“Garan’ll be back in a few minutes. Let’s get moving.” I tap Pike’s foot, which sticks out from under the covers. “Come on.”
“I’m coming,” he groans.
Ara disappears into the bathroom and returns a few moments later. The flyaway hairs that stuck up from the crown of her head are smoothed and she looks refreshed. Reyna goes in next then Pike. I am last, and as soon as I step out of the small, cramped bathroom, Garan knocks at the door.
“Are we ready?” I look at Ara, Pike then Reyna.
“Yep,” Pike replies.
Ara and Reyna nod.
I cross the room and open the door. Garan waits there with Xan, Micah, Kai and Aaron. We file out and follow him to Fat Sal’s. As soon as we step inside, the sour smell of beer greets me.
“Oh man, that smell…” Xan says. “I don’t know whether I want to puke or have one.”
“None for me, thanks.” Aaron rubs the back of his head. “Last night was enough for me.”
“Maybe it’ll settle your stomach,” Micah suggests.
“I threw up enough last night. I’m good.” Aaron hold his hands up, as if warding off the idea itself.
“Haha, yeah, no one wants to see that again.” Xan claps him on his back. “I thought one of your boots would come out of your mouth last night.”
“You weren’t in such good shape last night either, my friend.” Kai’s tone is laden with laughter.
“What do you mean? I handled it like a champion,” Xan says. “I didn’t mind. I felt better afterward so it was good. I liked it.”
“You liked throwing up?” Micah looks at him incredulously.
“Yeah, why?” Xan’s brow furrows. “Is that weird?”
Micah shakes his head without answering and makes his way to an empty table.
“Hey, answer me. Am I weird or something?” Xan persists.
Smiling, Micah levels a gaze Xan’s way. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
Xan thinks for a moment. “Actually, no.” He sits down and rubs his hands together. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
The table is situated at the far end of the saloon. I take a seat with my back to the wall. From where I sit, I have a clear view of the entire place. I scan the crowd. My eyes immediately land on the man in black, Ryker. At the bar and in the same spot he was last night, I get the impression he’s at Fat Sal’s every night. And that’s the area he’s claimed as his own.
After a few minutes, a woman wearing blue stuff all around her eyes and some kind of red matter smeared on her lips appears. She takes our order and disappears.
“What was all over her face?” Ara asks.
“I don’t know, but it looks funny,” Pike answers. “Why would anyone—”
“Shh, she’s coming back.” My sister elbows Pike and he clamps his lips shut.
She returns with a tray. On it are glasses of water and three beers. “My name’s Lorna if you need anything.”
Xan gazes up at her, his expression suddenly soft. He blinks several times. “Thank you, Lorna,” he says in a voice unlike any I’ve ever heard him use before.
“Who ordered beers?” I ask.
“I did,” Garan replies. “For Xan, Micah and I.”
“Better them then me,” Kai leans over and says with a laugh.
“Yeah, but we’ll have to hear them sick all night,” Aaron says to Kai.
Garan lifts his glass toward Micah and Xan. Micah mimics the act but Xan’s eyes are fixed on Lorna as she walks away, swinging her wide hips. Micah reaches over with his free hand and smacks Xan in the arm. “Beer.”
“Huh?” Xan replies as if just waking.
“Your beer.” Micah nods toward the amber liquid.
“Oh. Yeah. Right. Sorry.” Xan lifts his glass, sloshing the beer and then brings it to his lips. He takes a swig then sets it down, his eyes roaming the room.
“What’s gotten into you?” Micha asks. “Oh wait. I get it. It’s the lady with the painted face.” He leans back and laughs.
“I saw her first so don’t go getting any ideas!” Xan’s head whips around toward Micah. Micah smiles. “And don’t think about trying that wide, deranged smile thing you do where you show your teeth like a sick animal!”
His comment evokes uproarious laughter from Kai, Aaron and Pike. Ara and Reyna join in.
“I’m serious!” Xan says. “I may love her.”
At Xan’s words, Garan nearly spits the beer from his mouth, laughing so hard he hacks and coughs. I laugh, as well.
“I don’t know what’s so funny,” Xan mumbles. He shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink.
