Vicious Circle

by Elle E. Ire

  Benn raised the knife so the tip of the blade pointed down at my chest, right over my heart. I felt faint, and darkness encroached on the edges of my vision. I grasped the altar with one hand to steady myself. My pulse pounded in my temples.

  “Do you yield to the law of the Guild?” Even at a whisper, his voice carried.

  The collective assembly held its breath.

  “I yield.” Ritual spoke for me, words I never thought I’d have to say.

  Oh hells, I’m going to die.

  Benn lifted the blade a little higher to bring it down with enough killing force that I wouldn’t suffer long. I saw it begin its descent and closed my eyes.

  “Stop, you bastard! No one kills her but me.”

  The voice came from high above us, drawing all our attention upward. My eyes flicked open to see Benn distracted as well, but not enough to stop his arm’s progress. The sharp metal caught me at my shoulder, slicing through my shirt, drawing across my breastbone in a deep diagonal gash. An equally fatal wound, but not as quick and humane as the one he’d planned.

  Oh gods, it hurt.

  Kila’s scream echoed in my ringing ears as I sank toward the stone floor. I would have fallen harder, but I held on to the altar and eased to my knees. I wrapped my arm across the wound, feeling warm stickiness soaking through the fabric of my shirt and sleeve, trying desperately to hold my lifeblood in and failing. “Dead is dead.” Jaren’s words came back to me. “Once life leaves the body, I can’t bring that person back.” My life was leaving my body fast. My vision blurred, but I fought the pull toward unconsciousness and relief from the pain, aware of frantic activity all around me.

  Kneeling as I was, my eyes just cleared the marble surface of the altar, and I watched Guild members draw their weapons and point upward. The voice above had been Yesenia’s. Everyone recognized it, though no one could see her through the narrow opening around the ventilation shaft. She must have used some kind of ocular enhancement tech to watch the proceedings.

  I wondered briefly how she’d gotten so close without detection. Then again, she was considered a full-fledged member. The Guild’s equipment would have accepted and ignored her approach as valid. We didn’t have contingency plans for attacks from within our own ranks, something that would need to change if any of us survived.

  A figure crouched beside me, Benn, and I scrambled backward, torn between survival instinct and the desire to be put out of my misery. “Let me finish it, Cor,” he said, softly. “It wasn’t my intention for you to suffer.”

  “Yesenia—” I managed through gritted teeth. “My friends….” I had to stop talking. There wasn’t enough air left in my lungs to produce sound. My heart pounded, and with each beat, more blood poured through the open gash. The smell made me gag. I tasted it in my mouth and spat it at Benn’s feet.

  “You have my word they will be protected.”

  In my backward crawl, I’d cleared the altar and could see Jaren and Kila surrounded by armed assassins. They were innocents. To allow harm to come to them, especially from a former Guild member, would be a great dishonor. Benn would keep his word.

  I pulled my arm away from my chest. It stuck, bloody fabric to bloody fabric, and took almost more strength than I had. Exhausted, I let my head fall back against the nearby wall. My shoulders slumped. I waited for the inevitable last strike.

  Something dark and heavy dropped through the ceiling aperture.

  In my dizziness, I could barely make out the shape, cylindrical, a canister of some sort, black and metal. It hit the stone floor with a clang, bounced twice, then rolled toward the group of assassins clustered at the base of the dais steps, toward Jaren and Kila. The seal popped, and a bluish gas poured into the room.

  Those closest to it scattered but fell to their knees, coughing and wheezing, before they could escape from the chamber. Kila and Jaren went down as well, lost to my sight in the swirling blue mist and the throng of gasping assassins.

  The first wisps of the poison reached my nostrils then, and the sickeningly sweet smell sparked memory. Issiumoxide. Illegal everywhere. Tortuously lethal in both liquid and vapor forms. It ate away a victim’s lungs from the inside out.

  Yesenia might just get to kill me after all.

  Panic seized the ephem. If the host expired while the entity remained within it, the entity would also cease to exist. The ephem would have willingly sacrificed itself before, when it tore at Kila’s innards, because killing her would have spurred Jaren to suicide. But then it would have succeeded, and He-Who-Had-Created-It would reconstitute its form, giving it new existence, a new and higher purpose. If Kila died now, it would fail. It would become one with nothingness for eternity.

