THE REFORGED TRILOGY: BOOK 2 — SWORD OF DREAMS
Chapter 26: In Dreams
“Life without mystery is boring, but I think I’m about due for some boredom.”
– Gruth Rommik, Lyran mechanic (233 PA)
Logan watched the station doors long after Tiberius and the rest had gone inside. The scruffy old captain could walk right in and ask whatever he wanted. The police might not be able to give it, but Tiberius could ask. They would welcome him. But Logan sat alone outside, waiting.
Almost alone. Gripper sat over in the other truck, staring out the window at him. Tiberius had insisted on taking Duaal along and was just as adamant that the Arboran remain behind.
“To avoid complications,” he had said.
Now Gripper regarded Logan with the terror of a stonemouse staring at an owl. The huge alien was Maeve’s closest friend, wasn’t he? It was hard to imagine the fierce Arcadian woman befriending someone as frightened and shy as Gripper. But then, it had been so long since Logan could call anyone a friend that maybe he was missing the point.
Gripper gestured at him, then again. He wanted Logan to slide the window down. The bounty hunter did so and cold, wet air blew into the truck’s cab.
“What?” he asked.
“Never mind,” Gripper said quickly. “It… it’s not important.”
He fumbled for the window controls, but Logan reached across the gap between the two vehicles and closed his cybernetic hand over the glass. It tried to rise and ground against the illonium.
“Um…” Gripper said, voice thin and squeaking with terror.
Logan wasn’t sure what he was doing. His every exhaled breath steamed, a plumed white countdown ticking away Maeve’s time as he thought.
“You said that Maeve stopped using White,” he said at last.
“Yeah…” Gripper answered hesitantly.
Logan went quiet again. Why did it matter? It didn’t. He withdrew his hand, but Gripper left the window open. Slushy snow fluttered down into both vehicles, but the Arboran didn’t seem at all bothered by the weather.
“What made her stop?” Logan asked.
“I don’t know. Not because I haven’t asked,” Gripper told him. “I have, and it’s not like she doesn’t answer.”
“What does that mean?” Logan asked suspiciously.
“Don’t kill me!”
“I’m not going to kill you. Just… tell me what you mean.”
“I don’t even think Smoke knows why… but she’s been different ever since Stray. So much happened to her. All of the stuff with the Nihilists, then getting stabbed and helping deliver Baliend. And… and you, too.”
“She was relieved that I was gone,” Logan said.
His jaw clenched. It made sense.
“No, that’s not it,” Gripper said. “She misses you, I think.”
Logan didn’t have much time to consider that. The doors of the police station banged open, held by blue-uniformed police officers. Xia and Panna hurried out, in close and concerned conversation. Tiberius ran behind them, carrying Duaal in his arms. The Hyzaari boy was limp, unmoving. Gripper jumped and banged his head on the ceiling of the truck.
“What happened?” he asked.
Xia yanked open the back of the nearest truck and helped him lift Duaal into the vehicle. The police officers followed, but Panna waved them away.
“We’ll take care of him,” she assured them. “Please, just let us handle this.”
They looked uncertain and told Panna to call them if anything changed. When the police were gone again, Logan climbed out of the driver’s seat and went to the other truck, where Duaal was laid out. Xia had covered the Hyzaari boy with her coat and was peeling his eyelids open.
“What happened to him?” Logan asked.
“He just collapsed,” Panna said.
“The altitude, maybe?” Gripper asked. “Hyzaar’s all ocean and islands.”
“No. Duaal hasn’t lived on Hyzaar since he was a baby,” Tiberius answered. “And Gavriel kept him here on Prianus for several years.”
“I’ve checked for everything I can think of,” Xia said. Her expression was frustrated, but her eyes were a frightened red. “Aside from the headaches he’s been having for the last few months, he’s the perfect specimen of a healthy human in his prime.”
“Wow, thanks for noticing,” Duaal said. He groaned as he sat up slowly, rubbing his head and squinting. “That’s sweet.”
