Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #156 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

* * *

Jules’s whole world came to a standstill; she stared up at the screen as she knelt before it, a supplicant pleading in absolute prayer. She watched the events unfold, tears in her eyes, nails digging in to her hands, leaving bloody halfmoons in her palms.

She watched as Immanis returned from the forest, bloodied, looking just as savage as the Guardian. He ran for the grouping, and saw Nate and Kieron standing over the body of The Guardian, and Jules could see for a moment the vengeance in his eyes, burning like the heart of the sun.

“Run,” she begged again. “Ye just have to run.”

* * *

Nate twisted to see what had brought fear to Kieron’s eyes, and in doing so, narrowly missed the blade. He danced away from Kieron, pushing him so that the strike Immanis had been aiming for his back missed them both. The thrust brought Immanis so close that Nathan was able to come around and shove hard against the Prince, but the Ilonan was strong, and fast — he brought up his weapon and slashed at Nate. The blade cut through the air with a ringing whistle, and sliced cleanly a long red streak against his opponent’s arm. Nathan staggered back, cursing, and dropped to the ground, skittering back in a furious panic.

Immanis gave chase, and swung the blade again. “You are a dead man. That you dare to touch my Guardian! That you spill his blood! I will end you!”

* * *

A loud cry went up in the Prince’s lounge; Jules flinched, but then turned her attention back to the screen, her shoulders tense, her eyes wide, watchful. The strike hadn’t come. The sword hadn’t gone through him. The vision didn’t happen.

A strange sort of elation washed over Jules just then — she stared at Nate, and Immanis chasing after him, and a giddiness crept up her throat and escaped in a bray of laughter. “He didn’t die,” she said, to no one in particular. “He didn’t die,” she laughed, her voice mostly lost amidst the men and women exchanging money again, some shouting at and some cheering on the show. Jules beamed, radiant, and turned to look back over her shoulder at Gemma and Lucida. “He didn’t! It didn’t happen! It doesn’t have to happen!” she crowed.

Gemma looked away, an expression like nausea passing over her features.

Lucida looked confused, and then awed, and then gripped Gemma’s shoulder, leaning down to whisper urgently. “Have you ever been wrong?”

“Meabella–” Gemma began quietly.

“No!” Lucida hissed, shaking. “No, you must answer me. Gemma, have you ever been wrong? Could you be wrong?” she said, and in her eyes, in her heart, was a plea that Gemma could not answer.

The handmaiden wept, shaking her head, looking helpless. “Majesty,” she whispered. “Fate is–”

* * *

Nate twisted, shielding his face as he tried to get out of the way — the sound of metal on metal made him look up, his dark eyes wide. Bare inches from his face, the notched back of Coryphaeus’s machete held the blade of Immanis’s sword. The men strained over him, Immanis snarling, Coryphaeus gritting his teeth, clenching his jaw.

“Run,” Coryphaeus hissed down at Nathan. “Just fucking run you fool,” he snarled, throwing himself at Immanis.

Nate didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled back up, panting, and ran for Sha, trying to shake her awake. “Come on,” he pled. “Come on, Captain. Wake up. We gotta fucking go.” When he touched her cheek, brushing black and bronze curls from her face, he streaked her cheek with blood, and could no longer quite tell if it was his, or her own. It didn’t matter; he refused to slow down, refused to stop.

Immanis looked furious and impressed all at once, staggering back as Coryphaeus shifted from defense to assault. “So, Legatus,” the Prince growled. “You have joined the side of the criminals?”

“Only because Your Majesty put me there,” Coryphaeus said, looking pained. “I would’ve served you with my life, with my death, my Lord. I would’ve given you anything.” His dark curls were pasted to his cheeks and forehead as he danced about in frantic swordplay.

“But not the woman, ah?” Immanis laughed darkly, his eyes shining in determination, in mischief, in a playful joy that Coryphaeus could not understand as having a place on the battlefield. “What our hearts make us do, yes?” he said, lunging forward to score a line across Cory’s chest. “How love can consume us.”

