DeathWatch II No. 86 – Are You Ready?

This is Issue #86 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

Happy Reading!

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* * *

The deck of the Hellebarde was cleared; once things had been set up, Danival was not of a mind to have any extra people scattered about. Very few were jumping; this particular part of the mission had less to do with an actual invasion of the Ilonan capital and more to do with the retrieval.

Garret watched as Kieron paced at the rail, wearing his gear, ready to go. He kept pawing at his oxygen mask, as though he were going to take it off, but Garrett knew he wouldn’t — it was necessary this high up, if he were going to remain on deck, and now that they were so close, he wouldn’t want to go back below.

“How is cadet?” Danival’s voice buzzed in Garrett’s ear with no warning; he tried not to flinch, and sighed as he glanced over at the Krieg who stood still, wearing his mask and looking out over the cloudscape.

“Fine?” Garrett said, pursing his lips. He looked over at Kieron, who looked like a caged animal, clenching his fists as he stomped back and forth, staring down over the rail. “Nervous, I think,” Garrett assessed.

Danival frowned behind his mask, but nodded to Garrett. The other man knew his former student better, but Danival was not convinced. There was a difference between the young man Danival had met when he’d picked up Alec, and the young man that tensely ranged up and down the deck like a caged animal that had already tested its bars, and was simply waiting for the right time.

Then again — Danival shook his head at himself, sighing. Of course he was waiting; he was still a new soldier, regardless of what had happened to him recently — they were about to drop down into enemy territory, and that definitely came with fear and excitement.

That’s what Garrett was trying to convince himself, as well, as he watched Kieron pace.

Sha, too, watched Kieron, but was consumed by thoughts of her brother; after Nate washed Kieron clean of the ether dust, he’d no longer been ravaged by the visions as her brother had been, before his death.

Before she’d killed him.

Had it been something as simple as getting washed free of the dust? Could his life have been saved from something as simple as that?

She had tried to put it out of her mind, but she kept returning to it, worrying at it, but refused to talk to Kieron about it — every time she nearly had, she realized she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

What if she could’ve saved Jacob from the thing that destroyed him?

What if, what if, what if?

It’s what kept her from watching him closely, kept her from noticing just how different Kieron Brody had really become.

* * *

The Hellebarde scudded through the sky, pulling ever closer to the walled Ilonan capital — in the nighttime stormy skies, the ship was nearly invisible. It cut all audible motors and visible lights, and the aether engine’s faint glow was hidden by actual lightning strikes in the clouds, and glimpses of the moon.

“Are you ready?” Garrett’s voice was sudden, a burst of static and then sharp words.

It tore Kieron from his reverie. For a moment, he was dizzy, and his eyes widened behind his mask as he turned and looked back at his former professor. Even knowing him, it was hard to recognize him; he’d cut his hair nearly to the scalp, was dressed in something that looked halfway like an airman’s uniform, and without his glasses, he looked harder, angrier, as though every time he opened his mouth, it was merely to show off the sharpness of his teeth.

For a moment, he was himself, but he was too startled by Garrett to make use of it. Instead, he drew himself up a little taller, lifted his chin, and answered back, his words crisp. A proper soldier. “Yes, sir. I’ve double checked my chute. Had two others double check my chute. Weapons, comms.”

“You ever jumped?”

Kieron paused.

Garrett thought it odd that he’d have to think about it.

“Only once on purpose.”

“Well, you’re alive, so you’re doing something right,” Garrett sighed. “Soon.”

“I am ready. I have been ready,” Kieron assured him. “All I have to do is get on the ground.”

Garrett clapped him on the back and said, “Well, once you go over the rail, that’s pretty much definitely going to happen.”

* * *

“Ready, Captain?”

Sha looked up at Danival, and wondered if any of the rest of them would make it out alive of all this, and if Nate was somewhere, somehow, looking on, and laughing at them. So many dead. So many gone. Her heart hurt. “Aye,” Sha said, nodding. “Good to go.”

When Danival gave the signal, they leapt, wearing their O2 masks, wind screaming in their ears. They would have to drop for nearly two entire minutes before their chutes opened. Training exercises conducted in Kriegic airspace should have been done for the occupants of the TS Jacob within its second year, before the ship went back to offload its scouts. Any that had planned to stay would’ve taken the necessary dives.

Only it never happened, because so much else had.

Sha knew Kieron had fallen from the ruined Jacob, and by some ridiculous providence had landed on a ship.

Sha knew she and Nathan had ridden the Jacob down into the dirt; how they’d survived was a mystery to her.

She wondered if they had any kind of luck left that wasn’t terrible.

