Chapter 8 #2
“To the dead who will not be reborn,” repeats Arrek, in Common, and I drink again.
The three men are silent for some time, and I realize they are far away, deep in some ancient battles. Or not so ancient. It’s strange to think that just a little over six months ago, they had entirely different lives, that they led men into battle.
I clear my throat. “How are you going to train if you’re not allowed in the Rift?”
“Simulations are the best we can do for now,” Mero says.
“I’ve arranged for several other triads to join us tonight.
Some of the ones who voted with us, and the two triads we met today.
They volunteered to Shift into the Spire.
They saw firsthand that these things can be hurt. We’ll be training farther south.”
“Can I watch?” The wine is giving me courage.
“How’d you watch those Mark-13s?” Mero asks.
“From the south wall. You guys sealed up the west one, but the south one still has a bunch of pitting that’s great for handholds.”
“Hmm. I see. Another thing on the list to fix,” says Mero.
“I can climb it pretty easily. From the top, you can see for miles. Would you let me out?”
“No,” states Talarin. “We are going in with weapons hot. Live Orb-beam fire. Our focus must be perfect. I cannot be thinking of you slipping and falling.”
“I’ve climbed that wall a hundred times and never fallen. I think if you can manage to pilot with three glasses of wine in you, you can do it with me up there.”
Arrek chuckles. “Well said. I propose a compromise. No climbing, but you come in the Reaver with us. We drop you off, and we may be drilling for hours. You stay put there and watch. Bring a blanket and some snacks if you want. But you don’t move your ass from that spot until we pick you up. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” I say, before one of the others can say differently.
Talarin holds my gaze for a moment, then gives a small nod.
Arrek leans in and kisses the back of my neck, his beard tickling my skin.
Then he stands, leaving the table while the other two wait. Mero is deep in thought, and I don’t want to disturb him. He’s clearly already planning what he will be doing in his ship.
When Arrek returns, he has a giant fur coat draped over one arm. He holds the coat open and waits for me. I stand and turn, slipping my arms into the sleeves. He lifts it into place in one smooth movement, settling the heavy fur over my shoulders, then carefully straightens the collar.
Then he squeezes my ass.
I look back over my shoulder at him.
He grins, his hand lingering for a moment before he lets go.
“Come on,” he says, and I dart forward, because I can feel the slap against my rump about to come, and I’m too quick for him. With these men and their viper reflexes, that’s something.
I stop by the bench to pull on my boots. There’s a low whistle as I bend over, and it’s from Mero. So something can snap him out of that intent state, after all.
But then his chair moves against the floor as he stands, and Mero and Talarin walk out. The way they move has changed subtly, their hands close to the hilts of the blades at their belts.
“Let’s go,” urges Arrek, and I quickly tie my boot and rise. He waits for me, letting me go first, the triad forming a protective triangle around me as we walk to the Reaver.
Outside, the evening is gorgeous. The last sunlight lies across the limestone, and above the walls the sky is turning a deep, clear blue.
The air bites at my cheeks, but the fur is warm, almost ridiculously warm.
I can hear the river rushing below, hear the birds in the tree, and then I feel that prickling of a storm cloud coming.
“It’s going to rain,” I say. “Torrential. I think lightning.” I don’t know how I know, but I know. There’s this pregnant, electric feel to the sky.
“Good. The Rift is not silent these days,” snarls Mero, and there’s this dark venom in his voice, and for the first time, I hear him hate.
“Wait,” says Talarin.
“We’re beginning soon,” says Arrek.
“Lightning on a tall, exposed wall?”
My hopes sink. They promised.
“I’ll be back. I’ll get a personal shield from the armory. Don’t leave the bubble,” he says, giving me that intense look he gets when he’s in that overprotective mode.
“I won’t,” I say, and he takes off at a jog, rushing inside.
Mero raises his hand, and the seamless side of the predatory attack ship opens to him. It’s got the beauty of a hawk, a sleek, cold thing.
He boards first, walking over the threshold, his boots echoing through the polished white interior.
I hesitate for an instant. Everything is too clean, too white, too sterile, the light spilling out.
There’s an almost science lab feeling to it, so different from the nature I’ve spent every day in for the last five years.
Arrek stands with his feet planted on the stone, waiting for me to go forward, and as Mero disappears to the left, I follow him into the corridor.