“I am a loyal soldier!” Coryphaeus insisted, baring his teeth against the pain. “I did not know the boy would fail to please you, highness! Yes, it’s true, I kept the redhead. I did! She warned me against betrayal, and I feared more would come.”

Kieron, for his part, had disengaged long ago, and knelt over Garrett, struggling to wake him. “Professor,” he pled. “Garrett. Garrett, please,” he begged, slapping the man’s face. “You have to get up. Come on — come–”

Dazed, Garrett opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. When he realized where he was, he sat up quickly, and then clutched at his head, feeling the sudden wave of nausea that came from having been knocked out. The back of his head felt cold, wet, and ten times too huge for his own skull. “Brody,” he rasped, moving to get up, staggering. “I’m here. I’m up. Let’s go. Is the Prince–” He turned and saw Coryphaeus and Immanis dueling; his eyes were wide as he saw the prone body of the Guardian across the way, his mask and face shattered beyond recognition. He looked up at Kieron, saying, “I put half a dozen bullets in that monster. They say he can’t die. I thought it was an exaggeration–”

“Nate crushed its skull. It isn’t moving anymore,” Kieron said dully, glancing at it and then looking away, shuddering in disgust, something in his stomach knotting for the way the Guardian had so tenderly touched his face.

“Do you still think yourself loyal?” Immanis wondered of Coryphaeus as the two of them clashed swords, came together, drew back, and slipped about in the mud, rain and thunder pounding down all around them. They spun and stepped and danced and moved through the meadow, toward the wall, toward the forest, toward the edge of the grounds before the fall down to the inland sea and its rocky beach, dodging and slashing, back and forth and turning again and again. “Do you still follow my orders, Legatus?” Immanis shouted above the rain, pausing in his advance.

“Majesty?” Coryphaeus said, warily lowering his hand and blinking rainwater from his face.

Immanis turned, looking back at the Guardian as it lay steaming in the mud, fallen, and his expression faltered, anguish and rage twisting his beautiful features. He could not tell if the savage heart of his brother would recover from such a blow. He could not tell if the soul of the Guardian was reforging itself yet again, burning itself clean and whole from the inside out. He could not tell, and in his grief, he wanted only vengeance. He looked at the remaining prey. He turned and looked back at Cory, and his expression was conspiratorial. “Would you still die for your Prince, Coryphaeus?”

* * *

NEXT

This is Issue #155 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

* * *

Lightning snarled overhead, painting the bloody jungle in silverblue on black; the rain that poured down sluiced mud and blood away from skin, leaving bodies on the ground pale and cold — looking almost like they were writhing in the flickering light.

Kieron threw himself against the Guardian, scrabbling to get ahold of him, muscles strengthened by working on the airship bunching as he curled fists and struck his opponent without holding back.

Wanting to meet his rival on equal terms, the Guardian did not pull out his knives, but instead wrapped his arms around the young man and twisted to bring them both to the ground. They fought like wild things, punching, kicking, clawing, spitting mud, rolling about in the thunder.

At last, the Guardian came out on top, pinning Kieron to the ground. He grabbed Kieron’s head, one hand on either side, and snapped it back against the packed earth, dazing him.

Kieron’s eyes rolled, and he went slack, stunned, coughing against the rain. Then he reached up feeble hands to wipe his hair from his eyes. The rain washed mud and blood away, revealing the pale of his skin, the sharp jut of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. He looked up, his gaze blind, wild, and he bared his teeth, reaching to claw at his opponent’s throat.

The Guardian put his hands around Kieron’s neck; he leaned in, snarling, excited to see the light go out. He stared down, panting, growling, “Vos odisse me? Non refert. Morieris eadem.” His hands tightened around Kieron’s throat, intending to finish it. You hate me? It doesn’t matter. You’ll die anyway. He spoke in Ilonan, and his voice was lower, rougher than it had been before, even only a year ago.

