Defy (7 page)

He could admit he’d missed her. She had been
his only companion for over two decades. The relief he’d felt when
she returned was short-lived, however.

For some reason, Nyx had found it necessary
to bring him back a gift. As that gift was a huge, dead buck that
could feed a small army, he had been less than enthused. Still, it
was the only way she really knew to express an apology for her
unexplained absence, as well as her appreciation for his
companionship. He could hardly judge her for it. He had ultimately
made what use he could out of her “gift” and then left the rest for
the wildlife.

With them currently being underground, he
wondered what the hell he’d do with an animal carcass this
time.

She soon appeared, her long, graceful,
serpentine body sliding quietly into the chamber with the light
click of talons on the stone ground. Her diamond-colored eyes
reflected even in the utter darkness. She saw just as well in this
environment as he did.

He didn’t speak, but held out a hand in
greeting.

She approached, her large, black head nudging
his hand as she made a sound in her throat that he knew indicated
contentment. He ran an appreciative hand over her smooth scales.
They were still warm from the sun.

Then the smell hit him.

“Hellfire, Nyx,” he exclaimed, stepping back
as though it would help him escape the stench. He covered his lower
face with the crook of his arm in an attempt offset the foul odor.
“What on the Estilorian plane did you drag back here?”

At least the buck had been fresh, he thought,
watching with morbid fascination as she uncurled her long, powerful
tail to present him with his gift.

When he saw what she brought into the cave,
he slowly lowered his arm from his face. He tilted his head and
narrowed his gaze, allowing his senses to open up even more to make
sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Then he caught Nyx’s diamond
gaze.

“Oh, hell. What have you done?”

Zachariah stared down at the discolored and
distended Estilorian that flopped away from Nyx’s tail with another
waft of choking stench. He had a decision to make, and he had to
make it fast.

The fact was, he might already be too
late.

Nyx was a rare breed of kragen. Aside from
the deadly strength, teeth and talons of her kind, she also had the
ability to preserve her prey with a natural toxin that she released
through a retractable spike in her tail. Because she only fed every
quarter-century, this was an ability that would conceivably allow
her to create a stockpile of food for centuries to come.

Had she been more like her kind and lived
alone, this would have come in quite handy. Unfortunately, she
didn’t live like other kragens. As a result, she now used her toxin
in unpredictable ways.

It appeared she had struck this particular
Estilorian right in the chest with her tail spike. Although the
wound had healed to little more than a cauterized dot as it was
meant to, the damage was apparent. He supposed the positive thing
about that was the toxin would have acted quickly, paralyzing the
victim within seconds.

But he knew from experience that the effect
was brutal. Half a century ago, when he floundered around the
mainland with a distinct hatred of himself and his existence, he
made the mistake of hunting the same deer that Nyx wanted. When he
had gone in for the kill with his tomahawk, Nyx lashed out with her
tail, extending the barb containing her toxin.

Although the barb hadn’t done more than break
the skin of his forearm, its toxin worked quickly. He had collapsed
and waited to die.

Fate had other plans.

He didn’t die. The toxin paralyzed him, but
so little of it had entered his bloodstream that the effect wore
off within a matter of hours. It was during that suspended moment
between life and death that Zachariah realized he actually wanted
to live. It also served to bond him with Nyx.

Knowing that he was in constant risk of
exposure to her toxin, however, he had worked over the years to
develop an antidote to it. Using his own blood as the primary
component and refreshing his store on a frequent basis, he had
tested it on animals with varying success. This particular
Estilorian—he couldn’t determine much about the being in its
current state—had been under the influence of the toxin much longer
than any of his test subjects.

“Bloody hell, Nyx,” he mumbled, irritated
that he was in the position of having to decide what to do.

Even as he complained, he opened his satchel
and grabbed the vial he created earlier that day. He had figured
Nyx would be returning soon and wanted to be prepared with fresh
antitoxin. Sighing, he committed to his course and turned to the
Estilorian on the ground.

