Reaper's Revenge (7 page)

* * * * *

Aingeal woke to find her husband gone. She knew before she even turned over and reached for him that he was not there for the room felt empty. Sitting up, she looked to the chair where he had slung his gun belt. She sighed when she saw his weapons missing. Flinging the covers back, she scooted her feet into her slippers and reached for the wrapper lying on the foot of the bed. Knowing there would be no more sleep for her until Cynyr returned, she quietly opened the bedroom door and descended the stairs. The house was still and silent save for Moira McDermott’s wheezing snore coming from the downstairs bedroom. Too crippled now to climb the stairs, the old lady had turned what had once been her husband’s smoking parlor into a nice little room for herself.

After making herself a cup of tea, Aingeal opened the back door, went out into the yard and sat down in the ancient swing that faced the vast prairie beyond. Kicking out 35

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

of her slippers, she tucked her feet beneath her and leaned her left elbow on the swing’s wooden arm as she sipped the steaming cup of tea.

Scudding overhead, the moon drifted in and out of gathering clouds, playing peeka-boo with the owls and night birds flitting about the sky. Somewhere in the distance a lone coyote crooned to the celestial light and a wolf answered. There was a slight breeze playing through the trees and upon it was a scent Aingeal couldn’t place. Behind her, there came a low cough and Aingeal turned in the swing to see Bevyn Coure walking toward her. She smiled at the Reaper and patted the swing. “They wouldn’t let you play with them?” she asked softly.

Bevyn snorted good-naturedly. “Somebody has to watch the civilians and keep them out of mischief,” he replied. He shook his head when she patted the swing seat again. “Don’t want to get too comfortable.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the tree under which the swing sat.

“How long have they been gone?” she asked.

“Hour or two,” Bevyn reported. “They went looking for the source of that godawful stink.”

Aingeal sniffed the air. The scent wasn’t particularly unpleasant to her but it was sharp. She started to tell him so but a light flashed out on the prairie and she turned her head toward it. “Was that lightning?” she asked.

Bevyn tensed, unfolding his arms and taking a step or two away from the tree. His hand went to the dragon-claw handle on his gun belt. “No, that wasn’t lightning.” He was staring intently at the series of light flares. There was no mistaking the arc of a laser whip in the night.

“What’s causing that?” Aingeal questioned.

“Get back inside,” Bevyn said. The flares from the whips were almost constant—

signaling rapid use—and the Reaper had a sense of foreboding that made his testicles draw up between his legs.

“Bevyn, I—”

“Get the hell back inside, now, wench!” Bevyn snapped. “And bolt the door. Make sure
all
the doors are securely fastened.” He spun around and started back around the side of the house.

“Where are you going?” she asked him.

“To get the men together,” he replied. “Now, get moving and stop asking questions!”

Aingeal had almost made it to the back door when she heard a grunt of pain that could only have come from Bevyn. She didn’t stop to wonder at the sound but started around the side of the house to go to his aid. She took five steps then her world came crashing down around her, the teacup falling from her hand.

* * * * *

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Otaktay slung Aingeal over his shoulder and started running. His hands were slick with the blood of the Reaper he had gutted. The white man had gone down but he wasn’t dead. The Jakotai was furious he hadn’t gotten the chance to finish him off, for Aingeal had taken that moment to come running. The brave had stepped into the shadows then hit her on the side of the head with his fist as she passed him, catching her as she fell forward unconscious.

Reaching the horse he’d stolen from a ranch a few miles away, Otaktay draped Aingeal over the mount’s back then swung himself up. He could hear men’s voices lifted in alarm and dug his moccasin-clad heels into the steed’s ribs. Racing away, he glimpsed flares of light coming from the west so he took the southern trail, away from Haines City and toward the Exasla Territory. With one hand firmly on Aingeal’s back, he bent forward low to increase the speed of his horse and vanished in the darkness.

* * * * *

Mick Brady and Brett Samuels were on their knees beside Bevyn, assessing the damage. The Reaper was pouring blood from a gut wound and desperately trying to hold his intestines inside his body.

“Where is Aingeal?” Bevyn asked, gasping as the pain rocketed through his belly.

“Did he get her?”

“Who?” Brady asked, although every man there knew who the Reaper meant.

