Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #160 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘DeathWatch’ then go to ‘#0 – A Beginning’ and read from there, or go find the issue # you remember, and catch up from there!

Happy Reading!

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The wailing from the Princess’s chambers rose and fell; Lucida could not be soothed. To have lost both her brother and her husband — it was too much. Gemma tried to talk to her, but in the end, she was given both aetheris and sleeping draughts, and fell into a long and restless slumber. Guards stood watch, and Gemma stayed beside her, silent, praying.

Secta took Jules to a servant’s chambers, and gave her fresh clothing to wear, including headscarves to cover herself, so that she would not stand out.

While he was helping to dress her, Jules was silent; she watched him with wide eyes, sometimes curious, sometimes frightened.

Secta was kind and slow and gentle and careful; he didn’t touch Jules without warning her — “I’m going to wrap this around your waist,” or “I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder,” and once, even, “Can I lift your hair off your neck?”

She nodded, at that one, and flushed as she felt tears roll down her cheeks. The fact that he was so strangely kind was almost more painful than the wounds on her back.

When she was dressed; Secta gave her a bag with food and water, money and unguent for her burns. He offered his hand to her, kind and gentle all the while, and led her all the way to the palace gates. Once they were there, he released her and said, “You’re a hated person, here in this place. I cannot change that for you. But I can give you this much.”

“Quare… Quare hoc facere? Why are you doing all this?” Jules wondered, flipping between Ilonan and her normal tongue. “Why would you help me?”

“I told you, little Krieg,” Secta said, looking pained as he took her out to the steps themselves, away from anyone who might overhear their brief conference. “We are not all monsters, here. I must behave that way, if I profess to believe that way. I love my city. I love my Guardian. But I do not love what has been done to you or your people.” As the palace was still in the midst of being locked down, there were citygoers and courtiers all over; guards were in the middle of organizing everything, trying to keep the area calm — but the city itself was already in an uproar.

“Won’t you be punished?” Jules wondered, looking worried. “For letting me go? For helping me?” she asked.

“Not likely. The Prince is dead. My Guardian may be, as well,” he said, his voice unsteady as he plainly spoke those facts. “You’ve escaped in the chaos, for all I know. You’re a resourceful one, certainly,” he said, his pale eyes holding to her, his lips nearly curved into a smile.

“Gratias tibi,” Jules said, her expression earnest, her hand reaching to catch his once more, and squeeze it tightly. “I… I wish I could somehow repay you.”

“Hold in your heart the knowing that not every Ilonan is made of monstrous stuff. Would it not be wondrous if our two peoples could coexist?” Secta said, tears in his eyes. “Perhaps if you and I meet again one day, little Krieg, you will show me mercy.”

“Wondrous,” Jules repeated, nodding. “It would be wondrous indeed. And if we should meet again, Ilonan, and you are at my hand… I will not show you mercy–”

Secta did not flinch, but the corners of his mouth turned down a bit, in earnest sadness. He began to nod.

Jules continued, “–I will show you friendship.”

* * *

North of the city jungle’s wall, Coryphaeus and Garrett marched, carrying their burdens, still in a dense forest, trudging on silently. They went side by side when they could, or at times, Garrett led, and then Coryphaeus led. It was still dark, and it was still raining; the world seemed a wild, wide open place, and Garrett loathed the vulnerability of this escape.

It was not long before the trees thinned, and when the sound of hooves could be heard, Garrett hunched down, and moved to pull his gun, baring his teeth. In the dark, it was hard to tell friend from foe.

“Put it away,” Coryphaeus said dully, and carefully set down Kieron to wave down the horse and rider. “I knew I would be found out. I knew Immanis would send me to the Hunt. I had hoped I would be able to escape, but I knew I would be wounded, at best, and so I sent word to someone I hoped might still, after hearing news of my shame, wish to be loyal to me.”

The horse drew up, and the helmed rider reined it in. “Ave, Legatus!” the officer cried, giving a wave to the small, tattered grouping.

“Ave,” Coryphaeus said exhaustedly.

“Tibi appares sicut stercore,” the soldier said, swinging a leg over, and moved to get down.

Garrett still held his gun, not at all ready to relax. He stepped in front of Kieron, ready to protect his charge at all costs. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, could still hear the distant roar of the waterfall, the sound of night birds, the sounds of a hundred thousand things that could be enemies. He was all tension, all nervous energy, all wound, a tight spring that might be loosed at any instant.

The soldier walked by him without looking his way, and approached Coryphaeus.

“I know I look like shit,” Coryphaeus grunted, hanging his head. He moved to carefully take a knee before the soldier, wincing in pain and effort.

“Stulti,” the officer said. He shook his helmeted head, and moved to lay a gauntlet-covered hand atop the Legatus’s head.

“And I am a fool,” Coryphaeus admitted. “But you came.”

The officer nodded, quietly saying, “Veni. Propter Te.”

“Not for me,” Coryphaeus said, looking over at Garrett. “For them. Get them out of Ilona.”

“Iam de Ilona,” the officer said, looking confused, gesturing at the gate.

“Please,” Coryphaeus said, lifting his face, looking up at the officer. “Placere, Summus.”

The officer stared down Coryphaeus for a long time, before finally removing the concealing helmet, and letting it fall to the side. She knelt, as well, pulling Coryphaeus into her arms and embraced him, saying, “Soror. Ego soror tua, Coryfrater.”

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This is Issue #159 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘DeathWatch’ then go to ‘#0 – A Beginning’ and read from there, or go find the issue # you remember, and catch up from there!

