Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #44 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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* * *

Nixus stared her brother down, pursing her lips, looking somewhere between concerned and smug. On the one hand, she wanted him happy. On the other hand, she would be glad if he were rid of the stupri milk-skinned cunni. She was bad news. Bad luck.

Coryphaeus looked sad for a moment, staring down at his hands. He swallowed roughly, and looked up at Nixus, sighing. His expression twisted into a frown that he struggled to keep from turning into something even less controlled as he said, “It’s her husband. The man I had you look for. The man who saved me.”

“She calls for him, still?” Nixus said, looking irritable. She paced by the breakfast table and pulled things from various plates, a bite of this, a taste of that. “You’re being bested by a ghost?”

“I am not being bested by a ghost. There is no competition, Nix; she does not think of me in that way, and I cannot make her. She was having a nightmare, soror. Stop licking your fingers.” Coryphaeus’s voice was tired, at first, but then just as irritable as hers.

His sister’s voice grew mockingly affectionate. “You sound like Patri. Call me Nixiana and I’ll punch the word out with your teeth.”

Coryphaeus sighed, rolling his eyes.

Nixus selected a wedge of peeled pomelo and ate it wolfishly, then dramatically licked her fingers before she grumbled “Does she not realize all you’ve done for her? I could make her compliant, Coryfrater.”

Behind Nixus, Jules cleared her throat. “I’d love to see you try,” she said dryly. She wandered over to the table where breakfast had been laid out, and picked up a slice of honeyed bread, and took a big bite.

Nixus turned around and growled, “Don’t get smart with me, Westlander. The only reason I don’t just gut you is it would make my brother sad.”

Jules swallowed, grinning. She lifted one eyebrow and with it came the corner of her mouth, twisting her lips into a brilliant smirk. “Then we have something in common,” she said with dazzling cheer. “We’re like sisters!”

“I swear to the heavens, you pink-skinned canicula, don’t be silly with me, you will not like what happens,” Nixus hissed.

“Eto prosto rozovy nekotorykh mestakh,” Jules said, smug. Only some parts are pink. “Idite, sprosite vashego brata.” She nodded toward Coryphaeus, shameless. Go ahead, ask your brother. She stuck her finger in a plate of ciceris paste, and then savored the expression on Nixus’s face almost as much as she savored the earthy, nutty taste of the oiled spread.

Coryphaeus snorted with laughter and clapped a hand over his mouth, covering it with a cough. He didn’t know much Kriegic, but considering Jules’s answer and expression, and the way she gestured to him, he had a general idea of what she meant. He glanced at Nixus, and was worried.

“Percipite auribus,” Nixus snarled, advancing on Jules.

“No, you listen to me,” Jules said, standing her ground. “I’m not your enemy. The thousands of Kriegsmen crossing your borders are.”

“They haven’t–”

“They have. They are. They’re coming.” Jules popped a date in her mouth almost smugly.

Nixus lifted a brow and looked to Coryphaeus. “This is why you’ve been pushing — this is why they sent Plaga back with the fumi-stultus scorta of a famula?”

“Smoke-addled whore of a — wow, damn. And I thought I was special because you hated me. You hate everyone though, don’t you?” Jules laughed, spitting the date pit onto her plate.

Coryphaeus glanced at Jules with a pleading expression. Don’t make this worse? To Nixus, he nodded, looking grim. “We need the Legios stationed, but we can’t push out the cavalry yet; the ships are coming. We’ll need to bring them down or we’ll just be massive targets. They won’t have to fire missiles, they could simply drop water barrels out of the sky.”

“Boom. Splat,” Jules added helpfully, winking at Nixus.

“Get a better leash on your canicula, Coryfrater,” Nixes growled. “If she’s going on a ship, she’ll get pushed back off if she can’t keep her mouth shut.”

“Te amo etiam soror,” Jules beamed. “And I’m not going on a ship. You’re giving me a ship.”

“That settles it,” Nixus said, glaring at Coryphaeus. “Your slave has officially lost its mind.”

“I’m not a–” Jules began, looking furious.

“Vero, tu es,” Nixus said, and her hand shot out to go around Jules’s throat. Yes, you are. She gave the woman a rough shake before either Jules or Coryfrater could stop her. Then she let her go, and stepped back.

“Tu quoque ite procul, soror,” Coryphaeus hissed. You go too far, sister. He reached to touch Jules, but she slapped his hand away and stared hard at Nixus.

