Chapter Thirty-Five
Fern
Theo eases my feet to the forest floor, not far outside of Sylrya. He had been silent the entire flight, and I had buried my face to his chest, unable to get enough of his scent of a pine and citrus.
I had called myself a traumatized fool for falling for them.
Or... at least, not wanting to kill them anymore.
But there was something about them. And there always had been, if I’m honest with myself.
Even when I hated them, they raised bizarre emotions, sensations within me.
It was almost as if they knew my body better than I did at times.
“Sweetling,” Theo whispers, taking my elbows. “You know you will always have a home with us. A place. A...” he stops himself, shaking his wings in sorrow as his face shutters. “Please, I beg you, Fern, use the holo, if you’re injured. We’ll come for you.”
At that, he drops my arms and spins, leaping into the air without a further word, or my being able to say goodbye.
As I watch him fly off, over the trees, my chest tightens again. How did these bats make me care for them? But I do. Fuck, do I care for them.
A pang hits my gut and I let out a little sound of sorrow.
No time for wallowing in self-pity, I tell myself as I straighten. Time to work. Organize. Protect.
I stride down the path to Sylrya, the sounds of the distant battle occasionally floating to me. Shit, we are indeed short on time.
I bang on Lora—and her partner Susie’s—door. It swings open, Lora holding a sword to her side.
“Fuck, Fern! I thought you must be dead by now!” She hugs me tightly. “Noah was so pissed. Thought they pulled your name on purpose.”
I shrug. The thought had crossed my mind too, but I think it was simply rotten luck.
Or was it? Since I met them?
“How did you escape?” she asks, tugging me inside.
I see Henry, Wyatt, and Sam at her kitchen table, looking over a map.
“Long story, I’ll have to regale you all later. Tell me of the battle.” I quickly give Susie a hug and I cross to the table and sit, leaning over the map.
Susie throws a log in their woodstove and puts the kettle on top of it, starting tea for me without asking. I frown, not wanting to give her more work, but some tea sounds wonderful.
Lora stands, using a dagger to point. “Noah led his contingent on a raid of a rich chime’s manor here.” She gestures outside of Noah’s town, to the west, near the Greensville base.
“The bats retaliated hard, a full coordinated military response, attacking his homestead the next night. They killed indiscriminately.” Her face is sorrowful and I know there are details she’s not sharing right now, in front of Susie.
“What was the chime name?” I ask, trying to put things together.
Lora blinks at me, “Shit...Kambin? Something like that.”
Kambon. The ones that contacted Arch.
“Anyway,” Lora continues, “Several settlement militias rose up and joined the Bell’s. That only made the goyles angrier. Their response was brutal, and they have been battling in this direction. We got word that the Gamal wayhouse has been destroyed. They are edging in to Sylrya quickly.”
She rubs her face as Henry curses.
“But why?” he asks.
I sigh. “To get to our contingent of Rebels. They want to take us out too.”
A thought hits me. “Or worse... they want to take out the dam.”
Lora pales. “Woodbridge Dam? Why? That would...”
“Take out several settlements and one town, three wayhouses downstream from the dam. And the destruction of infrastructure would enable them to charge Noah, and us, with treachery.”
Henry swears again. “The penalty is public execution.”
“Broadcasting the execution of several Bell’s Rebels leaders might be the death knell for the resistance,” Lora breathes.
“Exactly,” I mutter. Susie presses a glass of my beer into my hand. I drain it. “When are they expected to get here?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“We need to get everyone else out. Now.” I command.
THE NEXT TWENTY FOUR hours are a blur.
Hugs, written messages, borrowed carts, babies strapped to backs of the strongest of the men that weren’t Rebels. Which isn’t many. More hugs as they get on the road headed northeast before sunup.
I use the holo Ben had tucked into my bag to message Raquel to send supplies to the Upper Woodbridge wayhouse.
It’s a long haul, even for able-bodied people, but it’s the closest wayhouse or town not in the path of the battle.
We just have to hope they make it. But I know from Arch that the Koth Chime, the only landed chime in that direction, are out of town. So that is one worry I can put aside.
Once the civilians are gone, I collapse in my own bed. My tiny, hard bed, not surrounded by bodies, not touched in a calm, comforting manner by tails, not woken with a hard cock and a hard orgasm, nor a warm home, or electric lights, and sugared tea.
But I find what I miss most is them. The way they kindly tease and support each other, the way they quietly check on me, their easy control of my body and the way my body, and mind, allowed it.
My eyes open as my body aches. I hurt everywhere. What in the world?
I sit up and tug my blanket around my shoulders as I shiver in my cold, small home. I slowly stand, hips and knee joints aching as I wiggle my feet into my slippers. I need to get it together because shortly I’ll be face to face with some stone bats, surely.