Kieron arched his body beneath the Guardian, his eyes going wide, panic settling in. He writhed, uttering a low, choked sob. And then suddenly — the hands around his throat were gone. He looked up to see the Guardian had pulled back, as if touching Kieron were painful. He stared up at the beast that had been throttling him to death, and struggled to breathe again.

“Hoc esse non potest,” the Guardian breathed. This can’t be.

Kieron stared up at the masked man, not knowing what he said, not understanding the Ilonan tongue.

“Hoc est dolus aut fraus aliqua,” Jet said. This must be some kind of trick. One hand reached down to cup Kieron’s cheek in his hand, his thumb sliding so very carefully against the raw wound that circled his left eye. “Tibi fieri non potest. Quomodo hoc tibi? Tu mortuus est, Key… Non vos?” Behind the mask, his eyes were so wide, so white. He sat back on his heels, Kieron pinned beneath him, and felt a rising horror. It clawed up the back of his mind, and a film of red began to descend. It can’t be you. How could it be you?

You died, Key… didn’t you?

Kieron froze, staring up at the Guardian, his heart in his throat. What happened? Why was he being touched like that? Did that monster call him by name? “Get your hands off me,” he hissed.

Jet reached his other hand up to remove the mask, saying, “Kie–”

Before the Guardian revealed his face, before the mask had been removed entirely, Nathan was there. He brought a heavy, sharp rock against the side of the warrior’s skull, knocking him to the mud. He knelt over the fallen foe and drove the rock down again and again, shattering the mask, shattering the face beneath it, leaving them both in an unrecognizable horror, until he could turn to look at Kieron, panting, tasting blood and tears.

Kieron looked up at Nathan in a mixture of shock and gratitude.

* * *

The camera angles were catching things perfectly. Julianna Vernon O’Malley had seen that look. When she slipped, held against the airship wall, listening to Kieron be branded, she had seen that face.

She knew what was coming next.

“No–” she begged. “No, no please.” Her voice was ragged, and she nearly gagged on her own tears as she moved to get up, jerking herself away from an Ilonan who’d taken a liking to her, who wanted to talk to her in lines of terrible poetry about her pale skin and spread thighs. At any other time, she’d have felt sick, and started a brawl — but at the moment, her heart was breaking, and she couldn’t look away. “Einin,” she sobbed. “You stupid arse. Why didn’t ye run?”

* * *

Nathan looked down at the heavy, bloody rock in his hand and dropped it, still panting. Moonlight glinted off the bluegold band circling on one of his fingers; he looked at it and smiled, turning it with his thumb. He felt rain on his face as he sat back on his heels and offered a hand to Kieron, standing up, helping him stand up. He put a hand to his own face, wiping away the rain, the mud, scratching at his unshaven stubble.

* * *

“No!” Jules shouted. “No! Behind you! He comes from behind you!” Jules screamed, rattling her shackles, her leash. “Look behind you, mac fraochan!” she shouted in the middle of the Prince’s study, where the air reeked of aetheris, where money was being traded by the moment, while the Ilonans looked at her curiously. They watched the Hunt with trepidation; the Prince had gone into the forest to chase the fallen Legatus, but neither had returned. The Guardian had fallen, but they were sure it was only a matter of time until he rose again.

In the mean time, the crazy redhead was shrieking and running and shaking her fists at the telescreen, howling madly.

* * *

Kieron looked up at Nate, shivering, rain pasting his hair to his forehead. “I think he knew my name–” he began, his lips half blue in the chill.

Nathan nodded, reaching out a hand to cup Kieron’s cheek as though he weren’t quite listening, much like the Guardian had just done, to examine the scar, the ragged stitches. He ran a gentle thumb just outside Kieron’s scar line, saying, “It’ll make a fine memory, Brody.”

Kieron reached up to put a hand on Nathan’s wrist, squeezing gently. All at once, his expression changed; his eyes flared wide in terror. “Nate, I–LOOK OUT!”

* * *

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