We continue laughing and ribbing Xan
I finish my burger and as I lift my glass of water, I notice someone walk in the front door. Small and looking completely out of place compared to the other, rougher-looking people here, I recognize him. It’s the man from this morning. Liam’s father. He scans the crowd, eyes locking on Ryker. Setting his face determinedly, he begins making his way toward the man in black. The man who killed his son.
Without thinking, I stand, ignoring the question volleyed my way. I intercept Liam’s father before he is halfway across the saloon. Catching him by his upper arm, I jerk him back a bit. “Where are you going?”
Large, dark eyes dart from my hand to my face. “Who are you?” Haggard from grief, his words are less of a demand and more like a formality.
“My name’s Lucas.” I do not release his arm though he wriggles a bit.
“Well, Lucas, why is where I’m going any of your business?” He stops trying to withdraw his arm.
“Because I know where you’re going.” I look from him to Ryker. “I heard you this morning. I heard what you said to Volac.” I pause to look him directly in the eyes. “What’s your name?”
“B-bran. My name’s Bran.
“Bran, I was here last night.” I speak slowly and clearly in hopes he hears me.
Bran turns toward me. His eyes shine with emotion. His entire body trembles. “He can’t get away with it. He can’t!”
“Lower your voice and try to stay calm.” I look around, making sure no one heard him and checking to see if anyone recognizes him. I’m guessing it’s not often a citizen of Sinsity speaks out against Volac. Once I’m confident no one is paying attention to us, I say, “I know it’s hard. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your son.” He shakes his head feebly, looking lost. “So you want to go over there, right?” Bran nods. “And do what? Challenge him?” Bran doesn’t answer. “Do you have fighting skills?”
“Skills?” Bran asks.
The fact that he asks means he doesn’t have them. Still, I say, “Yes. Skills. Are you a good swordsman?”
Bran drops his gaze and lowers his voice. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “I’ve never been in a sword fight,” he admits.
Exhaling loudly, I reign in the urge to yell at him. Careful to control my tone, along with the frustration that’s gathered within me, I say, “Dying today and leaving your living children will not avenge Liam. It won’t help.”
Features gathering to a resolute point, Bran struggles to hold back tears. “I can’t let him get away with it. I can’t let him get away with murdering my boy.”
The profoundest of pain radiates from him. I stand, absorbing just the slightest bit of it and feel compelled to agree. But the fact remains that Ryker is comfortable killing. “He’s a killer. That man is a killer.” I nod toward Ryker.
Nodding, tears spill down Bran’s cheek. “So be it. Let’s just hope that today, I’m the better man. Better than the killer.”
I release his arm, squeezing my eyes shut and cursing the compunction that if I let go and allow Bran to challenge Ryker, another innocent live will be lost. And three more children will be rendered fatherless. He doesn’t stand a chance. I can’t let him walk to his death. Whatever it is that motivates me, the inner workings of who I am, forbids me from doing it. “I’ll do it.” The words vault from me a
s if of their own volition.
Bran scoffs, “You’re just a boy yourself.”
“Trust me, I’m no boy.” The collective journey that’s led me to Sinsity flares in a rush before my eyes. “Many have died by my sword.”
Bran holds my gaze. Awareness washes over his features, transforming them. He sees it. He sees the hardness. He sees the truth. “I-I can’t let you.” He sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself, not trying to dissuade me.
“You’ll have to make it up to me one day.” I attempt lightheartedness but it falls flat. He knows my offer is serious, that I’ve committed to it.
“No.” He shakes his head, wrestling with the decision rolling about it his brain like a spiny burr. “No. If you fail I’ll never forgive myself for being a coward. For letting a kid fight my battle and die.”
“I won’t fail,” I look him directly in the eyes and promise.
“No, I’m sorry,” Bran attempts. He continues talking but it’s too late. His voice is lost, absorbed by the chatter filling the saloon as I walk away from him toward Ryker.
“Lucas, what’re you doing?” Reyna is at my ear asking. She grabs my wrist, trying to stop me. “Lucas!”
Whirling on her, I see the worry in her eyes. Penetrating my anger with her pleading eyes, I hesitate. “I can’t let Bran fight him,” I say cryptically.