“This damn well better work.” He knelt beside
the prone figure and did his best to ignore the smell generated by
Nyx’s toxin.

As he reached for the form on the ground, Nyx
lashed out at him, catching him on the hand with her sharp talons.
He hissed over the unexpected blaze of pain. He felt the well of
blood that resulted and cursed, turning to growl at her.

“What are you doing, you blasted beast? You
brought this thing to me, did you not? You might have brought a
host of Waresti, as well, if they are seeking this being.
Troublesome creature.”

She made another sound and slunk away,
sensing his mood. He cursed loudly again and turned back to the
Estilorian on the ground. When he knelt and tried to open its
mouth, he had to struggle to accomplish it. For a moment, he feared
he might break its jaw. Somehow, he managed it by using both hands.
Then he debated what to do to open the victim’s closed throat so
that he could administer the antitoxin.

After a moment of consideration, he used the
fingers of one hand to press the bloated tongue down even as he
used his teeth to pull out the stopper on the antitoxin. Then he
poured it into the being’s open mouth.

Once the liquid drained down the being’s
throat, Zachariah rose and tossed the used vial back into his
satchel. Then he walked over to the spring to wash his wounded
hand, which had gotten more abraded by the thing’s teeth. It burned
like hell when he cleaned the scratches. He issued curses to Nyx
the entire time.

He bandaged his hand with more supplies from
his satchel, then turned to Nyx. Slinging his satchel over his
shoulder, he said, “Come on, you wearisome animal. It bloody stinks
in here.”

And then he walked away from the cave without
another thought.

Like Tiege, Sophia hadn’t spoken much since
Tate died. Outside of attending the memorial service, she had
completely immersed herself in her experiments, holing up in the
laboratory her parents created for her years ago.

At the moment, she was attempting to melt a
chunk of stone using a mix of plant toxins she had blended together
and left to ferment. Over her face and clothing, she wore
protective shields created for her by the Lekwuesti elder,
Sebastian. The test tubes, vials, scales and other implements
within the laboratory had also been created by
archigos
Sebastian.

Typically, an Estilorian formally paired with
a Lekwuesti not long after transitioning to this plane. That
Lekwuesti then fulfilled the hospitality needs of his or her paired
Estilorian. The Kynzesti, however, had yet to be introduced to the
rest of Estilorian society, so none of them had yet been paired
with a Lekwuesti.

Thus, Sophia was particularly pleased to have
the lab equipment she did. Her experiments were often complex,
requiring specific tools. The Lekwuesti elder had been happy to
help by creating the items for her.

As she poured the contents from the vial she
carefully held with her tongs onto the huge chunk of stone on her
work table, a knock sounded on the door. The unexpected sound had
her jumping and spilling some of the contents onto the table.

Cursing, she hurriedly set the vial down and
rushed to get some rags to clean up the smoking and hissing mess
she made.

Without her bidding, the door opened and
Quincy hurried in. “Are you okay?” he asked, glancing around as
though he suspected she was under attack.

The question immediately brought to Sophia’s
emotionally fragile thoughts the event she was trying to forget.
And as she wiped ineffectually with gloved hands at the spilled
experiment, her ire got the better of her.

“‘Are you okay?’” she repeated, scrubbing
even harder at the steaming hole burning into her beloved table
because of his intrusion. “Is that all you can ask me?”

“What?”

Giving up on the table as a lost cause,
Sophia threw her dirty rag into a container intended for such
things. Yanking her gloves off, followed by her mask, she
responded. “It’s what you asked me again and again when we were on
that cliff. You kept asking me if I was okay, when what you should
have been doing was flying after Tate.”

He stepped back as if she had struck him.

She didn’t care. Her own pain had pushed her
well beyond the realm of rationality, a place very foreign and
uncomfortable to her. “If you had just gone after Tate instead of
asking me that question, maybe she’d still be alive.”

He made a sound she didn’t recognize. Before
he turned his head so he wasn’t looking at her, she saw the pain
she caused flash in his silver gaze.

“You’re right.” he said in a tight voice.
“I’m sorry, Sophia.”

