CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
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Alana Hurd
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20th of Decepter, 935 PC
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Alana bent over at the bottom of the sloped path, stomach twisted up in pain, vision slightly blurry. A new symptom appeared each day, never staying long but having quite the effect on her. Blurry vision today, a phlegmy cough yesterday, cramps in her legs the night before that. She’d skipped the card game that night and tried to rest in Lieutenant Pallani’s bed while the others played. Io had gotten big Darrius to replace her- an attempt to help him feel welcome. As well as to not miss out on an opportunity to drink and gamble. At first, all kinds of jealousy filled her up as she watched the newcomer make everyone laugh with his sense of humor and dimwitted comments. But dammit if the bruiser didn’t have her in stitches by the end of the night.
The stench of the bile at her feet filled her nostrils like the pig pens always had back home. Kit rubbed her back gently and commented on the mess. He was as tired of all the vomiting as she was.
Her hand gave up on trying to undo the knots in her stomach and crept toward the easier way to feel better in her pocket. “Is he coming?” she asked. The shift in Kit’s body gave her enough time to shove two of the little purple bastards in her mouth. She sucked them dry as quickly as she could. The powdery coating would hold her over until Kit was distracted enough that she could crunch into the good stuff.
“Still talking’ to Ulla on the ramp,” Kit said, oblivious to what she’d done.
The Cloudcruiser sat a few dozen yards away, in the damp, soggy plains of Resk. She’d grown up in the realm of Resk, but they were nowhere near Twin Roads. If so, she might have just walked off like a pissed off child in the middle of a game. Sadly, this wasn’t a game. There was no pretend, no getting back up after she died. And now she had to go on a mission with Captain Rouille; a dream come true. According to the crinkled-haired cunt the owner of the inn on top of the hill worked for a Purist named Alaric Sampson. Purist; that one word had sent chills down her spine. She’d never actually encountered one since joining the army. In fact, until now, she and Kit had always been able to slip out of the picture when things got messy. Not this time. Not when they were the captain’s only support. He’d kill them himself if they wandered off today.
“I thought captains didn’t get involved with the dirty work,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.
“Here he comes,” Kit said. When she stood, he wrinkled her nose at her. “Try to look a little… better.”
“Shove off,” she said, then straightened out her gambeson. Her vision was still off. Little black spots danced around in front of her face. Blinking several times did nothing. Made it worse if anything. She fought the urge to bite down on the capsules. “My head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.”
“Looks like it too,” Kit said and tugged her away from the vomit. “Get away from that. Maybe he won’t notice it.”
Captain Rouille looked like a fuzzy blob at the bottom of the ramp. She licked the capsules frantically, hoping they might clear up her eyes. “If he fucking hits me again, I’ll kill him.” Would she though? Her aim was still shit and now she couldn’t see straight. She said a short prayer for Kit in case she had to use her lotus magic.
“He won’t touch you.”
“You don’t know that. He’s a prick.”
Kit shrugged. “Just don’t piss him off.” Just like her mom used to tell her when her father would beat on her after a night at the bar.
“Do you think I’m trying to piss him off?”
“No, but you do a good job of it. So, stop doing whatever it is that makes him mad.”
“Profound. I’ll call you Io from now on.” If she wasn’t feeling like shit she’d probably have punched him. It was her personality that made the captain mad, her lack of effort and skill. She couldn’t just be better at those things. Or could she? She could try harder, couldn’t she? Just this once.
Captain Rouille was close enough now that she could see his ugly round face, snarl and all. Each of his steps poured more hatred into her until she was filled to the brim, drowning in thoughts she’d never admit to. Her father had hit her when she was young. A lot. Sometimes for her behavior, sometimes because of his own. Like the naive child she was then, she’d never been able to blame it on anything but the alcohol. Her father, the one that would tuck her in and read her a story each night, would never lay a hand on her. But those childish excuses were reserved for her father.
“Not even you two could fuck this up today. Pins for both of ya.” Pins? No one had said anything about earning our pins. “We get you two pinned and I’ll look like a miracle worker. That prissy cunt might just check me for magic.” He let out an asshole’s laugh. No matter what Stick-up-her-ass had said in Sathariss’ classroom, there were only two ways to earn the infamous gold Lotus pins for Kit and Alana; capture a Purist or kill one. The odds of either of them ever going above and beyond were slimmer than zero. Both were unattractive options but if she had to choose, she’d pick killing a Purist over damning one to the horrible fate of having their magic harvested brutally.