Jules’s voice was low and calm, and sounded as though she were trying to convince a wild animal to listen to a rational argument. “The reason I’m going with you, Nixie, is because you’ll die on the field without me,” she explained. “I know the flight tactics and flying patterns of the Kriegs. Don’t forget, I served on the Maxima. May’ve been a Westlander ship, but the captain was Krieg, through and through.”

Nixus looked offended, and pointed an accusing finger at Jules. “That was a dirty, bloody, ruinous trick.”

Jules voice was angry, challenging. “And you think they won’t use it again?”

“And what, pray tell, could you do for us to save us from that kind of devastation?” Nixus wondered, crossing her arms over her chest.

Jules picked up one of the pieces of the heavy, red fruits that were split and laid on a bronze tray in the middle of the breakfast table. She ran her fingers over the clutch of gem-like seeds, and plucked some loose, then held them out in the palm of her hand for Nixus and Coryphaeus both to see.

“Jules,” Coryphaeus said, his eyes opening wide as he moved closer to her. He’d researched; he remembered the night of the reception. “No–”

Nixus watched the woman with interest. She, too, knew what the seeds were, but had no intention of stopping the woman from doing something potentially lethal, and definitely painful.

Coryphaeus reached for Jules “–you can’t–”

Jules ducked away from Coryphaeus’s grasp, dropped the seeds into her mouth, chewed and swallowed them, and then turned her gaze to Nixus once more. “What can I do? I can watch you all die, and work back from there.”

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This is Issue #43 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

* * *

The sounds that came from the belly of the ship were inhuman; the agony was beginning to wear on the men — it even wore on Tenuis. They’d finally begun to quiet when the navarchus went down the ladder, and passed the three different locks that kept the rest of the crew from being nosy. He made himself go into the room where the chiurgeon was working, though the scents of blood and fear were thick, and off-putting.

“I was just finishing up,” the man murmured smugly. “He’s waking. I wondered if he would. Was good you let me have him. He would’ve come to no good, memory loss or no. He’s just like them.”

“Cease talking,” Tenuis said, crossing the room to look at the thing laying on its stomach. His heart was heavy with misery and regret in equal measure. He had thought himself better than a monster. He had imagined this thing as both brother and son. Now, what had he done?

It was recognizable as Aneen, still.

Aneen turned his face up to look at Tenuis, and Tenuis could see the tears on his cheeks, and the blood on his flesh. “Navarchus,” Aneen murmured. “Paenitent mei.”

Tenuis’s stomach churned as he turned away, and looked to the chiurgeon, saying, “What is left, then?”

“Testing,” the man said, fussing over some readouts, leaving bloody fingerprints on white papers. “The implants are secure, and the muscle stim has made it so he’ll be able function as though he grew that way. Just needs a few days for the rest of the sedatives to wear off so it doesn’t tear itself to pieces on the first try.”

“Navarchus?” Aneen pled.

Lorum nodded to the chiurgeon, and began to walk away, determined to keep from looking back at Aneen.

“Nav–navarchus,” he panted, straining from where he lay on the table, struggling to get up, a sheet covering the bloody ruin of his back. The chiurgeon came back to him, injected him with something, and he simply laid back down on the table, closing his eyes, struggling to speak, still.

* * *

The next time Lorum Tenuis went into the belly of the ship, Aneen was sitting quietly in the dark, with his head bowed. He looked up, as he saw Tenuis come down the ladder, and Lorum saw his expression shift from blank to hopeful, to pleading. “Navarchus?” he whispered. He reached out a hand, but the shackles at the wrist kept it from going far.

Tenuis lifted the lamp, and looked at the wreckage of the man he’d pulled out of the inland sea. He still felt a measure of affection for him far greater than he was comfortable admitting, and the fury and betrayal he felt every time he looked at him overwhelmed the good feelings, and rendered them confusing. All he could see was the tiny, broken body of his seer, still in her chains, hanging there. All he could see was the adoration on Aneen’s face crumbling, confirming him as not a leader, but a slaver. Was it Aneen’s fault that Lorum realized he was not the navarchus, not the man he wanted to be? “Up,” he said, and moved to unlock the chains at his wrists and ankles.

Aneen stood, and waited for his next command.

Tenuis stared at Aneen for long moments before finally turning and walking away, saying, “Come.”

The deck was mostly cleared; Aneen stumbled out into the whorl of it. He stumbled, briefly, the wind buffeting him. He turned at looked at the chiurgeon, who led him with the navarchus toward the rear of the ship, but Tenuis only stared at him with pained eyes.

“Navarchus,” Aneen called. “Paenitent mei. I had to. She begged me to. Please, I–”

“Hush, boy,” Lorum said softly. “Do as you’re told, hmm?”