  Testing its new strength, the ephem pulled at Kila’s arm, forcing her hand to her side where the breather mask hung on her belt. When her fingers closed around it, her own Will took over, and she slipped it over her face to draw breath after breath of untainted air.

  Jaren also found his mask, and the entity caused Kila to stumble against him in a failed attempt to jar it loose. Her brother gave her a grim smile, steadying her with one hand and reaching to help one of the fallen assassins with the other.

  No. She needed a weapon, something definitive and faster than even the poisonous gas.

  The entity guided her to the closest writhing body, her hands searching its tunic for concealed knives, but the teenager fought her, honor discarded as he sought to wrench her breather from her face.

  Darting out through an ear, the ephem mixed with the poisonous gas. It flowed into the struggling young assassin, drawing in a greater concentration of the toxin, filling the teenager’s throat and constricting it.

  The lithe body thrashed and convulsed, lips turning blue, eyes bulging, tongue lolling. The heart thudded against the rib cage, lungs burning for oxygen. The throat jerked in pulses as coughs began in the chest and failed to expel the ephem. Then the flopping teenager fell still. The entity within sucked his life force dry.

  Kila’s mask filled with condensation as she breathed rapidly in and out, eyes wide in horror. She staggered away, standing upright to avoid more desperate, clawlike fingers, and the ephem rushed from the corpse to rejoin her.

  All around Kila the Guild lay dying, but only the one young man had yet died. She needed to take a weapon from someone focused on anyone besides herself and the life-giving equipment she wore. Someone like Benn.

  He crouched next to Cor, speaking to her in words Kila could not make out now that he’d moved off the volume-enhancing tile behind the altar. He still held the knife.

  Using Kila’s own desire to be with Cor against her, the ephem spurred her into motion toward them. It would use this vessel to take the weapon. It would use its enhanced strength to finally force Kila to murder her brother. And then, if the virtuous, meddling Core of Sardonen continued to draw breath, it would use her lover to end her life as well.

  Chapter 24

  BENN STARED at me, the horror of the attack evident in his eyes. Issiumoxide had no antidote, and even if it did, none of us could get to it in time. He prepared to stab me anyway, likely planning on using the knife on himself next in order to spare us both the slower death by gas. I raised a shaky hand, holding him off with no more than my pleading expression.

  He hesitated. “You’re delaying the inevitable, Cor.” Benn’s voice was raspy. He coughed, and bloody spittle collected on his chin. “We all go together?”

  Below, several apprentices writhed, faces twisted in agony. The masters tried to remain stoic, but panic showed in their eyes while they hacked and wheezed. The cluster dispersed enough that I could spot Kila and Jaren. Thank the gods, they’d gone for their breathers when the gas canister popped. Jaren held a dying assassin, no more than sixteen, desperately trying to save the young girl. I could see his mouth moving behind his clear mask. Kila headed toward me, on her feet and staggering between the bodies. Some of them clawed at her legs, probably attempting to bring her down and take her breather
. Not honorable but understandable. One caught her, and they fought for it, Kila’s unpoisoned strength barely a match for the assassin’s training and skills. Then the assassin went into convulsions and fell still. I didn’t have time to wonder why he was more susceptible, only to note he was, and to experience a mixture of relief and guilt he hadn’t taken Kila with him. But there would be others. I had to act fast.

  “We don’t have to go at all,” I panted, returning my attention to Benn. Blood soaked the collar of his tunic. It oozed from the corner of his mouth. “Get me onto the square.” I nodded toward the concrete space, darker than the surrounding squares, behind the altar.

  Benn looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had, but the Guild Leader was willing to grant my last request. We were all dead, anyway. He caught hold of my shoulders, wincing at my cry of pain, and crawled with me on hands and knees until I toppled on the cold gray surface. Lying there, my cheek pressed against the stone, I tried to speak. A stream of red pooled on the floor by my lips. On my second attempt, I managed to whisper.

