The Reforged Trilogy: Book 1 — Crucible of Stars
Chapter 26
Prayers Unanswered
“We only live that the gods may enjoy from us all manner of songs, from the most comical to the most tragic.”
– Arcadian proverb
Everyone stared at the body of the dead Lyran Emberguard. And then chaos erupted once again. Maeve closed her eyes, but couldn’t block out the sound. She had survived. Again.
“Anslin, will you never answer my prayers?” she asked quietly.
She opened her eyes and looked around the shambles of the mess hall.
“He killed himself!” Gripper shouted, hopping from one huge foot to the other and clutching Duaal against his chest like a child. “Look, he just bashed his brains out on the floor!”
“Kessa, I need you to get down to the medbay and bring me my kit,” Xia said. “It’s in the blue locker with the cross and circle on it.”
“But–!” Kessa objected.
“Go get the kit or Vyron will die!” Xia said.
Kessa nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, and jumped to her feet. She stepped fearfully over the Nihilist’s body, as though frightened it might bite her, then vanished down the hall toward the medbay. Tiberius staggered over to Gripper, staring at Duaal in his arms.
“What happened?” the old Prian asked. “Is he alright?”
“I think so,” Gripper answered. “Just passed out.”
Gently, the Arboran laid Duaal on the floor and wiped his claws on his shirt. Tiberius sat down heavily beside the boy and took his cold hand.
“Damn them,” he said in a voice thick with rage. “Damn them all. What did they want?”
“Power,” Duaal whimpered. His eyes fluttered open. They were haunted and terrified, drained of the bravado Maeve was so used to seeing there. “Gavriel needs another one… to replace me.”
“What?” Tiberius leaned close to catch the words. “Power? Find out if they took anything, Anandrou.”
“Yeah, on it,” Gripper said.
The big engineer limped to a wall-mounted computer terminal, grimacing in pain. Xia looked up from where she was holding together the halves of the great rent in Vyron’s chest.
“That can wait, damn it!” she hissed. “First, you all need medical attention.”
Gripper looked uncertainly between Xia and Tiberius. Kessa ran back into the room with a large plastic case tucked under her arm. She held it out to the Ixthian doctor, who opened the case and pulled out a hypodermic needle as long as Maeve’s hand.
“Hold here,” Xia instructed.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, Kessa obeyed, replacing the Ixthian doctor’s hands with her own. Xia ripped the cap off the syringe with her teeth and plunged the needle directly into Vyron’s wounded chest. Kessa closed her eyes and sobbed, but she kept steady pressure on her mate’s severed blood vessels. Xia jammed the plunger down and Vyron convulsed.
“Hold him!” Xia said.
Kessa leaned all of her weight onto Vyron. Xia peeled back his eyelids and inspected the Dailon’s glassy black eyes. Apparently satisfied, she nodded to Kessa and went to work swiftly suturing up the long cut.
“He’ll live,” Xia said. “Which is more than I can say for the rest of you if you tear yourselves open any more. There’s a lot of blood on the floor and not all of it is from that man there.”
Xia pointed her sharp chin in the direction of the dead Nihilist.
“Sit still until I can get to you,” she ordered.
There was a cold, hard touch on Maeve’s arm. Coldhand had closed his cybernetic fingers around her bicep. The Arcadian tried to pull away, but it was like trying to break free of a vice and she was so tired.
“I have what I came for,” Coldhand said and pulled Maeve toward the door. They both left red footprints on the floor.
“Not so fast.”
It wasn’t Tiberius who had objected, but Xia. The bounty hunter stopped, glancing back at the medic. Xia had finished stitching up Vyron and was regarding Coldhand with determined aqua eyes, hands on her hips.
“You’re bleeding just as bad as anyone else here,” she said. “You won’t get far before you pass out.”
“I don’t feel it,” Coldhand answered.
“Even a mechanical heart needs blood to pump and it can’t do that if you’ve bled out,” Xia said. “Sit down before you fall down.”
Slowly, Coldhand released Maeve’s arm. He pulled the Talon-9 from his hip as he leaned against the wall, ready to shoot any member of the Blue Phoenix crew who might try to take advantage of his wounds. Maeve sagged beside Coldhand. Neither one looked at the other.
Xia went to Tiberius and made a noise of disgust.