“Easy,” Tiberius told him. “How do you feel?”
“Sick.”
“Does your head still hurt?” Xia asked.
“No, not really.” Duaal wrapped his arms around his knees and took a few deep breaths. “But there were some… hallucinations this time. I don’t know. I saw things. I saw Maeve.”
Xia rubbed Duaal’s back gently. “It’s only natural. You’re worried about her.”
“I guess…” he said uncertainly. “There was a human I remember, too. One of Gavriel’s old Emberguard, Hallax. I think he was torturing Maeve.”
“Do you think that really could be happening?” Gripper asked. “Is Gavriel torturing her?”
“Yes,” Logan answered flatly. “Did you get any information on the White?”
“Duaal went down before we learned anything,” Tiberius said.
“See? I said I should have stayed out here,” Duaal announced. “I could have had a much nicer time.”
Panna pointed back to the police station. “We should go back in and wait for that narcotics cop that Cerro called.”
“I’m getting tired of waiting,” Logan said. “If Maeve is still alive, then it’s only because Gavriel isn’t done with her.”
“You’re talking about torture again,” Gripper whimpered.
Logan closed his eyes. His battles against Maeve had been often brutal and bloody, but not torture. But now…
They’re hurting Maeve.
Logan punched the side of the truck hard enough to make the vehicle rock on its shocks. The impact left a dent in the metal.
“Ease up, Coldhand,” Tiberius growled.
“It was just a stupid… dream, I guess,” Duaal stammered.
He reached out as though to comfort the bounty hunter, but Xia pulled the young mage back.
“You take it easy, too,” she said. “You’re clearly not well.”
“I’m fine!” Duaal protested. “I know what I’m doing!”
“Shut up!” Gripper shouted. Everyone stopped to stare at the Arboran. Gripper’s big, brutish face was full of fear and despair. He pulled on his long ears. “None of this is helping Smoke!”
“He’s right,” Panna agreed. “We need to talk to that cop and find out where the White came from.”
“And if they don’t know?” Xia asked.
“They will find out, but it will take time. At least a few hours, but probably more,” Logan said. He hesitated, then shook his head. “There’s an Arcadian boy, Ballad. He and his gang tried to chase me off when I was hunting the Nihilists in their territory. They’re protective of the other fairies.”
“Do you think they might recognize that needle if someone is trying to sell the White nearby?” Gripper asked.
“Maybe,” Logan said. “If the Nihilists have been working in the Arcadian district, they may have bought the White there. I’m going to find out.”
Tiberius nodded curtly. “Call as soon as you have anything.”
Duaal pulled himself to his feet. “I’ll go with you, Logan.”
“No.” Tiberius said it gently, but firmly. He took Duaal’s arm. “You just passed out. I want you back up at base camp and I want Xia keeping an eye on you.”
“I want to help, captain!” Duaal protested.
“I know. But you’re sick enough to be hallucinating,” Tiberius said. “Go back to the base camp, Duaal. Rest. I’m not losing you to get Maeve back.”
Tiberius and Duaal held each other’s gaze for a moment, then the boy sighed. “Fine.”
“I’ll go with Coldhand, though,” Gripper said. “I don’t know if I can help, but I want to try.”
Tiberius nodded. “Then Panna and I will stay here to talk to the narcotics department. Pick us up when we’re done, Gripper.”
“Come on, Duaal. I’ll drive,” Xia said. “Besides, you and I need to talk.”
She helped Duaal into one of the trucks and they drove away, back toward the long violet shadows of the Kayton Mountains. Tiberius and Panna made their way back to the Pylos police station, leaving Gripper chewing nervously at his claws.
“What were you going to ask me earlier?” Logan asked.
“I uh… I just wanted to tell you thanks for helping us look for Smoke,” Gripper stammered, barely audible through his mouthful of claws.
“I’m only here to find the Nihilists,” Logan reminded him.
“Yeah, I guess.”
Logan paused. “You can thank me when we’ve found her.”
“She’s unconscious. I’m sorry, Lord Gavriel.”