“What? What’re you talking about? You’re not making sense,” she says. But then she sees him. She sees Liam’s father behind us. Understanding sweeps across her features, setting them firmly. She drops my wrist, tipping her chin. “You’re sure about this?”
I bob my head. “I am.”
Unspoken words pass between us, emotion and resolve sparkling in the depths of her ice-blue eyes. In my mind, I promise her I’ll be alright, that this needs to be done. She seems to receive my message as she presses his lips together and nods. I leave her where she stands, in the center of the crowded saloon, and press my way to the space beside Ryker at the bar. A portly man with greasy hair and fingers that look like stubby, stuffed tubes waddles toward me from across the counter.
“Beer?” he asks without the slightest trace of emotion.
“Yes, please,” I say, smiling affably despite the anger spiraling inside of me.
“That’ll be two dollars.” The man doesn’t make a move to get what I’ve ordered.
“Oh,” I say with feigned cheerfulness. “Let me get it from my friend.” From the corner of my eye, I see Ryker raising his drink to his lips. As he does, I turn, stepping backward and into him. The impact of the bump causes his nearly-full beer to slop over the rip and spill down the front of his shirt.
“Dammit!” Ryker roars. “You fool!” He launches to his feet, causing his seat to crash to the floor. Slamming his glass to the counter, it shatters. Ryker spins to face me. Rage adds lines to the ones already carved by age and battle. Hands on the hilts of his blades sheathed at his hips, he shouts, “Draw your blade, boy!”
Conversations die down. Heads whip in our direction, but not as many as I’d think. To the patrons of Fat Sal’s and the people of Sinsity in general, this challenge issued is nothing new.
“Are you sure you want me to draw my blade?” I ask evenly.
A malicious smirk slithers across his face, drawing his lips wide and revealing dark, jagged teeth. A chuckle drips from him. Pure venom, it’s devoid of mirth. “Oh, I am,” he growls before barking, “Draw your blade, boy!”
This time, it is my lips that bend into a smile, a satisfied one. This is exactly what I wanted. My face must reveal exactly that, for a flicker of something flashes in his eyes. Recognition perhaps. I can’t be sure. I don’t have time to think about it. His blades are in his hands and he’s lunging toward my gut. I quickly sidestep him, pulling my sword from the sheath at my back. His eyes widen in shock at my speed. But the shock is brief. Enraged anew, he charges again, raising his daggers and rushing to bury them in my chest. I swing my weapon with every ounce of strength I have. The blade whistles through the air and catches his wrist. Meeting little resistance as it carves through cartilage and bone, my sword passes through. Ryker howls out in pain. I watch as his hand, and the dagger it held, drops to the floor. Color drains from his face. Blood spurts from the stump. “Enough!” Ryker wheezes through labored breaths. “You win!” he screams.
Shaking my head and watching him shudder, shoulders hunched and in agony, I feel little in the way of pity for him. “No.”
“No?” he squeals.
“No. I’ll show you the same mercy you showed Liam last night,” I grind out the words through gritted teeth.
Ryker’s eye’s round.
“The boy you killed last night.” I jog his memory.
His features harden.
“Now raise your blade,” I order.
Ryker remains still.
“You challenged me. And you know better than anyone else than once a challenge is issued, there’s no backing out. Raise. Your. Blade.” My gaze bores into him, the image of a kid not much younger than Pike haunting my brain and driving me. “Coward.”
Incensed by the taunts, Ryker sloppily stabs at me, his footing no longer cocky and his aim poor,
I thrust my sword forward, plunging it into his gut and holding it there. He mutters a curse word in my ear, collapsing into me. I shove him backward and yank my blade free. He falls to the saloon floor and I look down at my blade, covered in gore. My hands tremble from exertion, from nerves fraught by all that I’ve seen since entering Sinsity. What scares me, however, is that I don’t regret what I’ve done. At all. I don’t feel the faintest thread of regret. I scan the space all around me. All eyes in the saloon are on me. Conversations, loud and animated seconds earlier, have hushed. Not a single patron—human or Urthman—speaks or moves. My gaze drops once again. Blood coats the hand that grips the hilt of my sword. And in the moment that I see it, a thought crosses my mind. I wonder if I am changing, if I am no different than anyone here. I wonder whether I am officially a citizen of Sinsity.