I struggle through making some oatmeal—which would be infinitely better with raisins—and tea. Shivering, I sit at the table, though the woodstove is kicking out heat. The warm oatmeal and hot tea helps, but I stand and dig around in my cupboard, pulling out a bottle of moonshine.
I don’t make it often, as it’s a vile drink and tends to bring out the worst in folks.
But for dealing with injuries and some illnesses, it’s unparalleled.
I pour a good nip in my cup and refill it with rich lemon balm tea.
The gentle scent of lemons reminds me of Theo and my eyes unexpectedly fill with tears.
A hard pang of pain echoes through my abdomen. I blink hard and toss back the drink.
Time to gear up and kill some bats.
LORA STANDS NEXT TO me, short sword in hand, pistol tucked in her back waistband. My pistol is too, but we’re two of only a handful of us that have them. Firearms were widely confiscated, and now, the ones that escaped have severely limited ammunition.
Henry, Wyatt, and Sam have been spread with fighters in an arc around the dam, on the eastern edge of town. The gargoyles tend to split off and send small groups of soldiers in on wings, so the front that Lora and I are leading are not necessarily going to see the most action.
In the dim dawn light, I can see a fire on the horizon.
It turns my stomach. Was it started on purpose?
By whom, and for what intent? The thought that the goyles are trying to destroy the dam runs through my mind on repeat.
I can almost see the scene that will happen, any human who looks remotely competent marked as a Bell’s Rebel leader and hauled to one of the government centers.
It happened back, after the big push that killed my parents. At least they died in the battle. Not publicly beheaded.
“Remember,” I call, looking around at my contingent. “We fight for our lives! For safety! For our next generations!”
We were able to rest, due to my knowledge of when the goyles need to sleep. I had been conservative on my estimate, so here we stand, ready and waiting, for the bats to wake and leave their camps, ready to dive bomb back into the battle with us.
And it happens suddenly, like huge eagles, swooping low. I hear a scream as one of my people is lifted into the air. I grit my teeth, spinning, sword out. I catch a thick-skinned leg to a screech.
Through the forest comes the other Rebels. My eyes spare a moment from watching the sky to search for Noah and his second in command—and husband—Liam. I hope they are still alive.
I catch a glance of Liam’s long flaming red-braid as he cuts a wicked slice up a goyle’s belly and relief hits me.
Followed quickly by a pain through my gut, yet no weapon touches me. Movement catches my eye and I turn quickly, blade out just as a bat hits the ground.
“Bitch,” he growls in a manner that reminds me nothing of my gargoyles.
I thrust my blade through his wing as I run past his reaching arms, giving my sword a twist. Not today, fucker.
His growl turns into a hair-raising scream but I’m already locked onto the next. This one’s sword dashes down, I block it but he twists, locking our swords. I hear the scream of a woman but my eyes are locked on the goyle’s. A beta, I realize, as I smell him.
“Gods, you human women are ugly,” he grunts in my face.
“No uglier than you,” I respond even as I use my other hand to bury my dagger under his ribs. His sword grip loosens and I dance away, sacrificing that dagger. I have more.
My boot slips on something as I turn again, looking for Lora. I realize it’s someone’s dismembered arm and my stomach revolts, pain shivering through me. I can’t stop though, for I see Lora stuck battling two big alphas.
I cut down another goyle, this one the same cool blue shade of Arch and it makes my stomach ache. I stomp on his wing joint as I step over his wounded body. A downed goyle is a dead goyle, I repeat my father’s often said rule.
I drop to my knees, hamstringing the bigger gargoyle that is battling Lora. He spins, screaming, trying to launch himself into the air but I jam my blade through his wing and slash downward viciously. His wing skin flaps, blood splattering back and forth as it does.
Lora cuts his throat and his body drops. We turn as one to the other and I manage a glimpse at Lora’s pale face.
“You’re doing well,” I yell above the battle din. “Keep it together.”
She nods and twirls, trying to get around the gargoyle with the long sword.
“Hey you stinky fucker!” I yell, trying to draw him. He does smell though, my nose wrinkling at the scent of this huge alpha. Another zap of anguish through my abdomen.
I snarl, the pain fueling my rage, stabbing blindly. He lunges for me, and suddenly a blade emerges from his chest. As he slides off it, face frozen in shock, Lora’s furious face becomes visible. She yanks her sword back, panting.
“Good job,” I grin harshly, as she wipes her blade on the downed bat’s shirt.
Something flashes near me and just as I duck, Lora screams a warning.
A deep breath, and I dive back into the fray.