  “Jaren, come to the altar.” Despite the weak volume, the acoustics carried the command throughout the room. I prayed to any god that would listen he’d understand and obey me.

  Benn lay beside me, his blood mixing with mine. His eyes closed. His breathing grew more labored. He passed out.

  I was seconds from joining him when Jaren grabbed me, pulled me into his lap, and seated himself in the dark gray square. Thank the gods he was quick on the uptake. I closed my eyes and listened as he spoke, listened with every fiber of my being.

  “Breathe!” Jaren commanded. “All of you, breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Expel the poison.”

  The power hit like electrical current. Jaren’s words resonated throughout the chamber, bouncing off walls, reverberating and echoing. It was as if the room had been fashioned specifically for the use of his vocal cords. Every Guild Leader had spoken from this very spot, and none of them sounded like this.

  The sound waves flowed through and around me, my body tingling in response as he repeated his demand for continued respiration from his captive audience. Gone were the head buzzing and the nausea. The walls themselves complemented his genetic gift, honing and fine-tuning it for maximum efficiency.

  All around me I heard relieved gasps as lungs repaired themselves. My next breath still hurt, however.

  “Jaren….”

  He turned his face to me, eyes wide with surprise at the effect he had on everyone around him. He’d known the legends, memorized the scripture, but seeing the reality visibly shook him. Concern replaced awe as my hand clenched on his arm. I’d lost too much blood. His figure became hazy in my sight.

  “Shit,” he whispered, and it carried throughout the room. If I’d had more strength, I would have laughed. I guess we were lucky we didn’t all crap ourselves, but apparently he had to have intent behind his words for them to command our bodies. Jaren raised his voice and spoke with authority. “Heal, Cor. Seal the wound.”

  I grimaced as the edges of the gash across my chest drew together and closed. Leaning against him, I listened to his soothing tones, though the words faded to an incomprehensible mumble, something about letting my heart beat and the occasional reminder to breathe. The world became a warm blanket wrapping around me and soothing away all aches and pains.

  Damn the woman. Damn the T’rals. Seated upon that space behind the altar, the Chosen controlled every ounce of power within the room, including that which made up the entity itself. A shiver vibrated through the ephem, knowing Jaren could have destroyed it with no more than a thought. As it was, the residual energy bound the ephem, prevented it from taking further action. It raged and seethed in helplessness but could do nothing else.

  This was what He-Who-Had-Created-It feared and sought to prevent. In this place, the Chosen controlled all, and someday Jaren would comprehend exactly what that meant and how much power he truly could wield.

  The entity held itself as still as possible, drawing no attention. It would wait for Jaren to move or to learn. One meant victory, the other, annihilation.

  When Jaren stopped instructing and asked a question, I missed it the first time.

  “Mmm?”

  “The canister,” he repeated. “What should we do with it?”

  We? I blinked, wondering how long I’d drifted in semiconsciousness. Kila knelt beside us, both her hands wrapped around one of mine. Dried tears showed on her cheeks beneath the breather mask. Her arms had scratches from someone pulling her down, and her pants were torn to strips at the cuffs. She tucked a stray strand of my hair behind my ear and offered a smile. My thoughts cleared.

  “Put it in the fire. The ventilator will draw the rest of the gas out and disperse it. It’s not effective outdoors. It dissipates too fast.”

  Kila released me to tend to it. I turned a wicked grin to Jaren.

  “Hope Yesenia has a breather of her own.” She was about to get a face full of poison. “Bitch.”

  Jaren’s eyes widened at my ferocity. Having seen my gentleness with Kila and my willingness to sacrifice myself for them both, he must have forgotten what I truly was. I felt him tense and wondered if he’d call a warning to the rogue assassin before Kila sent the remains of the gas her way, but he clamped his jaw shut. So, there were limits to his need to heal all humanity. Good. I no longer counted Yesenia as human, either. Maybe he was thinking of the greater need, allowing one to die to protect many, like he’d tried to do with himself, like I did every time I went on assignment. Not so much difference between assassin and Chosen, though I wouldn’t point it out to him.

  And speaking of assassins, I’d be damned if I’d trust Yesenia’s death to the Issiumoxide.

