Day 15: Noon.
A fist thrust through the rising dust, and Martyshkina blocked it with the palm of her right arm. The warlord had already anticipated the movements of her stubborn opponent, hidden by the sand veil, and added an elbow right into the incoming headbutt. Such was the speed of the Orais that the resulting collision of two moving forces sent gusts of wind that tore the veil and carried away pebbles.
She frowned in pain at the dislocation of her pinkie, and the championian stepped through the elbow that hit his nose. His leg hooked into Martyshkina’s, his hand closed around her throat, and the warlord was thrown back to the stone floor of the arena, landing hard enough to be mistaken for an explosive round. But the cheers of the Champion’s faithful were premature, for in her fall she let go of his fist and closed her paws on the arm that was strangling her. She grabbed the wrist and around the elbow, forcing him to choose between shattering his limb or letting go. His grip loosened, and she tossed the opponent to the side, planting him face down on the stones and sending up another billow of sand.
The warlord sprang to her feet and added a kick to the rolling aside opponent, throwing her arm up in the air just in time to block the shards of rock thrown at her snout. She smiled, biding her time to set the dislocated finger and calm the aching bones. The Orais was an exquisite joy to face against. The man fought dirty, not shying away from spitting and throwing stuff at her; his grabbing technique was supreme, and, ah, every inch of his body was a weapon! When she blocked his punch, he seized her pinky with his own fingers and dislocated it, and her hide bled in several places where the steely fingers had torn flesh in a grip.
Bruises covered the championian’s limbs; his arms and legs were swollen, but he matched her smile with his own. The Orais were naturally built to withstand heavy throws, and their skin absorbed blunt trauma. Though Martyshkina pulled back a bit on her punches and kicks and refrained from using her claws, the two were evenly matched.
They fought in the primary sparring arena, a large stone platform built inside the Champion’s training grounds. Unlike other temples, this one had no sacred relics, and the most ceremonial things were the oil that young students rubbed on the fighters and the fumes of incense that rose from brass braziers. Crowds gathered in the seats around the platform, eagerly studying the full contact of these unusual fighters.
“Again, you stand, waiting for me to make the first move.” The Orais spread his arms wide, ignoring the urging of the crowd of students and onlookers to continue the match. Broken teeth rained down from his fur. This arena was seldom unused. “Dear guest, what is troubling you? I can see it in your amber eyes, a glimmer of sadness flashing through the excitement.”
“I spoke the truth; I came here to learn.” Martyshkina hesitated to admit her reason in front of a thousand people, but then she took a breath and spilled it all out. “And to forget the pain of losing those whom I love.”
She didn’t lie. Janine, busy as she was with introducing her pack to the new methods of warfare, was a great friend and tried to get Martyshkina to open up. But she saw that the young one, the feisty Kalaisa, needed guidance, and so Martyshkina joked her way out of the talks with Janine. Sadness swelled in Martyshkina’s chest, sadness that her girl never took her advice, that she had missed the splendor and peace of Houstad, that her princess had to die to escape madness. The realization that she would outlive her precious cubs haunted the warlord again and again, poisoning her dreams.
Her conversations with the therapist helped. The sessions were long, no less than two hours each, and slowly Martyshkina’s desire to take a revolver and put a bullet through her skull began to fade. There were reasons for her to live and ways to be happy. But the depression refused to let go, and the warlord dared to relax.
“Forget?” The Orais raised his massive eyebrow. “Sister, you stand on the holy grounds of the Champion, on the very border between this world and the next. Through our struggle, we reach those who have left their mortal coil, for improvement never ends. You need not forget. Let loose, unchain your clenches and fists, your claws and fangs, rip and tear, and speak to them. Open your heart to the fallen, and I will serve as an enduring conduit. Talk. Permit yourself to be free.”
Martyshkina blinked, wanting to denounce the stupid idea, and then she howled at the sky, her muscles bulging, summoning every ounce of her rage and power. She stepped into the incoming rain of blows, grabs, and throws, taking the lead in this match, brutally landing her kicks on the Orais’ shoulders and hips, sending ripples across his skin and exploding the ground beneath the man. He stayed true to his promise, withstanding her every blow and returning the gesture in kind.
