Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #63 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!

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* * *

Phaedra
Coryphaeus

I write these lines, the last of my hand, after drink enough to believe I am strong enough to do the right thing.
I am no hero. I am not honorable.
I am not even certain how to apologize.

I do not know how to be proud of what I do not understand.
That is my failing.
I do not suffer failure kindly.

I am aetheric, I confess. I would not know the courage to tell you otherwise.

I love you, my son. All that was mine is yours.

Care for your mother.

A

Coryphaeus stared at the paper in his hands through eyes blurred with hot tears. “What is this?” he hissed, looking up at his mother, shaking his hand. “What is this?” he wondered, his heart somewhere between elated and crushed. He didn’t know what to think.

“This was discovered with your father’s body. There had also been a note left for whoever had found him, dictating his wishes,” Venustus murmured. “It was important you receive it. I did not allow the city guard to see it. It was for your eyes only. When you are ready, we can speak of the family money. Of his belongings. Of anything of his that you might wish to keep. Of the responsibility of running the house.” Her voice was low, but not secretive — simply quiet, gentle in these vulnerable moments. “Until then, I imagine you will keep this to yourself.”

“I will,” Coryphaeus whispered, his heart heavy and light, all at once. He kissed the paper, and then folded it up and carefully tucked it away. He embraced his mother again, breathing in the smell of her, and said, “I love you, mother of mine.”

“And I you, son of mine,” Venustus promised. “Let us be joyous. He was a shadow on our lives for too long. We were meant to live in the sun.”

Coryphaeus nodded, a smile breaking over his features. “Let us return to the gathering; it is most generous of the Queen and the Guardian to visit our house. We must give them as much attention as we can spare.”

* * *

Someone banged on the door. “Four hours to drop, cadet!”

Scrambling to get himself up, Kieron swayed on his feet, dizzied. He could taste blood in his mouth. When he rinsed it out, the copper and iron of it was thick and made him queasy. The dream terrified him; he did not know what to think of having experienced such a thing, and once he was dressed, his rucksack packed, he hurried out to join the crew, hoping to banish the thoughts from his mind.

He arrived in the enlisted mess, marveling at the size of the room — the Hellebarde was so massive, it could’ve fit the Jacob in its hold alone — got himself a tray, and moved to get food. When he sat down, he noticed a few of the Kriegic crewmembers were staring at him and whispering amongst themselves. He’d eaten with them before, more than once, and knew a few by name, but for whatever reason, they were keeping their distance, this morning.

It didn’t matter; he didn’t want to stay. He couldn’t eat — his stomach roiled as he thought of food. He didn’t think he was nervous before the jump, even though everything was soon to change, all over again. He’d been in plenty of crazy situations before, obviously, and he knew fear, but this was a giddy, nervous, shaking kind of almost excitement.

He got up, binned his food, dropped his tray at the washing station, and left to go back to his rooms.

On the way, he bumped into Sha, who put a hand on his shoulder, saying, “You all right, cadet? You left the briefing room and I didn’t see you until just now.”

“M’fine, Captain,” Kieron said, swallowing roughly. “Just, uh. A lot on my mind.” Kieron stood still, trying to keep himself from fidgeting, watching Sha look him over for long moments. He resisted the urge to simply walk off or hurry her along, knowing all it would do is make her more inclined to try to figure out what was ‘wrong’ with him. All he knew was that he wanted to avoid the scrutiny as much as possible. He wanted to get to the ground, and find Jules, and get back out.

All I have to do is get on the ground, he thought.

That’s right, the serpent in his mind agreed. That’s all we need to do.

Kieron smiled faintly at Sha and said, “I’m going to go repack my kit.”

“Ugh, cadets.” Sha laughed. “You’re so exhausting. Go. Do your thing, See you at the hatch in three.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

* * *

Back in his room, Kieron paced, back and forth, back and forth.

“I don’t know what you’re planning,” he said. “But I won’t let you ruin this. We’re going to save her.”

He turned and looked at himself in the mirror, and wondered if he knew the man staring back at him. Crossing the room, he felt an uprising of dread — it felt nauseating, as though he were about to be airsick. He lifted one hand and laid it on the cold glass of the mirror that had been replaced in his room. Kieron stared at his fingertips, then let his eyes travel over his uniform and back over his face. His gaze lingered on the crescent scar that cupped his left eye, and then slid over that eye and its wide pupil. He looked at his whole face, panting as he pressed that hand against the mirror, fingertips turning pink then white as he pressed so hard and began to curl them inward. As his fist clenched, he pulled it back from the glass, and then smashed it forward again. His lips curled to bare his teeth in a snarling grin as silvery shards spilled down. His knuckles split open from the ground bits under his flesh, pressed to the mirror’s backing.

He glared at himself, commanding, demanding.

“Just get on the ground, cadet. That’s all we need to do.”

* * *

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This is Issue #62 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

* * *

Nixus looked stunned; she watched the Guardian’s reaction closely. When she saw him take in hand one of his knives of black glass, her own hand strayed to the sword at her hip.

