Chapter 6
HER DIVE WAS graceful, as she had ever been, and if one looked only at that, it would be a thing of beauty. Her gown whipping around her slender body, her waist-length hair flowing behind her like a red cape, she looked like an exotic bird who would soar upward at any moment.
It was only when you added the height of the stark face of Halfhead Scarp, and the icy rapids of the Racelock below, that you realized this was no graceful flight but a death plunge. And trapped, held back by others who were watching in horror, a boy watched his mother die before him just as he had watched his father. Watched her body swept away, never to be found. Leaving him behind, to face the ruin of their world ever alone.
Drake awoke in a sweat, sitting up so abruptly his leg shot out a sharp, protesting pain all the way to his hip. He would remember this night, he told himself as he tried to calm his rapid breathing. No more of the palliatives, no soothers for him, no matter how tired he was, no matter how much he might be hurting. He would rather have pain than the nighthaunts such potions brought on.
The finely calibrated sense of time he’d inherited from his father told him it was still a couple of hours before firstlight, and he knew the leg needed the rest. He lay back down, but now his brain was up and running, which meant any chance of true rest was gone. He shifted, trying to ease the strain on muscles still damaged enough to ache at any serious exertion. Like trying to walk without limping, as he had all day yesterday. If this kept up, he was going to have to stage a very public accident to account for it.
He forced himself to focus on the day’s work to come. He had gotten as far as planning a reorganization of the casks in the storeroom when he heard the whispering from above. He could almost see their impish faces, eyes so like their mother’s, as was their hair. He had never told the twins he could hear them from down here. He preferred them to think he just somehow knew whenever they were plotting something, as their mother once had. It gave him a small edge, and he needed every bit he could get with those two.
He waited, knowing that as they got more excited about whatever they were planning, their voices would rise just enough. And if he was lucky, he’d be able to pick out a word or sentence that would give it away, and if it were something risky or too troublesome, he would head it off before it got started.
This time, it seemed nothing worse than sneaking into Enish Eck’s barn to determine if he truly had a green two-headed snake in there, so he decided to let it go. Enish Eck was a gruff old man, but he wasn’t a danger, and if he caught them, he would likely only scare them with threats and bluster. Which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. They needed the juice scared out of them now and then. In fact, he might just see if he could make sure Eck did discover the little miscreants.
He tried not to think of how the Coalition had destroyed most of their communications apparatus, and what was left intact had been seized; his leg would have appreciated the days when he would have only had to go to the linkup and connect to warn the man to keep an eye on his mutant snake, if it indeed existed.
And if it does, I hope it isn’t venomous.
He turned onto his side, gauging his condition. The last remnants of the palliative were still in his system; he could feel them trying to lure him back to sleep. He considered fighting it, remembering the nighthaunt he’d had, but realized he needed the rest if he hoped to be able to function, and let it take him.
This time, the dreams were filled with images of two-headed snakes and a barely penitent set of twins, morphing into the mischievous duo lying swollen and dead from the snake who, with two heads, had been able to strike them both simultaneously. Dying together, as they would wish.
It wasn’t much of an improvement.
When he awoke for good, the twins were, in fact, gone. And his leg, thankfully, seemed much better. He contemplated going after them, decided it wasn’t worth betraying that he could hear them for something so paltry. Better to save it for the days when they decided to do something much worse. Like blow up the Coalition command post, which he had little doubt they would try eventually.
You’d be proud of them, Father. And of Eirlys.
What his father would think of him, he had no idea. The thought of a Davorin tending a taproom would no doubt make him cringe. But it was the job that put food on the table for them, and even his parents had had to make adjustments after the invasion.
With a smothered sigh, he rose and dressed, then headed for the taproom to prepare for the day’s business.
“HE’LL BE ALL RIGHT,” Eirlys assured the child, “but you must keep that injured paw still for at least two days. Can you do that?”
The little boy nodded fiercely, holding his tiny pet hedgebeast close to his chest. Luckily the small, prickly creature ate mostly leaves and stems of plants too tough for more tender palates. Pets were a luxury in this conquered world; most people barely had food for themselves, let alone enough to feed animal mouths.