The world merged and collapsed in the intense, fast-paced fight: the vast arena, the red splotches in the air, the torn fur and flying debris, the clouds of sand and the cheering crowds. Through it all, Martyshkina imagined another sight. Maybe it was the incense burning in the braziers, or perhaps the Spirits opened a hidden pathway, but a shadow of her lost princess stepped into the air, flanked by her sisters and brothers.
“I am sorry,” water ran down Martyshkina’s eyes, blurring her vision. Her head rocked up as a fist connected to her nose, producing a ringing sound as if a steel hammer hit a metal gong. The warlord persevered, dodging the trajectory of the next strike, and kicked the Orais in the groin. “All I ever wished was for you to live long and happily, to find yourself soulmates, build a tent, and to have a knoll of little ones waiting for you when you returned from the wars. I dreamed of helping you raise them, cooking for them, and teasing you about how to be parents…” she whimpered, spitting blood. “I never wanted to poison your veins, to have you be inverted or risk losing themselves. The time I gave birth to you and first enclosed your warm bodies in my embrace were the happiest days of my life. I… don’t know what to say to your cubs every time I see them. I am so, so sorry for taking you away from them and for failing you.”
She expected curses or hatred. But what came from those phantoms was love, unconditional and reassuring. Memories of how she trained, raised, and helped them burned anew in the warlord’s eyes. The ghosts of her children flickered out of existence, and the world returned to the arena where she wept and dodged and countered the raining blows of her opponent, who now took the place of the defender. Whether it was a mirage or the truth, something had changed in her. Martyshkina felt the supporting paws of her children on her shoulders. It was as if she was back in the past, and her cubs were already urging her to win against Janine in a ranked match.
“My duty’s done.” The Orais bloody lips parted in a smile. “It is a joy to witness a successful communion. May your burden be lightened.
“It is.” Martyshkina nodded eagerly. Her body hurt from all the pounding she had received, but her spirit was exhilarated. Her cubs didn’t hate her! “Apologies, but the fun is over. Little ones are watching. It’d be bad if they saw their mom kiss the dirt again.” She snapped her fingers. “Time to drop you, Holy Father.”
“Dream on!” the Orais roared, and they lunged at each other, their fists colliding, the loud shockwave of the impact silencing the crowd. Through the pain of that day, a most unusual understanding was born.
When Martyshkina was returning from the arena, happy, bruised, and dirty, she ran into the waiting Eled at the entrance.
“You look different,” her named sister remarked.
It was sweet. Janine had her paws full of her own pack, but Martyshkina suspected that her friend had asked people to watch over her. Regularly, the warlord would run into a familiar soldier on her way from the therapist’s office, or a friendly face in a bar. Sometimes it was Predaig. Or Zlata. But she was never alone, and it was time to break out of her dark thoughts.
“I live,” Martyshkina said simply, smiling. “Come.”
“To bars?”
“Screw the bars.” Martyshkina cracked her neck. “I’ve been drinking too long. We have duties to perform.”
****
Day 20: Early morning.
Mindy was a very happy Wolfkin. The survivor of the first litter, she was smaller and leaner than her siblings, but she never understood the pity with which her mother and they treated her. She was enlisted in Warlord Dragena’s pack—the best pack there was! After ten years of service, only a handful of scars marred her body. She became a scout through a promotion and had a loving husband and four adorable cubs back at home. What was there to pity?
She was ecstatic about the news of visiting Houstad, regretting the inability to bring her honey and the little ones here, while the rest of the pack sulked over the lack of war glory. Glory? What glory is there in getting hurt and dying in war? Mindy could never understand the savagery of her kin, not even when it came to protecting her rank. She often heard other scouts and even several wolf hags call her ‘Weird Mindy’, but all she did was shrug.
Houstad was incredible! No war, an abundance of various foods, people constantly asking her questions about customs and traditions instead of boring fights, and she got to wear a gifted parade uniform! It consisted of a simple blue jacket decorated by four medals, long leather pants, a blue shirt, boots, a cap, and a skirt. She failed to understand why her combat sisters balked at it, preferring to stay within the confines of the base. Mindy ventured out to explore the city at the first opportunity, wasting all of her tokens.