“Find her,” Bevyn said, then his head fell to one side as the pain got the better of him.

“Let’s get him inside,” Healer Tim Murphy said as he came bustling up. “Can’t do nothing out here!”

Samuels scrambled to his feet and sprinted to the back door of Moira’s house. He nearly collided with the old woman who was hurrying through the kitchen.

“What the hell’s going on out there, lad?” Moira demanded.

“Is Aingeal upstairs, Miss Moira?” Samuels asked.

Moira’s face turned pale. “I don’t know.” She yelled for Aingeal and when there was no answer, she took Samuel’s arm and propelled him toward the stairs. “Find her, lad!”

“Best get that table cleared,” Samuels ordered as he took the stairs two at a time.

“They’re bringing in Bevyn. He’s been stabbed.”

Without hesitation, Moira hobbled to the table and swept her arm across the surface to send salt and pepper shakers, hot sauce and ketchup bottles crashing to the floor. She shouted for her daughter-in-law. “Get your ass down here, ye lazy gal!”

Overhead, Moira could hear the thump of boot heels stomping across the floor and Samuels calling for Aingeal. Having heard Cynyr leave earlier in the evening, she had not heard him return. She knew he was out somewhere searching for the threat to their 37

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

town. She closed her eyes and staggered, knowing in her heart the Reaper’s woman was not upstairs.

“We let ye down, son,” Moira whispered.

The back door crashed open as a trio of men came bustling into the kitchen. Mick Brady and Verlin Walker were carrying Bevyn between them, the healer following close on their heels.

“Who did that to him?” Moira asked as she saw the black blood dripping from the Reaper.

“Damned Jakotai,” Walker snarled as he and Brady laid Bevyn down on the table. In the doorway, several men were milling with weapons clutched tightly in their fists. Moira shooed them out, ordering them to stand watch in case trouble was headed their way.

Samuels came thundering down the stairs, his eyes wide, face drained of color.

“Aingeal ain’t up there,” he reported.

“He took her,” Brady stated. “The brave took her.”

“Cynyr is going to shit a brick,” Walker said to no one in particular. He shuddered.

“Where is he anyways?” Healer Murphy asked as he tore open Bevyn’s silk shirt to get to the wound.

“Wasn’t upstairs,” Samuels said.

“He went out a while ago,” Moira told them.

“This one is going to need Sustenance,” Healer Murphy said. “The wound is already closing itself up but he’s damned well bled out here.”

“Got some in the ice chest that fancy fellow brought from the train,” Moira said, and pointed to an oak box sitting in a corner of the kitchen. “Maybe won’t be enough though.”

Samuels hurried over to the chest, opened it and took out two bottles of red liquid. He uncorked the first one and handed it to Brady.

Bevyn’s eyes fluttered open as the smell from the bottle wafted under his nose. He was pale but didn’t appear to be in too much pain as he tried to sit up, but the men wouldn’t allow it, putting their hands on his shoulders to push him gently back down.

“Hold on there,” Healer Murphy ordered. “We’re getting you what you need.” He lifted Bevyn’s head as Brady placed the mouth of the bottle against the Reaper’s lips. No one could watch the blood being consumed. The men and Moira looked everywhere but at the young man swilling down the Sustenance. None of them paid any attention to Annie as she appeared in the doorway, gagging at the sight.

“Damned useless female,” Moira said, not deigning to look toward her hated daughter-in-law.

Samuels handed the second bottle to Brady who gave it to Bevyn as soon as the first was emptied.

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“We’ve got to go after her,” the Reaper insisted.

“Ye ain’t in any condition to go gallivanting about the countryside, lad,” Moira said.

“Cree can’t do it,” Bevyn said, shoving aside the restraining hands that were trying to keep him down. He swung his legs off the table and pushed himself up with a tight grimace on his handsome face. “He and Arawn are in a fire fight.”

“I’ll go with you,” Brady said.

“Me too,” Samuels agreed.

Bevyn shook his head. “I’ll make better time if I fly.”

Every eye there blinked. No one had the nerve to ask what the Reaper meant as he slid down off the table.

“Gather everyone up and go to the church. It’s the biggest place in town that’s on one level,” Bevyn ordered. “Lock yourself in and unless Cree, Gehdrin or yours truly show up, don’t open those doors to anyone.” He gave Brady a hard look. “And that means nobody, Mick. You shoot whoever dares to break down that door and we’ll ask questions later.”

