C
hapter 46: Cold Wind, Red Ground
Rune brandished his swords and stepped protectively in front of me. In a moment, they would be upon us. How could we fend off forty
Dragoons and a Margrave? Using Abilities was the same as physical exertion. When a person became too tired, their Abilities would abandon them as quickly as their strength. Rune was tired. He may have already been embroiled in a fight for his life, leading up to his capture. His chest heaved with each and every breath, but he stood ready.
Hooves pounded down onto the street, and thunder rumbled in the sky. A heavy cloud rolled in overhead, blocking out the sun. The broad lane surrendered to shadow, and the Voice erupted up from the ground ahead of us, twisted and
stooped, lashed down with ribbons of shadow like a giant spider.
Suddenly the
Dragoons, warhorses, and Margrave shot up thirty feet in the air. They hung there, shouting. Some of the horses squealed in fear, while others worked their legs as though they were still attempting to run.
We stared up at them, harmless as toys, and my breath caught in my throat.
I knew what this was. “Dylan...”
The weird, picturesque scene before us ended violently. Their weightlessness vanished, the
Dragoons didn't fall to the ground, they were slammed down. The warhorses burst into pools of darkness that seeped into the ground upon impact, even the monstrosity with three heads, but the Dragoons had no secret realm to cushion their fall. They hit the ground hard. The cracking sound was unmistakable.
Unconscious, broken, dead, in one great motion they were all immobilized.
He walked up from behind us, my pistol in his hand. His long, blonde hair had broken free from the tie he'd pulled it back in, brushing against the high collar of his navy blue coat. Hazel eyes were narrowed, focused.
“
Dragoon,” the Voice Commanded, swooping around my other side. “Cut her legs so she cannot walk.”
I looked from Dylan to Rune, horror stretching across my face.
Rune screamed, “No!” and unable to stop himself, brought one of his blades down across the back of my calf. The slash of agony was white-hot and immediate. Blood sprayed out from my leg and I cried out, crumbling to the ground. It felt as though my leg was gone. I squeezed my eyes shut and cried, pressing my hands against the wound. If I let go, would my leg fall apart?
Thunder roared directly above us, sending a tremor though the air strong enough to rattle the glass windows of the carriages, automobiles and buildings. A tendril of white lightning snapped through the black cloud above us.
“I'm sorry,” Rune babbled. “I'm sorry.”
I p
ried my eyelids apart, too afraid to look at the damage to my leg, and stared up at him. I sucked in my bottom lip as I gasped for breath, tears of pain streaking my cheeks. I was shaking. The torment I saw on his face numbed some of my pain. He was going to cut me again. He didn't want to.
“
Again,” the Voice Commanded.
“
It's... n-not,” I struggled to say, staring up into his blue eyes, “...not your f-fault.”
Rune raised his right sword arm, aiming for my good leg. His face trembled, his jaw locked, and he pinched his eyes closed, roaring in useless rebellion.
Dylan took a single step forward, leveled my pistol, and fired.
The bullet meant to suppress Abilities struck the Voice of the Prince dead in the chest. His circular white eyes snapped up while his long fingers groped his
pitch-dark ribcage. The sound he made was deafening. The Voice screamed, his head flinging backward, mouth tearing open until it severed the top of his oily black head from the bottom. His back arched until it folded backward on itself, and he twisted to the ground, flattening, until he was nothing more than a fraction of the storm cloud's charcoal cast.
It had destroyed him. If I wasn't in so much pain, I would have laughed and cheered for such a thorough victory.
Rune was freed of the hold on him as soon as the Voice disappeared. The pair of swords he'd held clattered to the ground. His face went cold, distant.
“
You should have let me die.” His eyes were unfocused, looking past me, through me.
“
Never,” I whispered.
“
Let go,” he told me, crouching at my side. “It's okay, let go.”
I pulled myself up to sit straighter and reluctantly slipped my red hands off of the back of my left leg. Blood poured between the gaping
four-inch gash that parted my flesh and muscle, dripping onto the street. I looked at the wound on my leg, seeing, in some manner, the nameless soldier who had been shot beside me on the battlefield.
“
This is going to hurt,” he told me with the curt efficiency of a soldier and a stranger. “But it will stop the bleeding.”
I nodded, attempting to prepare myself for the pain.