This was a problem. Mindy was weird, but not stupid; she understood the importance of money and sent most of her pay to her honey so he could raise the little ones right. It was okay; side jobs paid enough for her personal interests, but Houstad was so expensive! A cake here cost more than a spare bullet magazine in the Wastes. Mindy was about to settle for sightseeing when Warlord Dragena summoned her and Iternian Jacob Makarevich for a private mission! Her! A mere scout!
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They were to find a person. It sounded difficult at first, but Mindy wasn’t the one to pull a long face. She and Jacob visited the archives and retrieved files about the Assassins’ Guild. As expected, there was no mention of this person after the guild was dissolved, but that was no problem! The assassins, silly buggers they were, watched each other jealously, trying to swoop in and steal customers at the first opportunity.
It was then that she really came to appreciate the kind Iternian who paid for every expense. Sure, Jacob had endless questions about the tribe, but it was not forbidden to discuss these matters, and the two bonded over their morning coffees. The former assassins, now working in offices or escorting merchants outside the wall, were a great help, and after a little digging, they found their person and called the warlord, sending her the information they had gathered.
“Any idea why Dragena wanted to meet this woman?” Jacob asked, sipping coffee as he and Mindy sat in a simple coffee shop in the morning. It was a one-story place, built in a spherical shape, near a platform overlooking a river. People often gathered here before going to work in a nearby skyscraper, and during the day, several children delivered hot coffee to the offices.
“Nope! Not even a hint,” Mindy said, admiring the rich aroma of the coffee. Jacob paid for a monthly subscription in exchange for her personal experience of how the “reward” of her power affected her. Mindy wasn’t strong by any means, but even she gained fifty centimeters just by winning her share of the domination matches. The scout adjusted her cap and watched as the shop’s sign lit up, announcing its opening. “Doubt it anything bad, though.”
Warlord Dragena appeared from around the corner, punctual as always. As she walked to the entrance, nodding once to greet her helpers, the sun began to appear on the horizon and lamps were turned off. Yawning couples and morning birds left their homes to go to work. Several people gathered on the platform, taking pictures of the first boats to float. A bearded man turned and filmed the warlord and the sitting couple. Mindy noticed him and waved at the man, who quickly turned away. The store’s doors flew open, unleashing the storming-out crowd of young children of various ages and origins, who quickly spread around, wiping the white plastic tables clean. One girl, not quite awake, nearly rammed her head into Mindy’s stomach before she realized that someone was sitting at a table.
“Uh… you can’t bring your own coffee,” the girl said with a yawn, pointing to the paper bag where Mindy kept her thermos. She blushed when the scout pulled out the flask and showed that it had the store’s logo on it. “Sorry, miss.”
“This coffee is delicious.” Mindy’s praise made the girl’s blush again.
“Woah, you are tall,” another child said to Dragena.
The warlord’s cold and dispassionate eyes surveyed the unusual work crew. “Aren’t you too young to be working at such an early hour? What if you run into some drunks?” she asked, glancing at Jacob.
“Mom will beat them up!” said a Malformed kid. Like the others, he wore the store’s uniform, but his was always on the verge of bursting under the rolling muscles, the many knotted, sinuous limbs that ended in square fingers covered in bone crust. “She is the best!”
“Yeah, when she picks up her scythe, even the craziest scum wets themselves!” The sleepy girl boasted.
“Is that it? Call her then, it is time to settle this blood debt,” Dragena said icily, and opened the store’s door to let the kids run inside.
“That’s bad,” Mindy swallowed.
“I wasn’t hired to be an accomplice to murder,” Jacob snapped and charged in.
Mindy followed, unsure of what to do. She certainly didn’t want anyone to die, and the orders of the Blessed Mother were clear. No causing troubles. If it came to it, she’d throw herself to stop her warlord. The problem was that it wouldn’t be enough. Even if they called the entire police department, it wouldn’t be enough. A warlord, especially Dragena, could not be stopped by mere New Breeds.