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

“Let me GO!” Kieron screamed, trying his damndest to hurt Garrett, to make the man drop his hold, to get away. He could think of nothing but his fallen comrade, and would have thrown himself from the overlook as if he could catch him, if only Garrett would allow it. “NATHAN!” he howled, crying out until his throat burned. Tears blurred his pale eyes; those and sweat and rain and blood and mud matted his filthy blonde hair against his neck and cheeks. He felt himself pinned against Garrett’s chest. He struggled, still, until he finally threw his head back, cracking the back of his skull against Garrett’s face, stomping his feet down against Garrett’s instep.

The older man released him, cursing as his broken nose gushed blood.

Kieron ran for the edge again, choking on his own terror. “NATHAN!” he screamed, going hoarse, calling out again and again, scrambling to the very edge and looking, leaning in a way that would send him tumbling with a strong wind.

Garrett grabbed for him again, but Kieron struggled, and nearly threw himself off the ledge. It wasn’t until Garrett punched him in the jaw that Kieron relented. The boy’s head snapped to the side, and he sagged, reeling. The older man took hold of Kieron again and backpedaled away from the drop with all speed, panting. When Kieron tried to fight him again, Garrett threw an arm around the boy’s throat and held tight.

Coryphaeus stared, clutching one hand to his side, his eyes wide as he held himself up by holding the Prince’s sword that had nearly run him through.

Kieron clawed at Garrett, tried to get his feet under himself to push free — his face turned red, and the fury gave way to uncertainty in mere moments. The uncertainty became panic almost just as quickly. He flailed, desperate, his mouth forming soundless words. Let me go! I have to save him. I have to get Nate. Please. Garrett, please!

Garrett himself looked calm, but determined, saying, “It’s over, Brody. He’s gone. I know, shhh. I know, boy. Shhh. I know.”

At last, Kieron’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he went limp in Garrett’s arms, sagging like a rag doll, his head lolling on his neck as Garrett carefully released him. Garrett laid him to the mud and saidto Coryphaeus, “The other one’s heavier. I’ll get her. You get Brody. Let’s move.”

“We have time,” Coryphaeus said, tasting blood, turning his head to spit, raking dark curls back from his face. “We should make our way back to the entrance. Climbing over the wall will kill me.”

“It might, and it might not, but the thing behind you will definitely kill you,” Garrett said, nodding to the Guardian’s body on the ground. The redblack puddle around it steamed in the night rain; when lightning flashed, the Guardian’s face was revealed to be definitely less crushed than it had been — not recognizeable, still, but at the same time, more like a face than simply a patch of bloody carnage on the ground.

“It’s dead,” Coryphaeus said softly, turning to look back at it. “Isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t stay dead,” Garrett replied, glancing over at it with some trepidation. “I’ve been watching it; I’m not sure how much longer it will be, but it will rise again, and when it does, I don’t know as we’ll make it out before it catches up with us. So up over the wall we go.”

Coryphaeus kept staring at the Guardian and nodded, stooping to pick up Kieron and sling him over his shoulder. “Let’s go, then,” he said, hurrying in a stiff shuffle for the wall, doing his best to ignore the screaming fire against his ribs.

The ascent was all but impossible; Coryphaeus had to wind himself in the vines so thoroughly, he nearly became too tangled to climb. At one point, he lost feeling in his right arm, and slid back down, undoing several meters of progress. Pressing his cheek to the stones, he whispered quietly to himself, a prayer for strength — not for himself, but instead — “Nam propter Jules,” he whispered. “Nam propter Jules,” he said, and began to haul himself up. Fresh blood welled from his ribs; tears rolled down his cheeks. Coryphaeus had once been willing to sacrifice Jules to live, but now was willing to die that he might keep at least one shred of a promise to her. “Nam propter Jules.” Get them out alive. “Nam propter Jules.” Save them. He knew he was in part, a monster — but he wanted to be better. “Nam. Propter. Jules.” He needed to be.

He could not save the fallen man. He could not save the black-skinned woman who lay meters below him, the wide yawn of her throat open to the night, her belly bloody, her eyes vacant. He could not save any of the other killed crewmembers who lay broken and unmoving, back in the forest.

He could not save the young woman whose neck had been snapped by Immanis, right in front of them. He could not save the nearly one hundred soldiers who killed themselves while Jules was made to watch.

He could help save only these two, and he prayed that somehow it might be enough to ease both their ragged hearts.

When they reached the top, Coryphaeus laid his cheek to the stone again, sobbing, briefly; he was not certain he had the strength to haul both himself and the boy over the top. Rain poured over him, poured over Kieron, and he took long, ragged, gasping breaths to come back to himself, before he finally pulled himself up, and then began to let himself over.

The people watching, still watching in cafes, in their homes, at public and private telescreens, saw the four survivors disappear over the wall.

Within the city, the riots began.

Garrett managed to climb down; the rain washed the blood from his face — he stood on solid ground that was still forested, leading north, and looked up to watch Coryphaeus continue his way down. “Come on, then,” he shouted. “Get moving!”

Cory had stopped, and was holding Kieron, clinging to the vines, still more than five meters from the ground. He felt the world graying out, and he struggled to maintain his hold on the wall, but his injuries and exhaustion were too much. The feeling left his limbs again, and blackness swallowed him whole.

Garrett was laying Sha down, mindful of her head — he could see she’d taken a blow to the back of it that would have to be tended to — when he heard the crashing sound of Coryphaeus tumbling from the wall, still holding Kieron.

Garrett was shocked then, when he saw Coryphaeus get up and haul Kieron right back into his arms–the boy was still passed out, but seemed none the worse for wear for his fall–Coryphaeus marched past Garrett, then, still muttering to himself, “Nam propter Jules.”

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