“A towel?” she asked. “Do you have any idea what kind of infections you could have picked up?”
“Better than bleeding to death,” Tiberius retorted.
“Not by much.”
Gingerly, Xia pulled the dishrag from the wound in Tiberius’ stomach and went to work washing it out. He grunted in pain. She pulled a can from the supplies, shook it and filled the wound with disinfectant foam, then began stitching Tiberius up.
Maeve risked a sidelong glance over at Coldhand. The man was reputed to be as unstoppable as time and just as ruthless. They had fought hard, first against one another, then against the powerful Emberguard. She couldn’t really fault him for bleeding.
But she did. Maeve’s eyes fell shut. She was ready. She wanted to die and wanted Coldhand to do it.
“Genocide?”
Maeve’s eyes snapped open.
“How can one woman commit genocide?” Coldhand asked.
Maeve pulled her wings around her. The feathers were stiff with drying blood.
“By terrible accident,” she said. “Not by breaking of any law, but out of love. I turned love into death, Logan. And for that, there is no forgiveness.”
Coldhand considered Maeve’s non-answer. What did she mean? And did it matter? She certainly implied guilt. The fairy’s voice and her silver eyes were full of self-loathing and horror. That seemed answer enough.
Coldhand probed the deep gash left by Maeve’s glass spear. It was so close to a killing blow, but she had restrained herself. Blood welled up around Coldhand’s prodding finger, but still he felt only the most distant, dull throb of pain.
After tending to Tiberius and then Gripper’s numerous cuts, Xia crossed the small room. She looked between Maeve and Coldhand. Deciding either that the Arcadian was in more need of care or else that the hunter was expendable, Xia began applying a sticky yellow bandaging spray to Maeve’s many cuts and burns.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” Xia told her.
“Bad luck,” Maeve said.
Gripper made his way back over to the computer terminal and brought up the internal sensors. “Engine room checks out. Everything’s still there. The fore starboard airlock is blown, though. I guess they cut it to get in.”
Tiberius nodded absently, still watching Duaal. The boy lay on the floor of the impromptu medical ward, eyes squeezed shut and shivering.
Duaal wasn’t the job, Coldhand reminded himself. And neither was Maeve’s guilt or innocence. He was just a bounty hunter and Maeve Cavainna was worth high color to someone. He would let nothing stop him from taking her in, not even an Emberguard bent on destruction.
The Emberguard… Coldhand had always assumed there was only one, that it was a singular title for the Mirran man who had taken his arm and his heart. But if what the Lyran had snarled was true, there was an entire faction of them within the Church of Nihil, all serving its leader, Gavriel. Duaal seemed to know Gavriel, and was terrified of him.
So what was the Emberguard doing on Prianus five years ago?
Selling illegal chems…? Maybe. The death-worshipers didn’t seem to care much about breaking the law for their own needs. But Coldhand’s homeworld was a remote planet, too far away from the main trade routes to be a lucrative market.
The questions didn’t matter. Not because Coldhand was afraid. It was simply a useless line of inquiry. That was all.
There were more important things to think about. Maeve was closer than she had ever been in the past year. Close enough that Coldhand could smell the sweat beaded on her pale skin, as salty as a human’s, but mingled with something sweet, like honey or vanilla. Close enough to see the imperfections of her bleaching job, the shadows of hair as black as a Prian night. Close enough to touch, to reach out and seize her again or press his Talon to her temple.
But Coldhand was wounded and needed Xia’s attention. But once she had administered her care, what was to stop him from simply grabbing the tired fairy princess and leaving? Only Maeve herself… For all of her dove-white feathers, she was more like a hawk or falcon, bred and blooded to fly and kill. More like Coldhand. Logan had lost his arm and his heart to juvenile sentiment. He knew better now.
Maeve’s head suddenly snapped up. “Wait, where is Baliend?”
Xia blinked, startled, and then an embarrassed expression crept across the Ixthian’s face. Kessa had been following her around the mess, handing out supplies as asked for. But now the new mother’s fragile composure shattered and she began to cry again.
“That little bird-back stole him!” Kessa sobbed. “The… the one who tried to kill Vyron!”
“It was another Nihilist,” Gripper said. “She was wearing those black robes. She took Baliend and ran off while the Emberguard stayed to fight.”
