Chapter 48 #2
The child shakes his head, tears streaking mud down his cheeks. “M-my brother, he ran when the monsters came.” A hiccup. “He said he’d find help, but—but I think they chased him.”
Mateo’s voice softens. “Which way did he run?”
The child lifts a trembling hand and points deeper into the marsh.
Reyna exhales. “Okay. We can work with that.”
I reach toward my belt. “I’m going to light a little light for you, okay? It’ll make you safe.”
The child’s breath hitches.
“It’ll be okay,” Mateo promises. “You won’t feel anything.”
I press the rune-lines together.
Brilliant, blinding white light bursts outward, and the child, the very human like child, softly dissolves into air, like dust on the wind.
Mateo’s eyes widen. “So that’s how extraction works.”
Reyna nods and glances into the fog. “That means his brother could be a ‘living’ target too.”
Before any of us can even discuss our next move, a scream tears through the marsh. High. Sharp. Undeniably a real child.
“Shit,” Rhyan breathes. “That wasn’t a decoy.”
“No,” I say, already moving. “It wasn’t.”
“Add this scary place to the list of reasons I’m becoming a spellcaster. No way am I doing stuff like this every day.” Mateo tells us as he keeps pace.
Jumping over protruding roots and dodging between tree trunks, we sprint toward the boy’s voice. Branches slap against my arms, fog tearing apart in streaks as we push through the marsh.
When the child said monsters took his brother, I expected something feral, scaled, clawed, or with fangs as long as forearms. I did not expect the three black-eyed Clowessian decoy soldiers blocking the narrow clearing ahead, standing rigid and wrong between us and our second target, who’s struggling against their hold.
“On the count of three,” Rhyan orders, voice low and calm. “We engage. Mateo, if you see an opening to get to the boy, take it. Otherwise, stay behind us.”
Mateo swallows hard. “Got it.”
Rhyan lowers his center of gravity.
“One.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
“Two.”
The decoys tilt their heads in perfect unison: unnatural, puppet-like, and predatory.
“Go!”
We explode forward, the decoys meeting us halfway.
I don’t have time to track anyone else’s fight as my blade clashes against a curved short-sword, and sparks of light burst between us. The impact reverberates up my arm, rattling my bones.
Fast as lightning, the decoy pivots and its blade slices through my leather jacket. Pain flares bright along my forearm, a burning line as intense as any real combat strike.
“Fuck!” I hiss, but I don’t let myself look at the damage just yet. I need this illusion gone for good.
I attack, taking two quick jabs as my boots slide in the mud. The decoy doesn’t bleed when my blade connects, but it jerks back as if it felt as much as I had.
“They’re mimicking Clowessian basic strike patterns! Watch for the feint on the left!” Reyna calls.
“Got it!” We all answer back.
The boy cries out, “Help! Please!”
We best the soldiers in a domino effect and watch them dissolve into mist. Rhyan wins his fight when he knocks it to the ground and slices its throat, I connect my blade with where its femoral artery would be, and Reyna just gets lucky when her opponent falls into the marsh and doesn’t come back up.
We don’t waste a single breath. We sprint straight to free the boy. We’re only ten feet away when a barrage of enchanted voices hits us.
“Help!”
“Please…don’t leave me!”
Mateo flinches with every new voice, but he keeps moving, pushing toward the crying boy clutching the tree root.
Then one voice cuts through the rest—
“I’m here, Rhyan, please…my legs!”
“Mom?” he calls out, voice cracking. Another breath, sharper and breaking. “Mom! Where are you?!”
Reyna drops to a crouch, hands clamping over her ears as if she can press the projections out of her skull.
And me?
I hear one voice.
One small, trembling voice that doesn’t echo, doesn’t distort.
“…please help me. I’m trapped and so hungry. Please ... help…”
I stumble, and the marsh tilts under me.
Mateo reaches the boy first, hands shaking as he pulls the flare stone from his belt. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you. Ignore the voices…ignore them…”
He crushes the stone, causing the marsh to dissolve and the trees to vanish. As the voices come to a sudden halt, the other teams' clapping and whistling fill the air.
But my stomach is twisting itself into knots, cold and sharp and sour.
Because that voice…the one whispering that it was trapped and hungry…
That wasn’t a stranger.
That wasn’t a friend or family member like Varin had warned.
It was mine.
The exact words I begged with when my father locked me in the cellar and forgot about me.
I was nine.
Alone for eighteen hours.
The first of many nights with no food. No water. No bathroom.
And when he finally remembered I existed the next day, when he opened the door and saw that I hadn’t been able to hold my bladder and peed my pants, I was punished for that too.
The training hall tilts again, and I swallow hard, digging my nails into the palm of my hands.
Everyone else hears echoes meant to confuse them, but I heard a memory that the simulation or Clowess should never have had access to.
My stomach twists, and I sprint to the trashcan before I purge all my stomach contents. As I try to process where they could have gotten that recording, I realize not having the answer terrifies me more than anything inside the marsh did.