Page 49 of The Merciless Ones
Deka, he replies hoarsely, pained as he glances down. There’s a spear sticking out of his left side – a very familiar one – and the jatu-leader deathshriek is roaring in victory as we crash into a nearby roof.
“Hold on!” I say, huddling over Father as Ixa rolls, then falls into the alley below.
The spear clacks sharply against the alley’s red cobblestones, eliciting another pained grunt from my companion, so I quickly jump down, slicing my palm open as I do so. The spear comes out of his side with a river of blue the moment I tug at it, but I’m prepared, pressing my bleeding hand to his side. The gold immediately sinks into his flesh, and as I watch, relieved, Ixa’s side knits itself together, the ragged edges moving under my palm. He’s already healing with my blood, just as I expected.
But he’s lost too much of his own blood. The more I watch him, the more I notice: I’m soaked in it, the dark blue seeping into my robes as I kneel at his side. There’s no way he can carry us any further, and the Forsworn deathshrieks are closing in, their footsteps coming closer and closer. I glance around trying to find an escape route, then hear rushing water. There, a massive river churning through the middle of the city. The main body of the Agbeni. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see just how close it is to us. All we have to do is cross it. We can escape the moment we do.
I swiftly rise, grateful when I see that Britta is holding Father tight. Come on, Ixa! I encourage. Change to kitten form for me.
Deka, he says. A weak but obliging reply.
He quickly shrinks into his kitten form, and I gather him into my arms before I turn to Britta, about to urge her on. I stop when I see the expression on her face – the sadness.
“Deka,” she says softly, her eyes sad, so very sad.
She looks down at Father, and I immediately hear it, the horrible rattling sound emerging from his chest. “Deka,” she whispers again, her eyes worried as she looks at me. “He’s—”
“I know,” I say quickly, trying to stop her before she says the words. I know what that sound means. Every warrior does.
Britta glances to the end of the alley, where the Forsworn’s footsteps are approaching, then glances back at me. “I can buy you time,” she says suddenly. “A few minutes is all I can do.”
“Thank you,” I say, even though the situation we’re in has just begun to sink in. We escaped the Forsworn once, and I’m still not sure how we did that, Ixa is injured, the Forsworn are approaching, and Father is— Father is—
As I breathe, trying to push past the thought, Britta steps in front of me and raises her arms. I’m still in the combat state, so I see it, the power rushing up through her body as she stomps down into the Unmoving Earth, a form I recognize from our lessons with Karmoko Huon, our former combat instructor. The Unmoving Earth is meant to centre a fighter during one-on-one combat, but I don’t know what use it’ll be here, when there are so many different opponents. Nevertheless, I keep watching her, caught by the power rushing inside her like a wave of white light.
For a moment, nothing happens. All there is is that power… Then white arcs downwards as the power explodes out from her feet, pouring like an ocean of light into the ground. The minute it disappears, a rumbling sounds, distant and faint…and a wall of stone erupts in front of us.
And another.
And another.
Before I know it, we’re completely enclosed in a small, triangular structure, the three stone walls so tightly fitted together, only the barest hints of light filter through the cracks at its sides. Britta’s built us a fortress – one made entirely of stone and her energy…of which she’s used too much. I can see how weakened the light is inside her, as it used to be inside me when White Hands first trained me to use my abilities. My heart twinges. I’ll have to show her how to channel it, how to control the power growing within.
If we somehow make it out of here, that is.
Her work done, Britta slumps down, her body exhausted. “I don’t know how long it’ll hold against them,” she says wearily, her eyes closing. “I’m just going to take a quick nap now.”
“It’ll hold as long as it needs to,” I say quietly, grateful for her efforts.
And even if it doesn’t, I’ll somehow make do. I have no other choice. That awful rattling is so loud now in Father’s chest, there’s no more ignoring it. Father’s on his deathbed.
It’s time for us to say goodbye.
When I was a child, Father was a burly, robust man, hair golden like sunshine, eyes as grey as storm clouds. In my mind, he was a mountain – a towering figure of a man who would swing me up on broad shoulders and make me feel like I could touch the sky. I thought he was eternal, immovable like the mountain he resembled. I was wrong. And now, all that’s left of the powerful man I once knew is this thin, skeletal figure with that awful death rattle vibrating his bony chest.
When I see him lying there, a mass of filthy rags on the dirty floor of this hastily cobbled shelter, a sob catches in my throat. “Father,” I whisper as I creep closer to him.
I can hear the Forsworn outside the nearest wall, their claws scraping against the rock, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing does any more. Everything that’s happened between us before – his betrayal, his abandonment, even all my questions about Mother – suddenly doesn’t seem so important. I reach towards him, only to jerk back, startled, when the odour of acrid sweat and urine, the musk of rotting flesh, assaults me. So that’s what I smelled earlier.
“Father,” I whisper, horrified. Seeing him in this state is almost more than I can bear.
Father turns to me and smiles sadly, grey eyes unseeing in the darkness. “Deka,” he says hoarsely, “it really is you. I thought I was dreaming…”
His hands reach up, and I flinch back despite myself, all those awful memories rushing up. The last time I saw his hands, he had a sword in them – one he used to cut my throat. Now, however, those fingers are almost gentle as they reach towards me.
“I’ve had such dreams, Deka, such horrible nightmares.” Father coughs again, so powerfully this time, I can hear the fluid sloshing in his lungs.
I swiftly sink back beside him, no longer caring when the odour assaults me again, no longer even hearing the Forsworn pummelling at the fortress. “Father,” I say, clasping his hands. They’re so cold. So very cold… “You have to hold on. If you hold on, I can take you somewhere, find a healer. I can save you.”