“Yes, Navarchus,” Aneen promised, nodding eagerly. He looked down at his hands, at the one of flesh, and the one of metal, and voiced no complaint. Instead, he complied with what he was asked as he was strapped into a rigging safety harness. He took the wakestrap he was given without reticence. He even climbed atop the rail, looking to Lorum Tenuis again.

The ship picked up speed, and Aneen watched Tenuis’s face transform from pain to worry, and perhaps even hope. “Navarchus,” he whispered quietly. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

“Hush, boy,” Lorum said again, moving to stand up with him. “Just… make me proud, panumpoppa.”

“I will,” Aneen said, smiling hopefully to Lorum, nodding. “I–”

“Make me proud–” Lorum said, and he pushed Aneen right off the back of the ship, “–and fly.”

The shock on Aneen’s face was all encompassing. He reached for Lorum, but missed, and in a moment of blind panic, an odd reflex took over.

The very thing the chiurgeon had worked on came into play, and Aneen felt muscles and tendons in his back suddenly scream into motion. There was a flutter, a sound of knives leaving their sheathes, and the massive wings that had been built and fused into his back opened up, flaring wide. They caught the sun, and shone brilliantly, brass and bronze and copper and fire — but more importantly, they caught the wind.

Aneen let out a whoop of terror, victory, and excitement as he rose in the sky, and as he reached the end of the wakestrap, he rose even higher, like a kite climbing. He stared down at the ship, laughing, feeling the wind in his face, tasting the clouds, and–

* * *

“What d’y’mean you’ve never been? Come on!”

“Are you kidding me? You’re going to get me killed.”

“Abe wouldn’t hurt a puppy.”

“No, but he’d crush me!”

“I can’t believe Sha hasn’t made y’try this.”

“Seriously?”

“Just hold on. Y’trust me, don’t you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

And with that, she bucked backwards, and he uttered a high, sweet shriek. They fell, and she laughed like everything in the world was made of joy. He held to her, shaking, and then felt the way the wind suddenly pushed up, buffeting the wakeboard. Her voice was clear and lovely. “Open your eyes, little bird!”

He opened his eyes, and the world took his breath away.

* * *

Where are your wings, little bird? Is that why you fell?

* * *

–it was Nathan who opened his eyes and looked down at Lorum Tenuis, the man who’d saved his life and given him back his arm. The man who’d given him back to the sky. The man he killed for. The man he’d betrayed. He looked out over the world below, and looked up at the sky all around him.

He looked at the empty space on his third left finger, looked down at Lorum, and began to undo the harness that held him to the ship.

The navarchus saw this, and ordered the chiurgeon to help him haul the man back down. Panicked, he cried out, “Aneen! Boy! Don’t do this!” He hauled the wakestrap in, hand over hand, heart pounding, thundering in fear.

Nathan was nearly within arm’s reach when it was apparent he was holding to the strap and nothing else. “Thank you, navarchus, for saving my life,” he called.

“You’re welcome, Aneen, I–” He reached out and offered his hand, trembling.

Nathan waited until he was close enough that when he reached out, he could take hold of the ring on the leather thong about Tenuis’s neck. He snapped the thong, and ducked Lorem’s grasp, saying “Snälla förlåt mig.”

And then he let go.

* * *

NEXT

This is Issue #42 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

* * *

Kieron’s body sat in front of the small mirror in its quarters, staring at itself, narrowing its eyes, frowning slightly. It smiled, then, staring out of and back into its pale blue eyes.

Then it pinched its cheeks, stuck out its tongue, stretched its lips, waggled its eyebrows.

It tested out its expressions, and even summoned up a welling of tears by digging its fingers against the stitches around its eye.

It forced a laugh, and tasted the thousands of words on its tongue that were familiar, and yet not.

When it looked at itself in the mirror again, it could see something else in its eyes. Something more familiar. Something regal. Something proud. Something hungry to the point of cruelty.

Something distinctly not Kieron.

The knock at the door was sudden, and for a moment, Kieron was nearly himself. He turned, his eyes widening, and he opened his mouth to shout, to scream, but then suddenly his body snapped his gaze back toward the mirror. “No,” its mouth snarled. “No, no, no. Not yet.”

The knock came again, “Brody?”

“Sha!?” Brody yelped.

“You all right in there?” she called. “You missed breakfast.”