I wasn't ready. Rune pressed the open flesh together with his hands. They began to ripple with heat, and I could feel myself burning. I screamed and nearly fainted. The laceration had been sealed, but that did nothing for my disconnected muscles. The pain was incredible. I steeled myself, remembering a time when my life force had nearly been ripped from my body.
Hands shaking, I unfastened the top few buttons of my shirt and touched the circle of tooth-like scars in the center of my chest, just below my
collarbones. I felt the little smooth bumps under my fingers. The memory frightened some of my pain away. Nothing could be worse than that feeling.
Rune grabbed on to the end of my scarf, and used the clean sword he'd dropped on the ground to cut free a long strip of it.
“No, not that,” I whimpered, but it was too late.
Taking the knit orange material in his hands, he wrapped it around my calf and tied it firmly in a knot. Crimson seeped through the scarf, turning it red as a sunset.
I coiled the remaining length of the scarf closer around my neck, not caring that I'd left streaks of blood in it.
I heard the metallic snap of a gun being cocked, and before I had the wits about me to look where it was pointing, a shot was fired. There was a sickly thudding sound as the gel bullet met flesh.
Rune grunted and fell forward, nearly atop me.
Dylan had shot him in the back.
He admired the pistol with self-satisfaction and looked down at us. “You’re welcome.”
C
hapter 47: Wild Lightning
“Dylan!” I raged at him.
Rune coughed, and pushed himself back onto his feet.
“It's alright. I'm alright.”
“
Don't worry,” Dylan said in a mocking tone. “I'm sure all of that leather slowed the bullet. It probably only just barely broke the skin.” I'd told him something similar when I'd shot him in the side.
Rune opened his hands and closed them, staring. Small blue flames
ignited his fingertips, and gradually declined, until the fire vanished altogether. “It's gone.” He looked at me, and almost smiled. “I guess I won that bet.”
I struggled, trying to get to my feet.
“That's n-not funny.” Rune helped me up. I couldn't put the least bit of pressure on my bad leg without nearly buckling over in agony. Hissing, I hopped to steady myself on my right leg.
Dylan grinned, strutting as though he was on top of the world.
“Any minute now,” he said, all too pleased with himself.
A screeching roaring sound was coming up the road. I could hear screams, and the crashing of heavy objects. A
riderless horse barreled down the street, eyes wild with terror. It was like a giant beast was charging up through the city and heading straight for us.
Dylan turned his back to us, flicked open a pocket watch and tapped it impatiently.
The sky rumbled and flashed dimly against the daylight, the weather systems continuing to build.
I saw a torrent of wind churn out from the wide lane across the street. It was turning and tossing pieces of debris. A vibration joined the sounds of wreckage and wind. A pair of abandoned automobiles sitting at the intersection teetered, groaned and were pushed with such intense force that they flipped and rolled down the street.
I pressed against Rune to steady myself as the blast of the wind hit us.
The windows of the nearby shops and establishments q
uivered and burst inward, and a bolt of sunlight, lancing free from the cloud front, lit up a familiar frame of patchwork copper.
The Flying Fish soared over the street
, wreaking havoc on the buildings. The wind tore at us so hard, I had to hold up an arm to shield my eyes. Even Dylan's sense of showmanship was blustered away.
The hover ship slowed and turned. The sound of its engines and whirling turbines became deeper, slower. Steam pouring out of the hind chimneys went from billowing clouds to seeping wisps. The ship settled down on the ground with a creak and a crunch that promised
some damage.
“
That's a first,” Rune said appreciatively.
Air hissed from a tall
, narrow panel of the Fish's hull. Popping open, it swung forward and touched the ground, forming a ramp, and revealing a small door. Sterling stepped out from the open hatch. “Need a lift?” he shouted at us over the remaining knives of wind that shot out from below the ship. I could see the grin on his face, even from this distance. Testing the sturdiness of the built-in ramp, Sterling hurried down to the street.
“
Come on, move!” he said when he reached us. “Kyle says this kind of landing is bad for the engines. She can't sit like this for long.”
“
I might need some help getting up there,” I said miserably, struggling to amble with Rune's support.
“
Gravity is it good to see you, Kat,” Sterling said over the wind. He looked like he'd been really worried about me. “What happened?”
“
Rune tried to cut her leg off, just like a good puppet,” Dylan said with a malicious smirk.
“
And you shot me in the back like any true coward would,” Rune growled.
“
Don't be so judgmental. Little Kat here shot me while I was in a cage.”