  Using Jaren’s shoulder for support, I raised myself to a seated position. Benn sat a meter to my right, staring about the chamber at his Guild like he was seeing ghosts. Some of the masters gathered in a circle around the two of us, but they kept a respectful and perhaps fearful distance. A couple moved the body of the dead teenager from the room.

  I felt my hands clench into fists.

  “How much strength can you give me?” I asked, getting on my knees in preparation to gain my feet.

  Jaren paused, considering my question. A metallic clang and loud pop from the area of the firepit signified Kila’s disposal of the canister. She returned to stand behind me, and I leaned against her legs.

  “I’m not certain,” he admitted. He closed his eyes as if directing thought inward, then opened them again. “When used here, the power doesn’t drain me. Interesting.”

  “Jaren,” I urged, glancing toward the ceiling for emphasis. The last wisps of gas disappeared through the opening. Yesenia might make her next move at any moment, and given this failure, it was bound to be spectacular. Crazy people didn’t quit.

  “Right. Let’s find out.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. I felt his firm grip through the fabric. “Prepare yourself.”

  I had no idea how to do that or what to expect, so I exhaled, tried to relax all my muscles, and nodded once. With everyone watching, he spoke words I could not understand, a long string of syllables interspersed with unfamiliar consonant combinations, some of which grated on his vocal cords and roughened his melodious tone. Definitely not Standard. Ancient Sardonen, perhaps? Something he’d learned in his study of the Generational?

  The power surged into me. My body jerked in a spasm that snapped my teeth together and straightened my spine into an iron rod. My shoulders rose and fell as I heaved in breath after breath. I felt supercharged, synapses firing, touch, smell, sight, hearing, all intensely acute. My heart pounded, blood flooding my veins and arteries to the point where I feared they’d burst. The overwhelming need to move drove me to my feet, and I stood, fists clenched at my sides, legs braced apart, muscles rippling with energy and a desire to unleash it upon something, or in this case, someone.

  I can only imagine what I must have looked like, face flushed, hair tangled and matted, shirt torn and soake
d with my own blood. I cast about for a weapon, panting like a wild beast just released from a cage and uncertain of which captor to kill first. My pistols and knives lay across the room on one of the docken-wood tables, and I made a move toward them. Everyone, including Jaren and Kila, got out of my way. Kila’s hand covered her mouth, shock and fear at what she saw in my expression apparent in hers. I couldn’t blame her. This sudden power scared the shit out of me, but I would use it, and only a fool would try and stop me.

  I’d never taken Benn for a fool, but my next step brought me up against his chest, as he stood between me and my weapons. He looked as haggard and drained as everyone else after the recent ordeal except for me, Kila, and Jaren, but that wouldn’t prevent him from interfering if he thought it was the right thing to do. Dropping back into a fighting stance, balanced on the balls of my feet, I met his intense gaze head-on.

  “Fuck your rules and rituals. I do not yield.” Your rules, not ours. The words came out in a low growl I barely recognized as my own voice. No one else moved. The chamber fell utterly silent save for the crackling flames in the firepit.

  To my astonishment, Benn smiled. “You found your loophole.”

  I blinked, mind racing back in time to the hours I spent poring over Guild law, training to become a master, and it came to me. Life debt. That’s what I had here, and so did Jaren. A life debt with the whole fucking Guild.

  A life debt overrode everything, every transgression. The Guild was now honor-bound to protect and defend us.

  Holy shit.

  The thought made me laugh, earning further incongruous looks from the assembly. This was some holy shit, indeed.

  “I’ll need explanation for all this,” Benn said, easing out of my path, making no sudden moves to provoke me, “but for now, go kick her ass.”

  I jogged to the table and collected my gear, slamming the pistols into thigh and back holsters, both Yesenia’s, and sliding the knives into each boot. The way my pulse pounded, I felt I could take Yesenia out with my bare hands, and with her barely healing shoulder wound, that likely wouldn’t take much. My comm lay on the table too. I waved it in the air at Jaren, and he pulled his off his belt and held it up to show me he still had it. I slipped mine into my pocket.