At least the Davorins usually ate well, she thought as she put her small aid kit back to rights. Thanks to the tips Drake gathered at the taproom, and the hunts he made in any spare hours.
Both thoughts made her frown. The tips came mostly from Coalition troops, which turned her stomach. And the meat Drake brought home from his odd-hour expeditions up the mountain only reminded her that he, the best hunter in all of Zelos, who knew the planet like no other and could be one of the Raider’s best fighters, was instead a lowly taproom keeper.
She knew it wasn’t fair. If it wasn’t for Drake and his outsized sense of duty, she and the twins would have ended up homeless and starving, as so many others were. Instead, they had a solid roof, a warm fire against the damp, and enough food to eat. More than many.
But those who were in such a dire state were often those who refused to buckle, to give in to the Coalition yoke. Those who would never dream of serving them as Drake did.
Most of those resisters had vanished now, either taken and likely killed by the Coalition patrols, or off to fight with the Raider. Where she wished she could be. Where she guessed even Kye was, now that her father was dead.
Where she would be the day she reached adult status, whether Drake liked it or not, Eirlys vowed to herself. She had promised him she would wait until then, but in one more year, she was done with this. She would rather risk an early death fighting this plague that had enveloped their cool, misty planet than live for decades under Coalition boots.
“Eirlys?”
She turned at the soft query. “Rula,” she acknowledged with a smile, but it faded when she saw the woman’s expression.
“What is it?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s her again.”
Eirlys steeled her expression. She hadn’t yet told the woman that her precious milker was on her last legs. She knew that in the shattered economy of Zelos, the animal was their main source of income. Her milk they both drank and traded was a large part of their sustenance. But she had no cure for the disease that was invading the animal’s body. She had managed to slow it, but she could not stop it. Someone with more knowledge might have been able to, but the only remaining animal healer in the entire city had been killed by one of the random bombardments the Coalition engaged in periodically, apparently for no other reason than to keep them beaten. Eirlys did her best, but eventually the rampaging cells would kill the beast.
But not today, she vowed as she trudged after Rula.
We progressed too far. We left behind the creatures and our knowledge of them, abandoned traditions, and the principles of men like her father. We had the wealth of the mines and the possessions it purchased, we were free to indulge in any whim, honorable or not. We decided we needed no defense but our remoteness, and disbanded what army we had and instead built hologram parlors, and an elaborate council building for grand speeches.
We thought it would go on forever.
And then the Coalition had come. They were lulled, deluded, lured . . . and then bombed into meek submission. Beaten, cowed, and rounded up like a herd of milkers. Those who went to their knees and vowed allegiance to their new masters were spared, as long as they did not ever put a foot out of line. Those who resisted were slaughtered outright.
And resistance to the Coalition, they quickly learned, consisted of anything a Coalition official didn’t like. Rula’s mate had merely tried to intervene with a Coalition soldier who, unfamiliar with milkers, decided that the best tactic to deal with the stubborn beast was to beat it. Both he and the milker had ended up a smoking pile of rubble and flesh, blasted by the soldier’s hand weapon.
She shook her head, trying to clear it of that vivid, ugly memory. She’d been only seven at the time, but she’d been bare yards away, and it was etched into her mind as if with a laser pistol. And the smell . . . by hades, she would never forget the smell, cooked meat, milker and human combined.
After a few minutes, she and Rula were clear of the town square. Were clear of the people walking in the head-down, solitary manner that had become usual. For no gatherings were allowed—a gathering being any two or more pausing for even a greeting—for fear rebellion was being plotted. Even she was prey to it, keeping a couple of paces behind the sturdy figure before her, making it clear they were not plotting together, merely headed in the same direction.
To Eirlys the Coalition crackdown only solidified the possibility that something had made them very nervous. Which in turn made her hope the latest tales were true, that in that distant place across the galaxy, the son of a fighting king and the daughter of a notorious skypirate had proven themselves worthy of their lineage, and once more the Coalition had been beaten.