“
I warned you first,” I said with a savage smile. Couldn't I just kill him now? But as much as he enraged me and insulted me, I was too happy about our rescue to have it spoiled.
“
Can I have a turn next?” Sterling asked lightly.
“
No!” Dylan snapped.
We clustered around the narrow ramp, and Dylan stepped up first, taking care of himself before the rest of us. I could have held a hand out, shocked him, and gotten even for his cruelty, but I didn't.
Sterling grunted, behind me. I couldn't blame him. He probably didn't like Dylan's attitude any more than I did.
Rune was st
anding perfectly still at my side. In fact, Dylan hadn't moved either. Why were they doing that? Why were they holding so still? Clinging to Rune's arm for stability, I turned around.
Margrave
Hest, tall as she was, held Sterling by the throat with a single hand. Her other arm was broken, dangling from the socket, but even as she stood there, she rotated her shoulder and it drew up, popping it back into place.
Sterling's feet brushed the ground and he gripped her clawed arm, hands turning white with the pressure. His face was
going red. He was gasping, choking.
Something was embedded in the center of his chest. It was square, with a thick tube running through it and into a needle in
Hest's arm.
A million volts of electricity may as well have coursed
through me for the shock I that assailed me.
She was going to drain him!
“No, Hest! Stop!” I screamed.
A grand roar of thunder drowned out my voice and a bolt of wild lightning struck the ground thirty feet away. It touched down for a split second and, attracted by my energy, it flicked to me. I'd been struck again, and everything turned white. The power flowed into me, the way it had on the ship, the mass of a waterfall pouring into a cup that would not overflow.
The energy built up in my body, barely contained by my flesh.
I wasn't in pain anymore. I almost felt weightless, lifted by the raw power of static electricity. The current tumbled within me, a celebration of force, demanding release.
I opened my lids, forcing the electric film that covered me to part in the shape of my eyes. I focused on Hest, and channeled the current at her. The bolt exploded from me, branching out with arms that stabbed her so hard, she was carried clean off her feet. The Margrave's body flung away and skidded to the ground.
The device had ripped from Sterling's chest, and he lay in a pile on the ground.
My voice came out thick. “No, no, no...”
Sterling had gone grey.
I tumbled down beside him, not caring about the lancing pain that shot up my leg into my back. “No, Sterling! Stay here, stay here.” I fumbled, pressing against the circle of deep cuts in his chest.
There was still a little color in his face, wasn't there?
Wasn't there?
“
You're strong. Stay with us,” I sobbed, my tears falling from my eyes heavier than the rain that washed over the cape.
Sterling's head tilted to face me, his mouth was open and his throat worked, like he was trying to speak. His eyes filled with water. He was looking at me.
I grinned, and sniffled, desperately holding his chest and pulling at his shoulder. “See! You're going to be okay.”
Sterling reached a hand up. It brushed my arm, lacking the strength to close around my wrist, but he tried. He was so weak. It wasn't like him. Not at all.
When he had made as much contact as he could manage, he closed his eyes with effort.
I inhaled.
He was taking me back through my memories again. This time, instead of glancing over my buried memories of my mother, he was showing me a sweet girl with almond eyes, glasses, and brightly dyed red hair.
The first thing I saw was
Ruby and I arguing in the park. I'd told her that Sterling was using her to find out more about me so that he could sell me out to his father. I saw it all over again, but we didn't stay, like a stone skipping over water, we moved back farther still. I was at school. It was sunny, as always, with bright fluffy clouds dropping round shadows over the green lawn. The Wendy River was glistening in the sunlight. I was sitting on the bank alone, watching Ruby and Sterling. They were on the opposite side, sitting under the shade of a leafy green tree. Sterling had his guitar, and he was playing for her. She leaned on his shoulder giggling, her apple-red hair spilling over her face. The memory skipped back again, and I saw us in the basket of the Clockwork Ferris Wheel. We jumped into the water in the night.
The memories faded from focus, and brought me back to reality. He was trying to talk to me, using my memories. He wanted me to take care of Ruby
, to free her and watch out for her.
I looked down at him and sobbed. “No, no, no, wait.”
Sterling's lip quirked up in the closest thing to a smile he could manage. The last blush of color fled his face, relenting to the grey. His eyes glazed over, staring, but not seeing. His chest moved, breathing, but not living. He was gone.
Sterling was gone.