grasps the sword with both hands and forces it out, slicing both palms to the bone. Esht topples to the ground, a sickly grin plastered on his dead face.
Removing the sword sets off a new, terrifically excruciating sensation. The involuntary sound that leaves Sloane is like a guttural wail, an ugly sound. Her legs go, but she never feels the hit of the ground. Erim catches her, his eyes dilated and terrified. Her chest heaves, and with every movement, an extra burst of pain rocks her body. She grunts, trying to communicate with him, trying to put the agony into words.
Rhuso appears, his steady, heavy hands push on her gorged stomach. Slowly, a cool sensation sprouts from the carnage and begins to spread outward. The chill douses the fire, numbing the pain to a throbbing ache.
Sloane tries to focus on Erim’s features: the charcoal waves slipping over his forehead… the determined tilt of his brows… the dimple in his left cheek coming out in focus instead of joy. There’s no sound anymore, but her strained breathing echoing through her head. Erim is yelling something. She doesn’t know what, but she wants to ask him to keep still so that she can continue her study.
More than anything, Sloane wishes that she could hear his voice, the humor always hiding behind his steady timbre. She wants to tell him she was stupid to ask him to wait in the grotto. S
he wants him to tell her; she wants to hear it out loud. Her lips part and she plans to form the words, but all she can spit out is plasma. It runs down her cheeks, and she gives up on speech.
The cold has spread to almost all her body now, and she just wants to burrow within the warmth that’s left and sleep. Erim is begging her; his smooth lips form the word “please.” Sloane wants to comply with what he’s asking, but she’s so tired. Small spots of black form in her vision, expanding and stretching to join each other. She watches each line connect until there is only one small piece of light left.
QUADRAGINTA TRES
Erim shakes Sloane in his arms as her eyes seal. Then Rhuso rips her from his arms and sprints. Erim lurches up and runs after them, holding his impaired arm, so it doesn’t swing around. The black fog is beginning to fade, but Erim barely keeps sight of Rhuso in front of him. When they finally clear the wall of smoke, the light is disorienting.
Rhuso kicks open the door of Lapidis’s convocation room. Sloane’s limp body is so small in his arms. He lays her on the table gently. Ifede lays her greenpack on the table and digs into it. Bastian gets in just before Somboon cuts off the entrance, asking everyone to stay outside, so they have room to work.
Ifede’s fingers are quick on the lacing of Sloane’s armor, Erim helps her lift it off. His left arm is useless, but he cradles Sloane’s head with his right, protecting it from the solid surface beneath. Once her breastplate is off, Bastian tucks his fingers under the torn edges of her shirt, careful not to touch the skin, and begins to tear. An arm catches his hand roughly.
“Watch it.” Rhuso snarls through gritted teeth. His crazed eyes are accusing as they bore into Bastian.
Interitum Page 37