Which would mean it was still possible. They were not invincible.
She tried not to think about the fact that, according to the stories, the fighting king had seen to it that the Triotians and the Arellians had been much better armed and prepared than Ziem had ever been. Tried not to—
“Is it true?”
Rula’s whisper brought her out of her reverie, and she realized the woman had slowed until they were close enough for her to hear. She quashed her immediate lurch of fear, hating herself for even feeling it.
“What?” she asked with a quick glance around; all seemed clear, no Coalition troops in view, no vehicles hovered. In sight, anyway.
“The Raider. Was he really killed?”
Eirlys jerked back at the words. “No!”
It broke from her involuntarily, so horrible was the very idea.
“Thank Eos,” Rula breathed softly.
Eirlys didn’t explain, wasn’t sure she could, that her response hadn’t been one of knowledge, but one of fear. She had no way of knowing, in fact had not even heard this latest rumor.
“What did you hear?”
“That he and his band blew up the guard overlook, but that he was killed in the process.”
“And where did you hear this?”
“From Kerrold.”
She let out a silent sigh of relief. Jepson Kerrold was living proof of the old warning, mind your source. “And why would you trust the word of Kerrold?”
The older woman shrugged. “He was boasting about it.” She gave Eirlys a sideways look. “In your own taproom.”
“It’s not mine,” she answered automatically. “That is my brother’s domain.”
“Such a shock,” Rula said sympathetically, “to see him serving them, as if they hadn’t murdered your father and been responsible for your mother taking her own life.”
“My brother’s decisions are his own,” she snapped, stung by the reminder.
“Forgive me,” Rula said quickly, her tone apologetic. “I know it irks you more than anyone.”
“Irks,” Eirlys muttered, “is not the word for it.”
“In truth, he has little choice. He must look out for you, and the twins.” The motherly woman put a hand on her arm. “When you have children, you will understand.”
“That,” she said flatly, “will never happen.”
The more she thought about what she’d said to Drake, the more certain she was. This was no world, no universe to bring offspring into. Not while the Coalition ruled. They had already taken anyone young enough to be brainwashed, and newborns were confiscated as if they were some kind of illegal property. Any child born today would be shaped and formed and told what to think by the Coalition, and they would never know anything different.
And, in the meantime, they look for reasons to kill those of us who remember a life before. Someday, there will be none of us left, and the Coalition way will be the only way anyone knows to live.
She had wondered aloud one day long ago why they hadn’t just killed everyone. To her surprise, it had been a grim-faced Drake who had explained that the Coalition knew nothing of mining planium, of handling it in its raw, unstable state, and so kept those who did alive, and the others to, in turn, keep the miners alive. Better to enslave the locals to do your bidding than have to commit too many of your own number to do it.
“We’re not a sought-after posting,” he’d said. “They don’t like the cold and the damp, they can barely function in the mist and their mining equipment not at all, and we’re too far off the main track. No chance to get noticed, or promoted. Even Ossuary is closer to Coalition Command than we are.”
She’d been surprised at his concise summation. Although nowhere near as surprised as when, shortly after mother’s suicide, Drake seemed to have forgotten everything their father had ever said or thought, everything he had ever taught them, and turned to accepting their new masters with a servility that had stunned everyone in a son of Torstan Davorin.
He’d taken over the taproom with every evidence of eagerness when old Daff had passed. And, just as quickly, he’d made it clear the Coalition was welcome there. They were wary at first, since no one else in Zelos appreciated their presence, and especially since he was the son of the man who had been their fiercest opposition. But Drake had publicly explained he thought his father wrong-headed, and that he was trying to make up for his foolishness by showing his loyalty. Words that had made Eirlys ill, her stomach churning like the maelstrom of the Racelock, until she’d had to run out for air before she deposited her firstmeal all over the floor.
It was true they lived better than many, but Eirlys for one thought the price far too high. She still loved her brother, and always would. He’d been a rock for them all in a time of unbelievable grief. And he’d been loving, kind, and generous when it was there to give.
Yes, she loved him.
But she didn’t like him very much anymore.