“Stay where you are,” Dragena warned them, sitting in a chair near the counter.
“The hell I am.” Jacob closed in, and Mindy took a step.
“It… It’s against the rules, Warlord,” Mindy squeaked into the icy eyes.
“What is the commotion?” An impersonal voice inquired as the planks in the ceiling above the counter shifted, unleashing warm air and the wonderful smell of fresh seed.
An elegant figure jumped down, wearing a white apron and black clothes. Mindy thought the woman was wearing a strange pitch-black body glove, but then she understood that the store owner’s skin was black. Not as black as that of a Normie, but completely black, so that not even the light of the Warlord’s eyes could illuminate it. She wasn’t tall or muscular; the woman was about one and a half meters tall, and the whites of her eyes were two narrow slits of color on her round face. Ignoring the glowering warlord, she handed pocket change to the children, shooed them outside, and began cleaning metal pipes, turning her back on Dragena.
“Desert Death,” Dragena tapped on the counter. “Once considered the best in the guild.”
“That was my nickname, yes. And I wasn’t the best. Reaper always was.” The woman replied in an even voice. She stood on the counter and closed the entrance to the ceiling, then jumped down and reached for a hanging scythe on the wall. Mindy tensed, but the woman just picked up cups from the shelf, filled them with hot coffee, added sugar, and set one in front of Dragena. “On the house. I go by the name of Sitota Ezkeiel these days.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dragena promised and casually drank the cup, baring her throat without care or worry for having it slit or if the coffee was poisoned. The hem of her coat shifted from the movement, and Mindy noticed the long, sheathed knives. “Forty years ago, at the request of the Oathtakers, my wolf hag and four warriors had lost their heads in the night. It was done by a single scythe cut.”
“I had to wait over a week, covering my scent with chemicals,” Sitota said, sitting across from Dragena. She offered another full cup, and the warlord accepted. “At the end, it was for nothing. They sensed me and riddled my stomach full of shards. It was a miracle I reached civilization to treat my wounds.”
“You don’t deny it,” Dragena’s unblinking eyes found their perfect match.
“No,” Sitota answered. “Have you come to collect my neck?”
Dragena glanced around the place and, at last, the door, observing working children through its glass.
“They are not yours.”
“They are not part of this,” Sitota said.
The warlord’s amber eyes returned to the woman’s face. There was no thought or anger in them. Mindy knew that many, herself included, were unnerved during private conversations with the warlord. It was stupid; their leader had risked her life many times to turn the tide of battles in their favor; her unparalleled fighting style left no opponent alive, yet her presence resembled that of a very large snake. She threatened to open her mouth and swallow you whole just by being in the same room. Dragena never raised her voice or hurt her subordinates, but there was something wrong with her, as if she was missing a vital part of being human.
Jacob squeezed in between the warlord and the former assassin, a mere human barely reaching the chest of the seated Dragena. He stood his ground, holding a terminal like a weapon in his hand.
“Warlord. No,” he said.
“Warlord.” Mindy reached out and put a paw over the knives. “I can call the police. This... this isn’t right.”
“This is no concern of yours, Iternian, scout,” Dragena replied coldly. “It was said that Desert Death lived to kill, valuing neither tokens nor the lives of her victims or even her own. She didn’t live; she merely existed, wasting oxygen day after day.” Dragena tapped on the cup, and Sitota refilled it. “Desert Death never returned to Houstad. Sitota did, and her purpose is far nobler.” Dragena drank the coffee. “There is no one left for me to kill. Raise these cubs, and we’re even.”
“Just like that?” Sitota asked. Dragena nodded.
“And if Sitota hadn’t changed,” Jacob pressed. “What would have happened then? Would there have been bloodshed?”
“Don’t push it, Jacob,” Mindy whispered, removing her paw.
“You underestimate me, Iternian.” Dragena examined the menu. “I gleaned the necessary information about what kind of person Desert Death had become from the results of your search. My mind was already made up before I came here. But if we were to theorize, I would’ve apprehended…”
“You would’ve tried,” Sitota interjected.