“Not hungry,” he answered, through gritted teeth. He watched himself in the mirror as he pulled a knife from his pocket, and thumbed open the wide, curved, intensely sharp blade. He lifted the blade and pointed it just beneath his wounded eye, saying quietly, “Keep quiet, you wretched little abomination, or I’ll pop it out and make you eat it.”

Kieron closed his mouth, panting.

“I know this is hard, waiting,” came Sha’s answer. “And I know, I know you’re fine, but I have to ask.”

Silence, for a moment, while Kieron simply stared at himself in the mirror, panting.

“Brody?”

“…I’m fine, Captain,” Kieron’s voice answered. “Everything’s fine.” He trembled, sitting there, staring at the knife, staring at himself, then staring at the knife again. Once there was silence from the hallway, he put down the knife and said, “That precious pirate bitch is a fine tease. She fights back. She’ll be perfect.”

“You can’t,” Kieron said to himself, looking sick. “Please. Please stop this–”

“I can do anything I want,” he answered, chuckling lowly. “You can’t stop me, you sorry excuse for a soldier.” The knife was set down, and Kieron looked at himself in the mirror, disdain and sneering contempt written all over his features.

He was startled to see how much like his father he looked, and his face flushed in shame and anger.

“Oh, what a disappointment you were to your father, hmm?” Kieron spat at himself, hatred shining in his eyes. “Couldn’t live up to his expectations, couldn’t–” Kieron’s voice cracked. The angry thing inside him, the horrorshow of death and fury that boiled behind his eyes quieted, examining Kieron’s thoughts, even as the young man struggled to push him away, to push him down, to crush him and keep him from finding out any more secrets.

“Disgusting,” Exosus hissed. “Foul thing.”

“Stop,” Kieron begged. “Please.”

Exosus tore through Kieron’s heart and mind, rifling through memories and secrets, leaving him feeling shredded, lost. “Liar. Betrayer. Filth,” he snarled, staring at himself. “You know you’re wrong. You know you’re disgusting. You can feel it. What you want of that boy? What you did with him? You deserve pain.” He leaned forward, close enough to the glass that his breath fogged it as he snarled. “Punishment.”

Tears rolled down Kieron’s cheeks, and he stared at himself in the mirror, feeling as though he were inside the mirror, looking out at a monster who wore his skin. “Get out of my head,” he begged. “Get out.”

“Can’t,” Exosus taunted. “Won’t.”

Furious, desperate, Kieron lunged at himself, fists crashing at the mirror, pounding it until it shattered, shards falling, flung everywhere. “GET OUT!” he shouted, grabbing up a shard. “You GET OUT.”

The knock at the door came back, and it had grown harder now. Sha banged at the door, pulling at the handle. “Brody?”

“GET OUT!” Kieron screamed, snapping the words off so forcefully he bit his own tongue, and the froth of his saliva began to turn red as he screamed. “GET OUT!”

In the mirror, the thing that wore Kieron’s face simply smiled at him, laughing.

* * *

The door burst in, metal banging on metal, hinges squeaking, the giant gong sound of the latch striking the wall. Danival burst in, and he and Sha found Kieron in front of the broken mirror clutching his forearm, blood running between his fingers. He was already white-cheeked and greylipped as he moved to stand up out of the chair he was in. “I don’t know if it worked,” he said, in a voice that was both paper and wind. His whole body trembled, and his knees turned to water. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he dropped to the floor, boneless and cold.

“The fuck did you do, cadet–” Sha ran for him, tearing the sleeve off her shirt, immediately moving to press down on the wound, then tear off the other, to tie off a tourniquete.

Kieron uttered a low groan in her arms, and his eyes flickered open. He brayed a harsh, toneless laugh, and blood ran over his lips, from his bitten tongue. “That shut him up,” he slurred.

“Who?” Sha asked, hands working quickly, mind working quickly.

Danival moved to help, silent, asking no questions, moving to hold pressure to the wound as Sha tied off the tourniquet.

“It shouldn’t have happened like that. I don’t know–” Kieron whispered. “But he’s quiet now. At least he’s quiet. Couldn’t let him hurt you. ”

“What? Who are you talking about?” Sha wondered, her heart knotted with worry. “Kieron, who’s quiet now? Who’s trying to hurt us?” Something caught Sha’s notice — out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the blood on the floor move. When she turned, it simply laid there, black-red, cooling, spilled and smeared. It would have to be cleaned up later.

While Sha was looking at the blood, Danival simply picked Kieron up, saying, “The chiurgeon. Now. Is being the only way he might be saved. Too much blood. There are no real answers here, where there is panic and pain. Come now.”

She needed no other urge, and hurried to follow.

* * *

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