Chains of Loss (24 page)

“You speak as if there were a cost.”

“It won’t leave you as the same person you are right now.  Probably not.”

“I will be like someone else my age, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“And you know it will work?”

Derek paused and weighed the response.  There could be unforeseen complications.  “I
believe
it will work.”

“Then I will consider it.”

“All I ask.  Well, I need a hair too.  One of your hairs, I mean.”  She plucked one and handed it over.  “Now, I’m going to get some sleep.”  He unfolded the shrouds, revealing the rest of her completed outfit.  “Help yourself.”

***

Mycah wasn’t sure which angered her more: Rathiela, Derek, or herself.  The taerlae’s words had stung, but she might’ve been right; was Mycah really just jealous of her and Derek because she didn’t want anyone else to have what she couldn’t?  Was that part of why she’d never be happy?

The taerlae sat against the wall across from her and they traded a challenging stare.  Mycah wasn’t going to be the one to look away first – until Derek gasped in his sleep.  She quickly glanced to him – he hadn’t woken – but when she looked back she saw that Rathiela had also done the same.

She sighed.  It really wasn’t the taerlae’s fault; it was an accident of her birth that had conspired with her people’s traditions to put her where she was now.  That didn’t make it any easier.

The clothes Derek had given her hadn’t helped, either.  They were held together with laces at the front and on the sides, and actually covered most of the taerlae’s flesh – but did so in a manner that accentuated her figure.  Mycah was sure just from looking at them that they were higher quality than anything she’d ever seen before, even in the ballrooms of Kaitopolis.

Mycah had rarely worried about her appearance; she’d simply given up, accepting that she would never be extraordinary.  Men still looked, but she’d always known that she was average at best.  For a while – in Kaitopolis – she’d felt beautiful, but that had crashed to the ground in a spectacular manner. 

And then she’d met Derek.  He had never looked - not
that
way - but for once she had found that she actually
wanted
him to.  There had been something in his eyes when he’d looked at her - not desire, but some kind of affection that she’d lacked for so long that she hadn’t known how much she missed it.  Her Shadow’s revelation of the beauty he’d seen in his home had given her both hope and despair; she’d never be able to equal what he was used to, but nobody else on Earth could either.  Except, apparently, Rathiela.

“So,” she said in taerlae.  “Will you take the cure?”

“I might,” Rathiela said. 

“Why wouldn’t you?  It will save your life.”

“You are not his mate, are you?”

Mycah shook her head.  “No.  But that – ”

“You
wish
to be his mate.”

“I’m not sure.”

“No, you think you’re not sure.  I’m the one who’s not sure.”

“What do you mean?”

Rathiela flicked her claws in and out.  “I have not seen enough of you to know. You want him, but are you good for him?  I have seen you be jealous and angry.  You wish to have him, but what do you plan to give him in return?”

“I – I don’t know.” 

“Find out.  I owe this man my freedom and will not let you hurt him.  By the time we reach the crags I will pass judgment.  If I believe you harmful to him, or you have not made your decision, then there is no other honorable path for me; I will be his mate.”

“You’ll die.”

“We all die.  I have understood this for years.”

“Or he’ll cure you.  After you’ve…bonded.  And how long can he live?”

“Am I to fear his death in the fullness of his life, when I don’t fear my own?”

Mycah swallowed hard.  “I…here.”  She pulled out her last spare dagger and offered it over.  The taerlae nodded.

“You understand, I think.  I do not want him to spite you.  I sense that he needs someone.”

“He does.”  That much had been obvious in the days that she’d known Derek.  The man was practically bursting with need for companionship.  Her guilty conscience pointed out that what he seemed to need was something that even a non-sexual taerlae could provide. 

“The question is, who?”

Mycah huddled against the cave wall.  She didn’t know.  In the face of that uncertainty, her anger crumbled, leaving her with…what?

***

Derek woke a while before sunset.  He sat at the mouth of the cave, looking out over the escarpment. 

It was
high
.  And it couldn’t have been natural.  The escarpment’s face was almost completely sheer, forming a nearly-perfect ninety degree angle from the ground below.  Seven centuries of weathering had roughened its face some, and there had been numerous rockslides, but the original cut had been completely clean.

He’d dreamt about the slaves.  He could banish them from his dreams but he remembered them when he woke up.  He didn’t even know their names, but he’d seen their faces. 

He wasn’t a hero.  If he was back in New Athens, he’d be facing a court-martial for incompetence.  With superior firepower, he had failed to subdue an attacker and allowed a dozen people to die. 

As he sat, the truth - the one he’d been avoiding - hit him: Even if his home still existed, he was never going home.  He would live the rest of his life in this solar system, probably never leaving Earth, and one day, possibly soon, maybe even today, he would die here.  With his home, he felt the loss of something else - his innocence, perhaps.  His once-unchallenged conviction that people were good to each other, so things would always work out.  That the ways of New Athens were normal.

The water at the base of the cliff was fascinating.  All he’d really have to do was leave the flight suit behind.  He wouldn’t survive. 

He knew he wasn’t actually going to do it.  He thought he knew, at least.  Rathiela needed him to save her.  He could just tell the mediceps what to look for, though; Mycah’s Shadow could handle it.  No, the girls didn’t need him at all.

The water stretched as far as he could see in either direction.  Deep and dark.

“Derek?  It’s time to go over the plan.”

“Huh?  Oh, sure.”