She flinched, when she felt another hand on hers. She glanced over, and saw the Guardian’s famulo, his eyes dark with warning. His fingertips hovered at her wrist, and though it would normally be wildly inappropriate for a servant to behave in such a fashion, she saw the wisdom in heeding his wordless admonition, and gave the barest of nods.

Her attention returned to the Guardian, and Secta withdrew, moving to stand closer to Jules.

The Guardian took Venustus’s hand and helped her rise, saying, “Ilona is grateful for your service. Vivat Venustus.” He placed the black glass into her hand, and gently folded her fingers around it, nodding to her.

“Vivat Venustus,” the crowd agreed.

“Vivat Ilona!” Venustus’s voice rang loud and clear. She lifted her chin, proud and pleased.

And just like that, the mood of the gathering shifted from one of pretended loss to one of joy. With the Guardian’s acceptance of Venustus and her utter eradication of the mention of Aecus’s name, the grouping of people ceased their false mourning of a hated man, and instead, celebrated the rebirth of a beloved woman.

Nixus looked to Coryphaeus, her brows lifted.

He could almost hear her ask aloud. Well, Coryfrater. What now?

As servants brought in food and wine (a gathering involving the royal family could not go un-fed), more of those who had wished to bring their mourning gifts found themselves accepted into the jubilant riot that had once been a funeral.

* * *

“What do you think of that?” Coryphaeus asked of Nixus.

“I think our mother is impossibly brilliant,” Nixus breathed.

Coryphaeus couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about his sister seemed on edge, even in the light atmosphere of the wake-turned-celebration. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone calling his name.

“Coryphaeus! Nixiana! My beloved children,” Venustus said, appearing from the throng of people to embrace and kiss them both. “There is still much to do.”

“Do?” Nixus said, looking baffled.

“Nixiana?” Coryphaeus mouthed from behind his mother, grinning teasingly at Nixus.

Nixus narrowed her eyes at her brother, pursing her lips. She mouthed her reply, her eyes glittering with indignance. “Shut it.”

“Come. There is something you must see,” Venustus said to her son. When Nixus began to follow, Venustus smiled to her warmly and touched her cheek. “My precious daughter. I ask you to remain in my stead, for the moment? We cannot all leave while the Guardian and Queen are here, but this concerns your brother, and something his father left for him. It cannot wait.”

“Father… left something. For me?” Coryphaeus looked positively baffled, and then somewhat worried, as Venustus led him away.

Nixus watched them go, feeling something she could not quite name uncoiling in the pit of her belly.

* * *

“I had thought you would run far from here, little Krieg,” Secta said quietly. “Were you captured, then, and returned to the Legatus?”

“Not quite,” Jules said, watching Coryphaeus leave the room.

Upon seeing the searching look on her face, Secta said, “Unless he asked for you to follow him, you needn’t.”

Hearing the information, Jules allowed herself to relax, but only a little.

“You stayed voluntarily?” Secta sounded curious, but not disbelieving.

It took some time for Jules to answer, though if she had known the expression on her face was so full of longing, and so easily readable, she would have spoken sooner, and changed the topic of conversation. “I did,” she said. “I did, little Ilonan.”

“You had a chance at freedom, did you not?”

Jules tore her gaze from the door Coryphaeus had left through, and looked back to Secta, her cheeks flaming pink. “I hardly know.” Her heart throbbed dully in her chest, and for a moment, she felt dizzy. Her hands shook, and she smiled at Secta, saying. “I’m not sure any of us will ever really be free.”

Secta’s expression shifted to concern. “Little Krieg, I have seen that look before.”

“Aye,” sighed Jules. “Is there a private place around here? I’m getting more’n’a little fed up with sicking up on people.”

“Let us see if we can–”

“You’re making that face.” Nixus’s voice was a sudden interruption on Jules’s thoughts.

She turned, looking up at the Summus, and then, remembering where she was, dropped her eyes and gave a brief bow. “My apologies, Summus. I will stop making that–” For a moment, Jules tried to say the word ‘face’, but nothing would come. She worked at the word, looking down at the floor, but her mind had slowed; her thoughts felt thick and heavy.

Nixus reached out and tipped Jules’ face up toward her; she looked concerned, rather than irritated. “I meant the face that means you’re about to vomit everywhere like some kind of horrible infant,” Nixus growled. “Come.” She half-dragged Jules off down a hallway and pulled her into an empty room that looked like yet another sitting room, unused but beautiful. Setting her down in a chair, Nixus turned to Secta and said, “Watch her.”

“…where are you going?” Secta wondered, somewhat impertinent for a servant.

“To get a bucket for the sick,” Nixus said, one eyebrow quirked. Who are you to question me, little man? “Unless you know where we keep them?”

Secta blushed hotly, saying, “No, Summus, I do not. Please excuse my arrogance. I will of course remain with the Legatus’s…” His voice trailed off as he looked down at Jules, whose rumpled robes had half come undone to show skin that bore unmistakeable marks of recent cruelty, her shoulders and thighs striped with welts from a cane. He could tell what instrument made what mark; he owned more than one scar devoted to that sort of punishment, from the life before he served the Guardian. He closed his eyes, hiding the rage that welled up within him. “Property.”

“See that you do.” Nixus left, hurrying off, having no idea of the murderous thoughts playing out in Secta’s mind.

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