Tiberius swore loudly, though he held Duaal gently. Maeve leapt to her feet, eliciting a shout from Xia. The princess scooped up her spear and bounded in the direction of the exit.
“Sit your tail down this instant, Maeve!” Tiberius said.
Maeve paused at the door leading toward the front of the Blue Phoenix. “No, I am going to find Baliend. You have seen the work of the Nihilists and they are not to be trusted with a child.”
“I’m not saying that–” Tiberius began, but Duaal struggled to sit up. His ordinarily dark Hyzaari skin was pale and his eyes were wide with terror.
“Maeve, no! You can’t go,” Duaal said. “You have no idea what Gavriel’s like. We have to get off this planet!”
Coldhand didn’t think he had ever heard Duaal speak to Maeve. There seemed to be no love lost between them, but there was real fear in Duaal’s voice now.
“I have to retrieve Baliend,” Maeve argued.
“We… we have to run,” Duaal said. “Don’t let him take me again, Tiberius! Please! I’d rather be dead…!”
Tiberius’ mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. His face was so flushed with fury that he looked like he might actually explode at any moment.
“You mean this man abused you?” Xia asked. “Sexually?”
Duaal shot her a withering look. “What? No! Believe me, I wish it was… just that. He used me… I don’t know how else to describe it. Since I was a little boy. Gavriel said he needed me for his spells. I felt them, I sang them for him. He was in me, in my head!”
Duaal trailed off in helpless horror. He clenched his hands into fists and tears ran down his cheeks in shining streaks.
“I don’t understand,” Tiberius said at last. “Gavriel needed you for… what? A component of his spells? Like virgin’s blood and unicorn horns? That kind of thing?”
“No. Magic does not work that way,” Maeve told him. She still held her spear and hadn’t moved from beside the door. “It obeys the same rules as science, as any truth. The gestures and symbols that Duaal uses are tools given to children to help them learn. They are meant to be put aside when the time is right.”
“You said you didn’t know much about magic,” Xia accused.
“I am no adept of the Ivory Spire, but I am of the royal line of Cavain. I have been to school!” Maeve snapped. She tapped a finger against her temple. “Ultimately, all that matters in magic is the thought! The words, the songs, are used to give structure and meaning, to aid in memory.”
Duaal was staring down at his clothes, at the dangling charms and the symbols embroidered into his expensive velvet coat, now ruined with dark stains.
“What?” he gasped. “All this…?”
“Is unnecessary,” Maeve said firmly.
“I don’t need all of this?” Duaal asked, gesturing with a trembling hand.
“Physical foci are for children,” Maeve told him. “You should have outgrown them years ago.”
Coldhand was listening closely to the conversation and almost shot Xia when she approached. The Ixthian tensed and held still until he lowered his gun again. The case of medical supplies in her six-fingered hands was nearly empty.
“You can listen while I patch you up,” Xia told Coldhand.
“Gavriel needed me for his magic,” Duaal said. “He always kept me right there beside him, even when he was sleeping. Whenever he started a spell, ever since I was a little boy, I felt it in my head, every word… but he was never talking to me, not like we are now. The songs ran through me and then… things happened. Lightning, fire, whatever Gavriel needed. I understood what he was thinking and I… said… it the right way to make it happen.”
“You thought it the right way,” Maeve corrected.
Duaal nodded. “I hated it. Eventually, I was more scared of the things Gavriel made me do than anything he might do to me. So I ran.”
“That’s why you were stowed away on my bird,” Tiberius said. He rubbed his face. “You could have told me, Duaal. You’ve had plenty of time to do it!”
Xia was almost finished. She had cleaned the wounds left by Maeve and Orphia. Coldhand watched Duaal. The fear was naked in his green eyes and he pulled his knees up against his chest like a much younger boy trying to hide.
“I learned something from the Nihilists that I did not think important,” Maeve said. “But perhaps it is. There was a woman there named Elsa. She went to the church seeking refuge from an abusive husband and when he came looking for her, Elsa said that Gavriel shouted Arcadian words. Perhaps a spell. But he killed the man with a silver knife. There is a graveyard of dead enemies behind the cathedral.”
“Is that what they’re going to do to Baliend?” Kessa asked in a trembling voice.
“I… do not think so,” Maeve answered slowly. “And if they knew you were of the Sisterhood, you would be on the floor, not Vyron. No, I mean that Gavriel stabbed a man, perhaps with one of his old ritual implements.”