He spread out the industrial shroud and displayed a high-resolution map of the city, as taken the previous day.  He barely cared to look as the women went over the plan.  Move after dark.  Go in the gate or over the wall after the diversions went off.  No problem.  Down that street, then that street.  Avoid attention.  Get to the baskets; lower the baskets to the bridge.  Cross the bridge and head for Redmere.  They finished planning, and Rathiela went out to scout.

Mycah was talking to him.  He nodded, not really listening.  The dead faces kept coming back to him up until she kissed him on the cheek.

He rewound the conversation and played it back.

“Rescuing them…it was stupid.  But it was brave.  You…reminded me of my father.  I think it’s kinda like what he’dve done, if he were here.”

She’d walked away before he recovered. 

***

Gorti pulled off his blindfold the moment the sun set.  He’d lost the goggles at some point during the fight – apparently in the building that had burned, because he hadn’t been able to find them again.  Without them, his power left him blind by day, severely slowing his progress but not halting it entirely.  Without his sight, he had fallen back on tracking his enemy by scent.  They’d added another to their group, one who had often left and rejoined, but the others did not.  Their trail was the true one.

Shortly after sunset, he was running at full speed.  He could still smell them, and the scent was growing stronger the closer he came to Rashraan.  He was gaining on them. 

He slowed when he reached the escarpment, wary of an ambush, but he needn’t have worried.  They’d stayed in the cave for hours, but they were already gone.  The trail was fresh; he was minutes behind them, at most. 

He stayed low to the ground and started blending the shadows, hiding himself further.  He could hear their footsteps.  They were moving away from the cliff, heading towards the eastern gate, speaking softly.

Gorti neither understood nor cared what they were saying.  If he could take one alive without trouble, he would, but he was going to aim to kill.  The terrain was open; he would lead with a thrown knife, then switch to the larger arc-blade.

The one in the lead – the newcomer – moved on ahead.  It was the best odds he’d get.  Droluch first; he could not afford to face her, and Drotak had proven to be resilient but not nearly as deadly as his reputation had made him out to be. 

No special tricks this time; just a pair of kills, as quick as possible.  He took aim.

***

Mycah had left the thought unspoken that her father would have performed the rescue more competently.  He would also be able to get all three of them through the city without even being spotted.  She was following that line of thought, trying to keep her nerves calm, when something hit her in the back, pitching her forward in mid-step.

She caught herself on her hands, twisted and shucked the backpack as she sprang back to her feet.  A lone orc in ragged clothes was bearing down on Derek with a massive blade.  She drew her weapons and threw herself into a position to intercept the orc.

It didn’t make it to her; instead, a popping noise split the air and the orc’s weapon snapped.   Another pop sounded and the orc’s left leg collapsed; two more and its hands were reduced to bloody ruin.

“I should have done this
right away
,” Derek growled.  Mycah didn’t recognize his voice.

“
Murderer.”
  He pointed something – if it was a gun it was unlike any she’d ever seen – at the orc.  Another pop rang out and its shoulder disintegrated.

“Derek!”  She hesitated, weapons still out.

“
MURDERER!” 
Derek was trembling from head to toe, except the hand holding the gun; it was completely still.

“Derek, what are you doing?”

Derek squeezed his eyes shut.

“This orc…it’s the one that shot you before.  I didn’t know until now that it’s the same one.”  His voice broke.  “It-it was at the farm.  I led it there.  It killed the slaves.  It deserves…my people...we don’t.  We’re not killers.”  He didn’t lower his hand.

“Then – ”  Mycah stopped as a strong scent hit her.  Her backpack was soaked with fluid that had welled out from the knife’s impact site.  She picked it up, but kept her eyes on Derek.  “Then what are you going to do?”

“I want to kill it.  But I don’t want to be a killer.”

Mycah shook her head.  Did they really have time for this kind of argument?  She opened up the backpack and rooted around inside.  The blade had grazed the map and the Waushan flask before embedding itself in the gunpowder barrel. 

{Sister.  Time comes.}

“Now?”  This was too much; there was nothing she could do with the creature.

{No.  Soon.  Set free.}

Mycah gathered up what she could of the precious fluid.  Every lost drop was one too many.  The gunpowder barrel had split open; she pulled it out and discarded it.  Sheralys had erred; she’d never needed it.  The twine she put to use tying the backpack together; it could be fixed more securely when she had time. 

“Derek.”  He still hadn’t moved.

“Huh?”

“We have to go.”

“But…”  He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but had no idea what.

***

He had his enemy at gunpoint.  Why didn’t he fire?  He’d spared this thing’s life before, and it had led to the deaths of a dozen innocents.  He should...he wanted to...it was his responsibility to...

To what?

He didn’t know why, but he was sure that he shouldn’t kill the creature.  He dove into the rush and forced himself to confront the question.  He didn’t fire because, at the heart of it, he didn’t want to fire.  Because firing would be taking the life of someone who no longer posed a threat.  Sure, this creature had killed before, and might kill again, but it was
not his right
to take its life for what might happen. 

He seized on that thought and examined it.  What defined it as his right or not?  He was keeping to the same moral code he held in New Athens.  But he wasn’t in New Athens.  New Athens might not have survived the event that had brought him.  He was alone - a dying spark out in the darkness.  He grinned and extended the metaphor.  Sometimes a spark burned out.  Sometimes it fired an engine. 

He knew then what he was going to do.  He exited the rush, checked his ammo and turned away from his enemy.  Derek was not in New Athens anymore, but he was still a New Athenian.  He was on a brutal world; he recognized that now.  He would proceed with his eyes open; he would be strong, and fight when he had to, but he would never become brutal.  And if he was strong enough, perhaps he could bring the New Athenian way to this world.