Hallax wiped the knife on his sleeve and stood. Maeve Cavainna slumped against the steel support. Gavriel sat still.
“What do you wish of me, my master?” Hallax asked.
Gavriel flicked his fingers toward the door. “Find Xartasia and bring her here.”
Hallax bowed so low that his tangled green hair almost swept the floor, then vanished through the doorway. About ten minutes later, Xartasia entered and curtsied, though not nearly as deeply as Hallax.
“You summoned me, Lord Gavriel?” Xartasia asked. “What do you desire?”
As she straightened once more, the Arcadian princess saw her bloodied cousin and faltered.
“Maeve told me that you came to see her,” Gavriel said.
Xartasia’s violet eyes flicked back and forth between Maeve and Gavriel.
“Yes. I warned her,” she said.
“About what?” Gavriel asked.
“That it was unwise to fight you.”
“You like her.”
“She is of my blood,” Xartasia said carefully. “Maeve is stronger than those who wear your black robes.”
“No one is strong enough to withstand all of life’s torments,” Gavriel said.
Xartasia looked down at the blood spattering the floor. “Did she give you her memories of the Tamlin Waygate?”
“Not yet,” Gavriel said. “She’s being stubborn. Every time Hallax cuts her, she just remembers that Prian man, Coldhand.”
“You will not break Maeve with pain,” Xartasia told him. “She has spent decades trying to drown her losses in battle.”
“You underestimate what I can do to her,” Gavriel said. “Before I am done, Logan Coldhand will be her savior, not her hunter.”
“I do not doubt the pain you can inflict,” Xartasia said. “But this is not the way.”
Gavriel stroked his cheek. The skin was as thin and dry as paper folded too many times. Maybe Xartasia was actually right. Hours of torture had done nothing to coax Maeve’s memories. She stubbornly shielded them with thoughts of the bounty hunter. He was a source of both pain and a strange sort of pleasure.
Perhaps if Hallax could have plied the full extent of his trade… But Gavriel could risk no damage to Maeve’s brain. If Xartasia was correct, pain would win him nothing and opening up too much of Maeve’s flesh might kill the fairy. She would do Gavriel no good in a grave.
And Maeve Cavainna didn’t deserve death. Not yet.
“What do you suggest, then?” Gavriel asked.
“I am not certain yet,” Xartasia answered.
Gavriel stood and stepped over a puddle of feathers and cold, sticky blood. Xartasia followed in obedient silence. Out in the hallway, Gavriel called to one of the clustered Nihilists.
“Wake her,” he instructed, pointing over his shoulder to where Maeve sat. “She gets no sleep and no food until she gives me what I need. But if she dies under your care, you will be thrown down into the pit.”
“Yes, Lord Gavriel.”
Logan parked outside the Arcadian district. The hunter thrust a handful of colored cenmark chips into the hand of a man leaning against an abandoned storefront and told him to watch the truck. The Talon-9 seemed to convince the man that Logan was a police officer and Gripper’s hulking presence helped assure his frightened but sincere honesty.
It took them several hours and bribes to find Ballad. An old fairy woman didn’t seem to understand Aver very well, but Logan’s broken Arcadian was good enough to send them up a rusty, rickety stairwell. Neither of the Arcadians at the top were Ballad, but one of them knew of him.
“You can usually find him or one of his boys at the house on Ovidius,” a one-winged girl told them.
The house on Ovidius was a leaning building covered in graffiti. A young Arcadian met them at the door, dressed from head to foot in black leather but wearing a bright green scarf around his neck. Logan recognized him as Kashan, one of Ballad’s friends. Kashan’s gaze lingered on Gripper for a long moment before he returned his attention to Coldhand.
“I didn’t think we would see you again,” he said.
“I need to talk to Ballad,” Logan told Kashan shortly.
The fairy gestured at Gripper with the tip of one wing. “What about him?”
“You don’t need to worry about him. He’s a coward,” said Logan.
“Hey!” Gripper protested.