“There will be Purists here…” she said.
The captain said, “Wouldn’t just be the three of us if there were.” Never had an insult felt so good. He looked at Kit. “Your transfer has been approved. You head out tonight.” The good news had barely sunk in when this sucker punched it right back up her throat and it was just as painful as puking.
“Yes, sir,” Kit said, waiting for a salute but Captain Rouille was already heading up the trail by the time he finished.
They followed, but slowly. She needed ground between them and the captain before she could ask what in the three hells he’d meant. And so she didn’t trip and fall on her face. Wobbly legs and moving quickly seldom mixed well when you lacked any morsel of athleticism.
Kit didn’t make her wait. “He’s sending me off to some special group of Lotus stationed in Morne. Locke most likely. He wouldn’t tell me much.” Special group. Kit’s just as worthless as me.
“When did he tell you this?” She figured it out quickly though. “When he got you out of class the other day…” He nodded. “You said he was just bitching at you.” Her voice was loud enough to make them both look up the trail. The captain was focused on the prize at the top of the hill.
Kit whispered, “He did bitch at me. About not having my pin. But he told me I was being transferred too.” He looked remarkably unfazed by it all. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll just leave together before that.”
Their plan to desert meant nothing to her right now. “What kind of special group? You won’t even give a Purist a dirty look.”
“I wouldn’t have to. They just want me to translate some old records. Might get sent back here in a month or two.” She’d be lucky if she was still around then, deserter or not.
The capsules in her mouth were worn so thin the good stuff started to leak through a hole in one of the sides. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and clamped down on it painfully to stop from celebrating. Almost instantly, the knots in her stomach loosened, her eyes cleared up. It would be temporary, it always was, but that wouldn’t stop her from enjoying some normalcy while she could.
They walked in silence. Kit, distressed by his new circumstances, Alana, obsessed with her own delicious ones. But as the initial fix faded she started to think about what it all meant for her friend. There was no reason for him to risk his life with her now. Not if he could be doing something he might excel at. And enjoy. And survive.
“You should go,” she said, trying to mask her new strength. He didn’t respond. Was he thinking the same thing? “Really. You should.”
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Captain Rouille stood at the top of the trail with his hands on his hips, staring at the inn. He turned to greet them with his snarl and a look of disgust. His eyes could have made a living in nightmares. He spit red juices from the fat wad of suri that sat in his bottom lip then said, “About damn time.” Neither responded. “There are two cunts in there working for the Purists. No fucking magic to be scared of. Just round ‘em up and I’ll put your pins on ya myself.” Such an honor. She flinched when he stepped toward her, preparing for the sting of his hand. “Fuck things up and I’ll throw ya off this cliff.” The rosy scent of the suri faded as he stepped away. “Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” There wasn’t enough strength in her voice to fill a thimble.
“Yes, sir,” Kit said, sounding relieved to know he wouldn’t be killing anyone.
“Good. Let’s go.” The captain’s angry trudge was forced, like no one would know he was an asshole if he didn’t look the part.
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The inn was nothing to write home about. Nothing like the ones in Serelle. That whole realm was built to impress. This place was a box with a few windows and two stumpy chimneys. The tie stall was empty and all the curtains were drawn. The view from up here though… Like a fancy mural. What Serelle had in man made architecture, Resk had in natural beauty. Everywhere. The kind she only thought about when she happened to see it because it was too perfect for her to think up on her own.
A snap of the captain’s grimy fingers was accompanied by a hateful glare as he brought her focus back to the mission. “Pay attention, Hurd.” Seemed unnecessary to get all worked up over capturing a couple harmless commoners but that was him. It wouldn’t be enough to ruin two lives with the right amount of remorse, he had to bask in it, love every second of it. He had to treat the whole thing like a training session. Stop doing whatever it is that makes him mad. Can’t I focus for one mission? One mission and then I’ll be out of here.
An eerie silence met them as soon as the door opened, like the inn hadn’t been used in years. The silence made the weapons mounted on the wall that much more intimidating. The musty odor that filled the lobby wasn’t exactly a stench, but it wasn’t something she’d enjoy smelling every day either. On their left, a front desk sat in front of an ironclad door buried deep inside an arched doorway. The door was shut tight and looked disagreeable.