“Probably not,” she sighed to herself aloud, chuckling. Oh well. It would be divine to see Jules’s face, and get her back on board the Hellebarde. They would mourn together. They would, the three of them, Sha, Jules, and Kieron, make their way back to Centralis, to face whatever it was the Allied government planned on doing — that’s simply how it had to be, right?

“Shit, or we could join the Kriegs,” Sha told herself. “Or I could steal a damn pirate ship and we could go further southwest, see what else is out there.”

She let her thoughts wander; there was an altitude gauge — it beeped when she had to pull her cord, so until then, she simply let the air scream around her ears as she plummeted out of the clouds and saw the city, lit up, below.

Someone spoke over the comms, but it was a burst of static, and Sha didn’t know which one of them it was. “It is beautiful.”

She pulled the cord when the time was right, and carefully steered her parachute into a small clearing, where the others would touch down, waiting.

Then it was up, over the wall, into the city’s jungle.

* * *

NEXT

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Dangerous Beauty

Everything once whole
now shattered all around me,
broken glass and sharp edges,

all angles,
all glittering light
bouncing and reflecting

becoming something glimmering
and somehow solid
a field of diamonds

oh how I wish just for once
to be hard as a diamond,
so I can begin to become

something glimmering too
without cutting myself
on myself.

Posted in On Depression, Poetry | Leave a comment

Tell me tell me

what’s on your mind when you’re
looking at the flaws I have tried
so desperately to conceal as though
I could paste on yet one more
layer one more bit of cover one more
thing to misdirect your
attention I want your
attention but only carefully curated
attention somehow on me and yet not on
me at all all at once what’s on your
mind when you see all of
me what do you see when I stand here naked and all of my
flaws are up for your
understanding what’s on your
mind when you see what I
don’t want you to see?

Posted in Poetry | Leave a comment

DeathWatch II No. 85 – The Time Has Come

This is Issue #85 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

“Secta?”

The knock at the door rousted him; Secta jerked his head up off the table, panting, and immediately put his hands to his temples, uttering a brief, mewling cry.

He opened the door, looking hollow-eyed and unslept.

The servant who served him much in the same way he’d served Jet stared at him, gape-mouthed. “Sir, you–” He cut himself off, and simply kept staring.

“What?” Secta said, somewhat impatient. “Is it time to leave?”

“Ah, yes… Sir, it is, but you–” He gestured at Secta weakly. “You do not appear to be ready, I could–”

“Of course I’m ready,” Secta growled. “Let us go to the Domina; no doubt she is wondering why you haven’t fetched me yet–”

“But, sir, you–”

Secta strode out of his room, away from the door jamb that had been holding him up. He made it one, two, three steps, and then promptly collapsed. He stared at his own hand as it lay on the floor, fingertips weakly pawing at the marble.

He watched the feet of the servant running away, down the hall, slapping on that same marble, until they were out of sight, and then he closed his eyes.

* * *

The declaration of House Venustus and its succession was simple enough; the house did not even need to arrive, but would be at the coronation to formally kneel before the Queen. Jet marveled over the beauty in Secta’s script, at how he had so carefully made certain of the family’s future — he found his heart swell with pride at the thought of his famulo. Soon, he told himself silently. Soon, there will be time to speak, finally, of his heart and mine.

* * *

When they arrived in the hall, Jet felt a measure of relief that he had not realized would come — arriving in the great hall with the whole of the city expectant, he could not help but feel as he did the time he and Key walked into vespers late.

Every head within the massive chapel had turned to see them — he and Kieron had been holding hands nearly until that moment.

Now, they all turned to look, but there would be no Headmaster to issue demerits or promise punishment of any kind. Now, he kept his hand in Lucida’s; she gave his a squeeze as they walked to their thrones in full view of the courtiers and other house representatives. Delegates from the other city states bowed their heads as they went by; everyone knelt with their heads down until Jet and Lucida passed.

They sat, and the ceremony itself began.

Amidst chimes and incense, priests and officials transferred power from Immanis’s line to Lucida. They laid a radiant crown of carnelian and jade on her brow — it looked heavy in the priest’s hands, but she held her head high and looked out over the sea of expectant faces, and beamed with joy.

Jet was recognized officially as her consort; he took off his mask and wore a circlet on his painted brow.

When the fanfare was over, the people were jubilant — vidscreens outside showed the whole ceremony to the city, while vidscreens inside showed the court the celebrations within the city. People marveled at the sheer number of pilgrims who’d come to witness and pay their respects.

Soon, it was time for the Houses to kneel before the Queen and her Consort — they did this with great adoration and humility, proclaiming their loyalty and offering up gifts.

When Gemma and Acer knelt before Lucida, she raised Acer and kissed his lips and then his forehead, thanking him for the multitudes of soldiers he brought. She touched Gemma’s shoulder, and they nodded to one another, wordless.