Chapter 16
Returning to the table, Garan’s head is low. Features unreadable, he turns to me and says, “I can’t believe you just did that!” There’s reproach in his tone, and the weight of what I just did hits me like a sledgehammer. I drop my chin to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut.
“What’s the matter with you?” Xan asks. “You look terrible.”
“I just killed a man,” I answer bluntly. “What am I supposed to look like?”
Xan shrugs. “Fair enough.” He stuffs the last bite of food left on his plate into his mouth.
“I can’t believe you killed him.” Micah’s eyebrows rocket to the middle of his forehead and his eyes round. “Don’t get me wrong, that guy had it coming to him after killing the little boy here last night. But wow.”
The conversations all around us have resumed. Loud voices and strident laughter fills the tiny space. No one seems to be dwelling on Ryker’s death.
“What happened?” Kai leans forward and asks, his voice low and concerned. “What made you do it?”
“What’ll happen now? Should we be prepared?” Aaron asks.
Pike and Ara stare at me, silent and waiting for an explanation.
“He killed Ryker,” Garan says without looking up from his drink. He stares at the tawny liquid, as if divining answers from it. “I’m guessing to avenge the boy’s death.” He looks up for a moment, challenging me to disagree with him. I don’t, of course. He’s right. “Ryker’s death will have to be answered for.
“Why?” Xan asks before I get a chance to speak. “Who cares about him? No one, that’s who. You did Sinsity a favor. No loss. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.” He pauses, taking a moment to examine each face at the table, waiting for someone to disagree. When no one does, he claps his hands together as if ending further discussion and turns his attention elsewhere. He points to Micah’s plate where his half-eaten burger remains. “You gonna eat that?” he asks.
�
�Yes! Now take your hand away from my food and keep your eyes off it,” Micah scolds. Then to himself, he mutters, “Just set it down for a second and he thinks he can swoop in.”
Lorna, the waitress with the blue smudges around her eyes and smattering of red, greasy matter on her lips, returns. Xan immediately straightens his posture, smiling and completely unaware of the blob of meat stuck between his two front teeth. “How’s everything over here? Can I get you anything else?”
“Everything is wonderful. Just wonderful.” Xan enunciates each word, over-pronouncing each sound and syllable.
Lorna looks at him and smiles despite how foolish he sounds. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“I think we need another round of beers here,” Garan tells her.
Lorna nods and sashays away.
“Oh I really like her,” Xan gushes. “And I think she might like me, too.”
“Whaaat?” Micah says.
“Did you see that she looked at me? And smiled?” Xan looks at his friend hopefully.
“Well of course she looked at you! You sounded like a moron,” Micah imitates the way Xan spoke. “And she smiled at you because she has to. It’s her job.”
Xan looks momentarily wounded. Then a thought occurs to him. He brightens and says, “She didn’t smile at you!” He slaps his hand to the table and laughs.
Micah rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “She felt sorry for you, that’s why she smiled at you. That and the fact that it’s her job.”
“Nope! You’re wrong!” Xan gloats. “And I think someone’s jealous.” He ruffles the top of Micah’s hair. “Aww, poor, poor, lonely Micah, who Lorna doesn’t smile at.” He sighs exaggeratedly.
Micah leans across the table. He looks at me pleadingly. “Can you kill him next, please?”
Everyone at the table laughs. Even Garan snickers. I smile and nod, but inside, a war is being battled. Was I wrong to do what I did for Bran? Since when did I decide to become an avenger? An executioner? Ryker was wrong. Dead wrong. Liam’s death was unwarranted. And his father rightfully sought revenge. But was what I did justified? Did witnessing Liam’s death and his father’s subsequent pleas for justice mean I was somehow anchored to their plight? These and so many more questions flood my mind. Like a swollen river raging against the confinement of a levee, they’re rushing through my brain, threatening the walls of what I believe to be right and wrong. Trembling inside as if every cell in my body is vibrating at once, the room feels too hot. Voices are too loud. The smell of sour beer is further nauseating a stomach churning from stress. The need to leave intensifies. Unable to withstand the sounds, scents or heat another minute longer, I stand suddenly, linking eyes with Pike. “I have to go.”
Sin City Page 17