The captain acted as though he’d expected to be greeted by someone. Having not been, he fell into even more military habits. The change in his demeanor changed her mood too. She considered suggesting they go for backup but the captain was already waving his finger around. Kit was sent down a narrow hallway that led to the pub. Alana was pulled down a different hallway that went into the heart of the building. No details of her surroundings stood out to her because all she could think about as they crept along was a Purist jumping out of the shadows and boiling her blood until she bled from the ears. Then she realized that might be best. There’d be no reason for Kit to desert with her if she was dead. I can’t let him get himself killed trying to help me. What was I thinking when I agreed to desert? She’d been thinking about herself. Like always.
Suddenly, a hand was wrapped around her face, squeezing her cheeks so tight her gums hurt. The captain’s nightmarish eyes seized every ounce of her attention. “I won’t tell you again.” He shoved her head back roughly. Her magic tingled in her fingertips as she rubbed her jaw and watched him approach the staircase. Do it. Kill him. Her shoulders slouched, her hands relaxed. It was incredible how high she had to climb to get over that wall. Even when she was furious. What was wrong with her? A smack in the face should have sent her catapulting right into her murderous habits. Shouldn’t it? It should have at least gotten her fingertips on the edge so things like this gave her the strength to sling herself over.
A finger sent her upstairs as the captain took the rest of the first floor himself. She watched him disappear through a doorway, taking with him the last remnants of her anger and leaving behind a loneliness that was dripping with fear.
The railing slid smoothly beneath her sweaty palm. The stairs stood sturdy and quiet beneath her feet. A relief if she’d ever known one. She may have even found some composure within herself if the eerie silence didn’t reach deep into the upstairs hallway.
She praised the forest green rug stretched the length of the hallway for muffling her footsteps. The first room was empty. At least it looked like it through the open door. No need to check too closely. Right? She gave the second and third rooms the same amount of effort. She cursed quietly as soon as she saw the fourth door was closed. Not only was it closed, it felt like it had a purpose; to conceal a trap. She felt hot. Was her blood boiling? No, no. Just her imagination. She stared at the door, debating with herself. Skip it. If they don’t want to be found, leave them inside. Then she thought about Kit and how much better off he’d be without her. A strange reason to be a good soldier, but one nonetheless. Her doorknob turned in her curled fingers without a sound. The door inched open quietly. Then she realized she couldn’t remember any of her training. The only thing she could think to do was peek around the door and even that took serious convincing. Three… Two… She waited a hair longer than a second to finish. One. Her eyes slowly peered around the edge of the door to find a sight even more gorgeous than the rolling plains outside. There, sleeping in a hideous green chair that matched Alana’s gambeson, was an elderly woman with a dark bottle of alcohol resting between her legs. The cane leaning against the chair was a damn fine sight too.
Alana stepped into the silence, realizing too late she hadn’t checked any other part of the room for threats. Luckily, they appeared to be alone.
“Capricia, is that you?” the woman said. Alana’s hands rose in self-defense, ready to kill. Or try to.
The woman opened her eyes when Alana didn’t respond. An awkward moment hung in the air. She flinched when the old woman reached for her head but relaxed when all she did was adjust the glasses that were previously slipping off the end of her nose. She smiled when she could finally see. Then frowned. “Oh, I thought you were my daughter. You look so much like her it’s uncanny. She’d never wear that color green though.” She licked her wrinkled lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you come in. I would have come down to greet you.”
“Who are you?” Alana asked, unsure of what else to say.
“You can call me Aunt Bethunia. I’m the innkeeper.” She used her cane to slowly lift herself to her feet. The bottle between her legs fell to the floor with a thump. Dark alcohol flooded from its mouth, soaking the rug beneath her feet. Bethunia barely acknowledged the spill as she tried to get her balance. “Would you like some dinner?” It wasn’t yet noon. How drunk is she?
All Alana could think to do was take the woman to Captain Rouille. Especially now that he’d surely heard the thump of the bottle.
“I need you to come with me,” Alana said. Aunt Bethunia looked at her through hazy eyes. She licked her lips again.
There were heavy footsteps in the hall and before Alana knew it the captain was standing near the door. No sign of Kit.
“Bethunia,” he said.
And just like that the innkeeper’s eyes were clear, fierce-looking for an elderly woman. Three hells, for anyone. “Laspin. What brings you here uninvited?”
“What I’ve always expected,” the man said and moved into the room. The glow of his fingernails was angry.
“How many times have I told you, Capricia and I are loyal to the Lotus Queen and the Lotus Queen only?”