Logan looked up. “You are.”
“But you don’t have to tell them!”
“What is he?” Kashan asked.
“He’s an alien, hawk,” Logan said. “I don’t know what kind, and I don’t care. Now, I need to talk to Ballad.”
“Fine.”
Kashan nodded and stepped back to let them inside. The house was full of Arcadians, most of them gathered around a small stove. They looked up as Logan and Gripper passed, but seemed content to let Kashan deal with the strangers.
Ballad stood over a table in a back room. A rough, hand-drawn map lay stretched across the tabletop, weighed down at the corners by empty bottles and chunks of concrete.
“A’ma saevanii,” Kashan said.
Logan had no idea what that meant, but it got Ballad’s attention. He waved several other leather-jacketed Arcadians out of the room. Kashan remained, lingering in the doorway behind them.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Ballad asked.
“No,” Logan said. “I need more information.”
Ballad frowned. “It didn’t seem to help you very much last time. What makes you think I can do better now?”
“This is closer to home,” Logan said. “I’m looking for someone who deals in chems.”
“I thought you were looking for a cult.”
“Does anyone sell Vanora White around here?” Logan asked.
“A lot of chem dealers come through this part of the city,” Ballad told him almost apologetically. “I don’t know exactly what they were selling. We don’t usually take the people we find out drinking. You were an exception.”
“You’ve got to know something!” Gripper said. “Coldhand said you take care of the Arcadians here.”
“We do.” Ballad’s voice took on a hard edge. He frowned across the table at his guests. “And when we find chem dealers, that means breaking their beaks, not taking inventory for them! Some probably sold Vanora White, but I can’t tell you any more than that.”
“That’s all you’ve got?” Logan asked.
“Please…” Gripper said. He held his hands out imploringly to Ballad. “We’re trying to find my friend. She’s an Arcadian, too. Isn’t there something else you can do?”
Ballad slapped his hand down on the table, making the empty bottles jump. “Look, if I could stop my own people from going missing, I would! But I don’t know what’s happening to them, either!”
Logan’s stomach twisted into a knot. They were getting nowhere and swiftly running out of places to look. He hoped that Panna and Tiberius were having better luck.
A lab technician pulled a magnifying glass over the tray and the springs in the metal arm creaked. She turned the needle over in gloved hands.
“I don’t have much for you, I’m afraid,” she said. “The manufacturer’s mark is a counterfeit, but that’s not uncommon.”
It was crowded in the laboratory. Tiberius was downstairs with Cerro, nervously awaiting an update from Xia on Duaal’s status.
Panna looked over the lab tech’s shoulder. “Anything else? What about fingerprints?”
“None. It was wiped down, probably prior to sale. There were a couple of fibers. Red and synthetic. Whoever used the needle was wearing gloves.”
“No prints,” Panna said. “Anything else? Can you tell us where it was sold?”
The tech shook her head. “Sorry, no. It’s a local mix, but I can’t narrow it down much more than that.”
“Why not?” Panna asked. “Can’t you do a molecular breakdown and analysis? There must be some kind of pollutants that can pinpoint where this stuff was originally manufactured!”
“Look, you’re talking about detecting particles in one part per hundred thousand,” said the technician. “And trying to find those in a trace sample of less than a drop. We just don’t have that kind of equipment.”
“Can you tell us anything at all?” Panna asked.
Frowning, the Prian woman shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” Panna said with a sigh. “I don’t… I don’t mean to be rude. This was used to drug a woman in an abduction. We’re trying to find her.”
The tech looked up. Her eyes were hard, just like Tiberius and Kemmer’s. It was easy to imagine that the people on Prianus were carved out of the same stone as their mountains.
“Even if I could tell you where this was made, I don’t know that it would help. This stuff gets distributed all across the county. You can find it in any alleyway in Pylos,” the technician told Panna. “I’m afraid this needle isn’t going to help you find your friend.”