Jet touched Lucida’s cheek when House Plaga stepped away; she smiled for him, her jaw clenched, the smile forced, but well in place, not at all in danger of slipping. Lucida was a woman who knew well how to handle duty, and the two faces of royalty.

House after hours, city state after city state — Jet waited for House Venustus, but when the military delegations came, he saw the look of frustration on Coryphaeus’s and Nixus’s faces as they each knelt.

House Venustus would not be coming, for some reason.

Doubtless, court gossips would be speaking of it for heavens-knew-how-long, but largely, it went unremarked. There were so many people who had knelt, so many delegations, so many houses, and there was still so much to do.

The ceremony itself came to an end, marked by the priests and officials declaring it so, but then Jet stood before the monitors that showed his face to the world that watched him. He smiled his sharp-toothed grin, and raised his hands. The people within and without the palace went wild with adoration. He gestured for Lucida to join his side, and the people grew louder. Even noble families within the marble hall lifted their voices and stamped their feet, shouting, calling their support.

“My people! Ilona! All of her sister states! The time has come. I spoke to you last night of our enemies and what they mean to do to our beautiful country — what they have done already. I asked you for your loyalty, for your alliance, for your willingness to fight, to bleed, and yes, to die in service for your fellow citizen. Today, we celebrate with you. Tonight, we take to the skies to vanquish an enemy so dishonorable, they come crawling in the night without a formal declaration of war. Tonight, we show them they have no chance at extinguishing our light!”

And with that, he kissed Lucida rather hungrily, and then put on his painted mask. He took off his ceremonial robes and showed off the knives strapped to his painted skin, strapped to his braccae. His golden eyes were lit from within, and he roared aloud, the city’s Guardian come to life before them, challenging the intruders that were coming to destroy the family he’d made for himself.

Vivat Venator!” The nobles, the palace, the city cried. “Vivat Ilona!”

* * *

NEXT

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Good Day

What’s a good day?

Is it when he wakes up calmly and takes the pills she leaves out for him?

Is it when he waits for her, if he gets up before her?

Is it when he doesn’t break a dish in frustration, when his hands don’t work the way he wants them to?

Is it when he reads the papers, watches the news, and can string together a conversation with her that doesn’t blank out in the middle?

Is it a good day when his eyes are clear and focused?

She’ll take those days; she’ll take those days if she can get them. She counts herself lucky when his hand briefly cups her cheek, tender, fever warm. He says nothing, but the gesture, coupled with the way he flicks that one long green braid back out of her face, eases her heart.

The coat was thrown away; she bought him a new one. The cat earned a place of honor in his closet, where she would lovingly deposit hair balls and dead mice in his shoes.

That’s for wrapping me up in your coat and imprisoning me where I can’t get to the pigeons, human.

But she also curls up in his lap and doesn’t dig her nails in, much.

That day, she found herself smiling, caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror — tired but recognizable, still. Mostly.

They listened to his albums and they watched the news and read the papers. He was quiet, like he often was, and she caught him watching her carefully now and then, so she changed her movements to be as transparent as possible, always in his view, always slow enough that there was no worry for surprises, for any tricks. She was light and casual, snarky, easy.

He was quiet and angry, but only the angry he always had been, a slow burning angry against a world that had taken so much from them, from everyone. The man who fought the injustices with calculated strikes and an unstoppable determination and a soul-wrenching need to do what needed doing.

She felt like she did in the first few weeks of knowing him, not quite tentative, not quite on eggshells, but testing boundaries, making certain of the certainties.

I do this.

You do that.

I move like this.

You move like that.

They fell into the rhythm they fell into, and by sunset, she was exhausted and exhilarated as Jethro Tull blared in the background, and he chopped onions for dinner, scowling at the cat, but feeding it pieces of cheese when he thought she wasn’t looking.

He caught her staring, saw the tears in her navy eyes and his crooked grin twisted that tiny fraction more, the too-blue of his eyes focusing on her, bright and promising. “Hey,” he said, crossing to her.

“Hey,” she laughed, blushing, wiping her eyes. “Sorry, I–”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, shaking his head. He reached to put an arm around her, and nodded to the window out to the fire escape from the kitchen, saying, “That one’s unlocked some nights.”

“Oh?” She said, chuckling, wiping her eyes, wondering what the joke was. He was probably right; she probably forgot now and then. It was good he could remember the details.

“You’re a good kid,” he said, and her heart sank, suddenly and without warning. She watched his face, but felt a drowning, wrenching loss to realize the difference wasn’t easy to see anymore. Those too-blue eyes looked just as clear as they had all day.

And it had been such a good day, hadn’t it?

The low rasp of his voice was so him that it burned as he whispered to her, “I’ll cover your exit when y’run. Keep ’em from following.”

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