“Is there a point to this story, Cavainna?” Coldhand asked. So far, this all sounded like a waste of dwindling time.
“That’s the power he needs to replace,” Duaal said. “I was older than Baliend when Gavriel took me, but only by a few years. I… I don’t even remember my parents. Just him.”
Maeve regarded the young human with a glittering silver-gray gaze. “It would seem that Gavriel lost much when you escaped him. I do not understand why… No Arcadian relies so heavily upon an artifact that they can no longer sing their spells properly when it is lost.”
Xia looked up from suturing a long, bloody gash across Coldhand’s left shoulder.
“Why didn’t they take Duaal back?” she asked.
“He’d better not try it,” Tiberius growled, cracking his thick, gnarled knuckles ominously.
“I don’t think they knew about Shimmer,” Gripper said. “They were just after Little Blue.”
“Is Gavriel going to hurt my baby?” Kessa asked.
“Yes,” Duaal answered.
“I will not let him,” Maeve said.
Orphia perched near Tiberius, glaring balefully at Coldhand from time to time as if to remind him that, though Tiberius might have been distracted by talk of Kessa’s child and Duaal’s history, she had not forgotten about the bounty hunter.
Coldhand flexed and then balled his right fist experimentally. Xia did good work. She was at least as skilled as the Temptation’s medic had been. Better, probably. The skin pulled tight across his bicep, but Coldhand was no longer slowly bleeding out.
The questions being asked were interesting, to be certain, but they weren’t important. There was no bounty on Gavriel, regardless of his crimes. Coldhand’s injuries were tended to and Maeve hadn’t taken advantage of his wounds to get away from him. If she trusted that Coldhand was an honorable man who would not fight the people who had healed him, she was very wrong.
“What can we do?” Gripper asked, wringing his huge claws and worrying at the hem of his shredded Better FMS than FAO! shirt. “I mean, we don’t know where they’re taking him.”
“There are several Nihilist cathedrals across Stray,” Maeve said. “Gavriel was not at the Gharib church, but his people came here. I was told that Gavriel had gone to Kharnig, but I believe that he has returned.”
“But we don’t know that for sure,” Tiberius argued. “We should com the police.”
“That is your answer to everything,” Maeve said.
“What’s the point of cops if we can’t call them when something goes wrong?” Duaal asked.
“Maybe we could check the local mainstream and see if this is happening in Kharnig, too,” Gripper suggested. “The Arcadian who took Little Blue could be anywhere by now if she had a ship or some other vehicle. Maybe we can find out.”
“We have already wasted too much time,” Maeve announced. “I am going!”
“We’ve got to play this carefully,” Tiberius told her. “How many of those Nihilists are there? How many more of them are Amberguards or whatever they are? It took everyone on this bird to take down just one of them. You won’t do the kid any good dead.”
“You will just stand by while Gavriel threatens a child?” Maeve asked.
“Good God, girl, I’m not saying that we do nothing–” Tiberius shouted.
“Whatever you decide, you’ll be doing it short one princess,” Coldhand said.
Against her captain’s orders, Maeve was already moving toward the door of the mess. Coldhand grabbed her wrist in his cybernetic hand and hauled her back. Maeve stared at him with shocked silver eyes.
“What are you doing?” Xia asked. “I just stitched you up!”
“Your mistake,” Coldhand said.
“I would gladly die by your hand,” Maeve told him. “But not right now. I need to find Baliend!”
“That’s not the job,” Coldhand said. “You are.”
“Have you no honor?” Maeve asked.
“No.”
Coldhand holstered his gun loosely and pulled another pair of handcuffs from his belt. Maeve stood up on her toes, but still didn’t reach Coldhand’s shoulder. She raised her hand and he braced himself. He had learned long ago not to underestimate her skill and they were both badly injured.
But Coldhand wasn’t ready for the sharp impact across his left cheek and a loud crack resounded in the suddenly silent room. A slap? Maeve hadn’t even hit him hard, but Coldhand took a stunned step back and raised his hand to his face. After a year of battling for her life and freedom, Maeve… slapped him like a badly behaved child?
The princess spun away, her cheeks as red as though she were the one who had been hit, and grabbed her spear. Without another word, Maeve ran out of the mess hall. Coldhand drew his Talon and gave chase.