Now, Kit appeared, leading another old woman into the room. She looked a tad younger than Bethunia but was no spring chicken. There were already tears running down her cheeks. Their gambesons had that effect on a lot of people.
“Who’s this?” the captain asked Bethunia, looking at the cowering woman beside Kit. Kit’s chin was plastered to his chest. No doubt already filled with guilt for having found the poor bystander.
“She’s a guest. This is an inn, after all.”
“Where’s your daughter?” the captain asked.
No one in the room could deny the painful look of truth that flashed across Bethunia’s face. The corner of her eyes wilted, her bottom lip quivered for just a moment. “I haven’t seen her in days.”
“Put them on the bed,” the captain said. No one moved. “Now!”
Alana lurched forward, taking Bethunia by the elbow, asking for forgiveness with her body language. There was none to be given. She and Kit sat the women side by side at the end of the bed and then hurried off to the side together, trying to sneak out of the picture.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Bethunia shouted. “I pay that bitch good money for your protection! I will not be manhandled in my own inn!” She adjusted her glasses and tried to control her breathing.
Captain Rouille looked smug and overly proud of himself for a man towering over two old women. “Your little game is over, Bethunia. We know you’re working with Alaric Sampson.”
“Never heard of him,” Bethunia said.
The captain’s laugh was haunting. “You’re a tough old gal.”
“The toughest. I’d advise you to remember that.”
“Tell me where Sampson is and we’ll find a way to make this right.”
Alana silently begged the woman to cooperate.
“There’s nothing to make right, you pompous ass.”
Captain Rouille lowered himself to the point that his breath could fog her glasses and spoke slowly. “Fifty Leos per month for you and your cunt daughter-” Bethunia’s hand caught the captain across the cheek. He stood, boiling with rage but not reacting. “Tell me where he is or I’ll make sure your daughter lives long enough for every man in my company to get to know her real well. Death will be a sweet relief by the time we’re done with her.”
Bethunia glared. Then glared some more, until finally she said, “All I know is he’s coming for you. All of you.”
The captain scoffed. “Loyal. I can respect that. You’re a fool though. Purists don’t care about you. All they want is to be put back on their throne.” He cracked his knuckles loudly and tried to look convincing as he said, “Don’t you want to help your own kind instead of those pricks? This Sampson fella… is he really worth dying for? He’d put his boot on your throat the second he had to, Bethunia.”
“How dare you compare me to you? I’m a commoner, not an addict.” Bethunia’s head sideways as the back of the captain’s hand slammed into her face. Kit winced uncomfortably and looked at Alana, unable to watch any longer. Alana’s fists clenched so tight her fingernails dug into her skin. The warmth of her magic filled her palms. Do it already, dammit! Kill him. She couldn’t move though. She just dangled there, halfway up the wall between her and murder.
The captain stepped toward the other woman. She tried to pull away from his glowing hand as he reached for her chin but couldn’t escape. He held her there, examining her face. “Who is this, Bethunia? Another Purist sympathizer?”
“A guest dammit! And I won’t have you terrorizing my guests. I didn’t agree to that when I told the Lotus Army I’d cooperate with them.” Bethunia’s lip was busted, her glasses were somewhere on the floor.
“What’s your name, sweetie?” the captain asked the woman.
“M-Marcy Cowen.”
“Do you love Purists, Marcy? She tried to shake her head in his grip. “Did you know this old hag does?” Another feeble shake. He laughed and turned to his soldiers. “Who’s first?” Neither Kit nor Alana spoke, moved, or responded in any way. “Come on now, earn your pins.” Nothing. The captain’s well-known lack of patience made an appearance as he snatched Alana by the back of the neck and put her in front of the women. “Pick one. I’ll tell the queen they were Purists. Close enough, after all.”
The same warmth that had filled her own palms was now simmering on the back of Alana’s neck. It felt much more deadly than hers. She considered letting him do it, ending her, freeing Kit. But then what would Kit have to do? Surely, he’d still have to kill one of these women. Maybe both. She stared at the captives, so similar in appearance but different in courage. She raised her hand in front of Bethunia’s chest. Even Alana couldn’t miss from here.
The old woman stared at her angrily. “I hope for your sake you don’t let bastards like this tell you what to do forever.”
The grip on Alana’s neck tightened.
Alana mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.” then jerked her other hand up. Two blasts filled the room like a flash of lightning. Bethunia snapped backward then tumbled off the side of the bed, landing loudly and awkwardly. Marcy fell flat on her back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.