Brady nodded. He motioned Samuels and Walker ahead of him as they hurried from the house.

Bevyn went to the icebox, bent down and took out two more bottles of Sustenance. Uncapping the first bottle, he tilted it up and swigged down the crimson liquid.

“Should I get together some Sustenance, Lord Bevyn?” Healer Murphy asked, his face showing his queasiness at what the Reaper was doing.

Bevyn was shrugging out of his torn shirt, wincing as his parasite continued healing the wound that had nearly drained him of blood. “That would be good,” he said then drank the other bottle of Sustenance.

“Get on over to the church, Miss Moira,” Bevyn said. He glanced at Annie. “You take good care of her or you’ll answer to me.”

Annie bobbed her head and came forward to take Moira’s arm.

“Get ye hooks off’n me, gal, I can walk on my own!” Moira snarled, shaking off Annie’s assistance. “Why Jamie thought he needed ye is beyond my ken!”

“He loved me,” Annie mumbled. “Like I loved him.”

Moira sniffed. “Ain’t no accounting for tastes, now, is there?”

“No more’n you can choose your own mother, I reckon,” Annie shot back. Moira stopped and craned her crippled back so she could look up at her daughterin-law. She narrowed her eyes. “Ye developing a backbone all of a sudden, gal?” she demanded.

Annie’s jaw tightened. “Reckon it’s time I did, yes, ma’am,” she said, and without giving her mother-in-law another look, walked on out of the kitchen ahead of her, though she did hold the back door open for Moira.

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“Well, hot damn,” Moira said, guffawing. She waved the girl on down the steps.

“Get on with ye, then!”

Healer Murphy shook his head at the two women. He’d been listening to them arguing for going on twenty years and that night was the first time he’d ever heard Annie talk back to the old shrew.

Bevyn followed the two women from the kitchen, careful to step gently off the back steps. His belly was still sore and he felt weaker than he should have. He turned as Healer Murphy closed the kitchen door behind his departure.

“Send someone up to mine and Arawn’s rooms,” he ordered the healer. “Fetch both boxes of tenerse. I’ve a feeling we’re going to need it.”

“All right,” the healer agreed. “Anything else you think we’ll need?”

“Bedding and whatever provisions the town folk might need. Food and water for a few days in case there’s a siege. Wouldn’t think there would be, but it’s best to be on the safe side.”

“Will do.” The healer started to turn away then stopped. He locked eyes with Bevyn. “You really gonna fly, lad?”

The Reaper grinned. “Aye, I am.”

Healer Murphy’s eyes widened as Bevyn began transforming. Feathers began forming over the young man’s body then he sprang up from the ground, changing in midair to a large eagle with a six feet wingspan that caught the night air as he sailed through the sky.

“I’ll be a son of a bitch,” the healer said. He followed the progress of the eagle as it flew around in a circle for a moment then began winging toward the south. 40

Reaper’s Revenge

Chapter Five

They were the most lethal creatures to be found throughout the megaverse. Deadly. Silent. Feared. A pit viper so poisonous its name was spoken in hushed whispers on every planet where it drew breath.

Three feet long with a broad, triangular head with vertical pupils, narrow body striped molten silver and green, horn-like scales above their eyes, one bite from the twoinch sharp, tubular fangs of a ghoret will kill a humanoid within two ticks of a clock’s sweep hand. Destroying the nervous system, heating the blood to boiling and pulverizing the victim’s internal organs, the fluorescent blue venom had no antidote. No creature—save one—could survive the viper’s hit.

Swarming over and around one another with a sidewinding movement, the vipers hissed at the Reapers and struck out at them, barely missing their targets as Cynyr and Arawn leapt away, cracking their laser whips toward the waving heads of the vipers. When the vipers slithered they produced loud rasping noises as they wound their coils against one another with heavily keeled scales and produced a musky, meaty smell that was overpowering.

“By the gods, how many are there of these demons?” Arawn shouted. He had already burned the heads off five of the vipers but more were tumbling toward him. Cynyr had slain four as quickly as his whip could strike but he was standing amid the teeming hoard, backing away from the exposed fangs thrusting toward him.