And then he walked out the door.

She didn’t even have time to process his
reaction before her father entered. He must have been nearby. She
took one look at his face and then lowered her gaze in shame.

“Sophia,” was all he said.

The emotions storming within her had her
feeling out of control. She didn’t know how she could withstand it.
She didn’t know how to handle the confusion or the despair. Above
all, she didn’t know how to work through her own intense
self-loathing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes on the
floor.

Her father approached her and pulled her into
a hard hug. It had her realizing that her Uncle Caleb would never
again have this kind of moment with Tate. And the anguish that she
had suppressed for ten days surged forth.

“I was so cruel to Quincy,” she said against
his chest. Her throat was on fire. “I shouldn’t have been, but I
couldn’t stop myself.”

“He couldn’t have saved her any more than you
could have, sweetheart.”

She knew it. She had known it before she said
such hurtful things to him. But he had been far too easy a target
for her emotions. And now she couldn’t take the words back.

“You both experienced a severely traumatic
event,” her father said, his soft, nonjudgmental voice serving to
stoke her already raging emotions. “You should speak to him about
it. He could possibly—”

“But he didn’t see her, Daddy,” she blurted.
And, at last, the tears came in a hot rush. She squeezed herself as
close to his chest as she could as her breath left her in a painful
sob. “He didn’t see her face. He didn’t get sprayed with her
blood.

“He didn’t watch her die.”

The agony was consuming, like the repeated
cleaving of a jagged-edged knife through the chest. Paralysis ebbed
in excruciatingly slow increments, allowing physical pain through
without freeing movement to try and assuage it. The surrounding
darkness pervaded the senses, serving to heighten the piercing pain
to even greater levels.

Fear and confusion blended with misery,
escalating both until it seemed death would surely be a welcome
alternative. Time ceased to have meaning, one pain-filled minute
blending endlessly with the next. When the paralysis eased enough
to allow it, loosened fingers clawed at hard earth. Nails broke at
the quick, that discomfort going unnoticed in the wake of the other
overriding torment.

Despite the eventual blinking and rolling of
eyes, the darkness didn’t ease. It was as though death had, indeed,
come, but the mind was yet unaware of it. Hot tears trailed down to
land on the same hard surface that broke the nails.

Eventually, the paralysis ebbed enough that
sound could emerge. First came gasps and gurgles. Then moans and
weeping.

And finally, when the vocal chords were fully
released, a single word issued in a hoarse scream.

“Mom!”

Caleb gazed out the window of the bedroom he
shared with Skye. A cool breeze reached him, blowing in off the
neighboring sea. He watched the waves reflecting moonlight far
below and tried to clear his mind.

His wife slept on the bed behind him, a fact
that caused him no end of relief. Neither of them had slept much
since Tate—

He halted the thought as grief gripped him.
Although he was getting better at stopping the memories that had
the power to incapacitate him, they would always be there, waiting
to surface. He knew now that there were no words to convey the pain
of losing a child. Even the dream he had shared with Skye hadn’t
prepared him for this soul-destroying reality.

But they had seven other children depending
on them to hold it together. When she was awake, Skye immersed
herself in caring for them. She attempted to subdue her pain by
pouring her focus and energy into her family. He imagined there
were worse ways to cope.

This thought brought his mind to Tiege.
Tate’s twin hadn’t shown a flicker of reaction from the moment he
learned of her death. It was as though he had already come to terms
with reality long before they gave up searching. Rather than
express grief, he had apologized to his parents for not doing a
better job of watching over her.

Which only toppled Caleb’s already
overwhelmed emotions.

He didn’t know what to do to help Tiege. His
son hadn’t spoken much since issuing his apology, and it was nearly
impossible to tell whether he felt anything. Malukali had done what
she could for all of them, using her abilities as the Orculesti
elder to control emotion to help ease the worst of their pain. But
she explained that their grief was a necessary part of the healing
process, and she couldn’t diminish it entirely. When she tried to
use her abilities on Tiege, however, he refused.