Cerro came in with a folder and two cups of coffee. He pushed one of the chipped mugs across the desk and Tiberius took it gratefully. The heat soothed some of the pain in his old joints and Tiberius gulped down a few mouthfuls of the dark, acidic coffee. It tasted pretty much as bad as he remembered. Good coffee beans needed a warm place to grow and there weren’t many of those on Prianus.
“Did you find anything?” Tiberius asked.
Cerro handed him the folder. “Nothing recent. There’s some mention of the Church of Nihil, but even the latest information is over six years old. I’m not doubting you, Captain Myles, but if the Nihilists are in Pylos, then they’re being careful and quiet.”
Tiberius put the coffee aside. It didn’t mix well with the worry. He opened the folder.
“But you’ve got something,” Tiberius said.
“I think I might,” Cerro answered. “There were reports of the Nihilists from Highwind. A Mirran that they called the Emberguard was selling some poisoned chems. When the cops cornered him, this mad hawk killed one and maimed the other. The survivor vanished not long after he got out of the hospital.”
Tiberius looked at the photograph clipped to the report and was suddenly glad he had stopped drinking the coffee — he would have spit it all over the page. The man in the photograph was a few years younger and still wore his blue police uniform, but Tiberius recognized Logan Coldhand.
How could this bright-eyed young cop be the same man who had hunted Maeve for the last year, as cold and merciless as a wild falcon? Or the same haunted-looking man who landed at Kemmer’s base camp only that morning?
Tiberius read over the report’s first page. It detailed Coldhand’s injuries… Not just the hand, but the man’s heart, too. Logan Centra had nearly died on the operating table four times during surgery.
“They think that this Lieutenant Centra might have joined the Nihilists,” Cerro told Tiberius. “Precinct officers talked to his dove. She swore that Centra was a good man and would never go over to the other side, but admitted that he had been different, a changed man since his wounding.”
Tiberius sighed. “Is this your lead?”
“Yes. What’s wrong, Captain Myles?”
“I know this man. He’s a bastard, but he’s no Nihilist.”
Cerro frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure,” Tiberius said.
“Then we’re right back in the nest. We’re out of places to look.”
A sharp slap jerked Maeve back into wakefulness. Another robed Nihilist — neither Hallax nor his master — crouched in the lamplight and held a cup to her lips.
“Drink,” he told her.
Maeve spat half-frozen water back into the Nihilist’s face. The man jumped away.
“I will accept nothing from you!” she rasped.
The coarse whisper was as loud as Maeve could make her voice after hours of screaming.
“Please,” said the Nihilist. “You can’t die yet.”
Maeve turned her face away. Every part of her body thrummed with pain. The multitude of cuts were no longer bleeding freely, but one of her ankles was swelling impressively and darkening with bruises. Was something broken? The joint was full of liquid agony and her stifled heartbeat hammered in her ears.
She adjusted her wrists in the handcuffs. The skin was raw and sticky-hot with blood. Her fingers brushed each other and Maeve wheezed a soft cry of agony. How long until her fingernails would grow back? She was useless in this state.
Maeve began singing the anesthetic charm Orthain had taught her as a squire, the same one she had used to ease Kessa’s labor. The Nihilist yelped and slapped her again.
“No!” he said. “No spells.”
She considered trying again, but the Nihilist grabbed a piece of cloth from her pants, cut away by Hallax as he worked, and stuffed it into Maeve’s mouth. She tried to spit it out, but he tied the gag in place with another bit of cloth.
“If you’re not going to drink, then I guess I don’t need to leave your mouth uncovered,” said the Nihilist.
He sat on the edge of Gavriel’s empty chair and put his chin in his hands, watching Maeve. Every time her eyelids began to close, the Nihilist guard kicked her wounded ankle. Maeve groaned into her gag.
“No sleeping,” he told her.
Maeve blinked her sticky eyes. How long until Gavriel returned, until he was prying at her memories with his songs? Until Hallax was back with the glass knife? Maeve renewed her struggles and the Nihilist guard brought his heel down on her ankle.
“None of that, either,” he said.