The hallway splits off left and right. To the right, doors line a long passage, with another at the far end. To the left is the cockpit, the curved glass stretching around the forward helm. Two gunnery stations sit farther back, one on either side, their chairs surrounded by dark control consoles.
Arrek takes the station on Mero’s right, the same side he takes in combat, settling into the chair and resting his hands on the targeting controls.
“I missed you, old girl,” he says, patting it in a familiar way.
I wait awkwardly in the middle of the cockpit as the door closes behind me and Talarin’s footsteps approach. On his left shoulder is a heavy fur blanket, and in his left hand, he’s lugging a triangular… contraption.
It must be heavy, because his forearm is bunched and corded, his teeth gritted as he carries it forward.
It’s a pyramid, with black liquid inside, the glass so clear it almost looks as if the entire thing is made of the liquid.
An Orb floats suspended within it. A metal handle arches above the point, leaving a round opening with the tip of the pyramid aimed up into it.
“I’ll set this up for you when we land. You don’t touch it. Understood?”
I nod. “Yes, sir,” I say, because there’s no way I’m going to do anything that gets me losing this chance. I’ve seen Reavers fly far above, but never in a real combat drill.
He sets the shield generator on the floor and covers it with the blanket before taking the left gunnery station. The curved arms of the cradle close around his shoulders.
“Come here,” says Mero, clicking his tongue, and I move to the front of the Reaver. He pats his leg.
His battle robes have fallen open over his left thigh, leaving the heavy muscle totally naked, and I sit down against him as he circles his arm around me and lifts off. There’s no rushing feeling, no feeling of movement, the anti-gravity kicking in instantly as we rise.
The estate falls away below us, and I catch a glimpse of the village beyond the walls. Then we turn right, and I lean forward as the white marble of the capital comes into view. Towers rise above the roofs, the streets opening onto gardens, pools catching the last of the sun.
Every building, every street, from the smallest alley to the broadest avenue, guides the eye towards the heart of their civilization. Not the Spire, not the palace.
The Arena of the Gods.
All those white stands looking down on the sand where triads fight their duels, where their blood soaks into the ground. Justice is dealt there, honor killed for. Trials by combat, even the fights for primacy to become Emperor.
From up here, it looks so clean.
Beyond it, the royal palace looks down from the northern hills, and farther back, the Spire rises from its mountain.
The arrogance of it. The immense wealth and luxury of those fine, crafted ribbons of platinum winding around the marble, the sheer expense, while the villages around it are drab and poor. It’s always there, mocking us.
Then we bank right, and Mero pulls us down so fast I gasp, skimming over the grass so close to it I think we’re going to crash. I grab his arm, and he laughs, but he isn’t mocking. It’s this pure joy at being in command of a ship once more.
The estate flashes past, then the outer wall rises ahead of us. We pull up at the last second, pointing straight up, and we ascend, higher, higher, the sky filling the glass. He is totally relaxed as he pilots.
“They’re waiting for us,” says Arrek.
“Let them wait,” answers Mero, and he turns the Reaver slowly, still pointed straight up, the sky rotating above me. Then he brings us down beside the top of the wall, slowing until we hang motionless, the open walkway level with the side door.
Talarin is already standing before the cradle totally lets him free, vaulting over it. “Let’s go,” he says, and there’s no tenderness to him. He’s in drill mode already, pure focus. He throws the fur over his shoulder, then lifts the shield generator.
I patter after him, my boots echoing louder than his heavy combat boots, and he’s walking differently now, this stalking, silent tempo that hides all sound as he goes out through the side door.
He sets the generator on the wall’s broad walkway and holds up his hand. “Stay.”
He steps out beside it, testing the pitted stone with his weight before looking back at me.
“Come.”
I jump, expecting a little gap, but Mero has brought the Reaver so close to the wall that there isn’t even a sliver of light through the seam.
Talarin lays the fur beside the inner parapet, the low wall at the edge of the walkway.
Tucked into its folds are a metal water bottle and a ration bar.
Salted caramel, just like the ones downstairs…
He touches the top of the generator and speaks in High Aurelian. A shimmering field spreads out from the pyramid, swelling into a bubble that reaches ten feet in every direction.
“Sit.”
I sit in the position I was trained, my posture exact.
“Don’t leave the bubble. Promise?”
“I promise.”