“I never made a mistake in my life,” Dragena said bluntly. “If you had wasted the years of life you were given, I would have broken you and turned you over to the police. There is no if in that; it is simply a fact. Now, unless you want to have breakfast too, leave us. And Mindy…”
“Yes, Warlord?” She saluted.
“Good job. Never be afraid to stand up to me,” Dragena said and turned to the menu. “I’ll start with the omelet. Twelve eggs and bread, please.”
“Lizard or chicken eggs?”
“Chicken.”
Mindy took that as a hint and dragged Jacob out into the street after her, wiping the nervous sweat from her brow.
“Sorry,” she said, checking her cap critically to see if there was any sweat on it. She liked the thing for its prettiness. “I didn’t know the Warlord would use you.” Mindy glanced at the crowd of people near the secure railing, filming the boats below.
“I don’t mind being used like that,” Jacob responded. “I plan to skip the city; maybe check out the wall to the west.”
“What for?” Mindy asked, narrowing her eyes. There was a man who looked worriedly at the store instead of filming the river. She wasn’t surprised when this bearded weirdo took a peek at Dragena, but why was he so focused on filming the entrance?
“I’ll film the smaller settlements to show how people live in these changed regions. And there is a kingdom outside the Reclamation Army’s border. I have heard that your leaders are trying to integrate it peacefully. Material like this can make a killing back home, if I can get permission to venture outside. Shouldn’t be hard; if the Oathtakers got one for their trip to the wall, there’s no reason…” Jacob placed a hand over her shoulder. “Is something wrong?”
“Not sure,” Mindy admitted, nodding at the suspicious man. “The dude over there keeps paying more attention to here than to the boat. Is he a freak interested in children?”
“Don’t make accusations like that, Mindy; they can easily ruin a person’s life. But come to think of it, he is a rather twitchy fellow,” Jacob focused on the man.
“Let’s go ask him!” Mindy pushed forward, ignoring Jacob’s pleas to stop. She waved her paw and called, “Hey! Mister!”
The bearded man darted away from the platform, shoving the tourists out of his way. She saw his panicked eyes as he ran to the intersection and almost jumped under the car to get to the alleys on the other side, while Mindy ran after him, gaining distance. This unusual behavior surprised her even more, and she made her way to the left alley entrance, knowing full well that the path the man had taken would end in the metal grating and a sealed door leading into the houses. This much she learned as she scouted the area in anticipation of the warlord’s arrival. The scout gestured for Jacob to stay behind her for safety.
What do they know? The man took pictures of her and Dragena. By no means a crime, so Mindy wasn’t going to let her claws do the talking. Facing the grate, the man would have to choose between returning to the street or fleeing further into the alleys, and Mindy chuckled as she noticed him rushing around the bend ahead. She changed her walk to a stride and was about to catch up with the man when a figure in a black leather cloak suddenly stepped into her path.
“Halt,” the newcomer’s eye flashed in the dark, and Mindy understood it was a woman. She showed an ID. “Piam from the Investigation Bureau. We’re conducting an investigation into the Benguigui family and would appreciate it if you’d stop stirring our potential suspects.”
“Suspects in what?” Jacob asked, and Piam smoothly turned to him.
“Their rats have been spotted doing unusual activities around town. Nothing illegal, but enough to attract our eye.” A terminal slipped into the agent’s hand. “Do you happen to know who Warlord Dragena was meeting with this morning, and why that might be of interest to the criminals?”
“Not sure about the latter, but the former is…” Mindy started happily.
“Is none of your business,” Jacob snapped. “Thanks for your warning, Investigator. We will certainly stay out of your business.”
“What bit you?” Mindy asked when they left the alley and ventured to a bus stop.
“Think about it, Mindy. Why would an investigator stop us in the alley instead of picking up that creep and grilling him until he answers her questions? And if she’s leading the investigation…” Jacob scratched his chin. “Why can’t she simply come to Dragena and ask her? It’s almost as if she doesn’t want to meet her.”
“We best to inform the warlord,” Mindy decided and smirked. “And get a breakfast!”
“I’ll pay, of course?” Jacob laughed at Mindy’s whistle.