Catastrophe Jones

This is The Final Issue of DeathWatch, Book One. If you haven’t read any of DeathWatch before now, don’t start here! Go to the beginning, and start there, instead — it’ll make a hell of a lot more sense.

Happy reading!

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* * *

“My lady,” Secta knelt before Lucida, looking up at her with tears in his eyes. “I pledged my life in service of the Guardian, I–” He paused, reaching up to take her hand. “My lady, I–” Swallowing roughly, Secta dashed tears from his eyes and leaned to kiss her fingertips.

She did not move. She stared at him with glassy eyes, quiet and without reaction.

Secta pled. “Placere, Lucida, regis puella mei–” Please. Please, my princess.

He looked up when a hand rested on his shoulder; it was not Lucida’s. He turned to look behind him, and his eyes fell upon Gemma’s face.

“Tace, famulo,” Gemma said exhaustedly. “She cannot hear you. She has smoked enough aetheris to dream for days. My visions tell me the war has begun. You do not know what will become of your Guardian. I do not know what will become of my Princess. You and I will have to figure out what happens, next.”

* * *

Slipping into the crowds of the maddened city wasn’t hard; Jules pulled the scarves around her face more tightly, to keep herself hidden, to keep the dust from her eyes. She listened to the hordes crying out for justice, listened to the wailing misery of those who had watched, had seen all the things she had seen.

They wept for their Prince, their Guardian.

She wanted to weep for her crew, her friends — her family.

For Nathan.

For herself.

She could not cry, however — the tears simply wouldn’t come.

She felt too exhausted, too wounded, too broken to do anything at all… but she knew she had to keep moving.

She could have just laid down to die.

She wanted to.

Instead, she put one foot in front of the other, and headed northeast into the crowds. She still had something to finish before she attempted to escape Ilona — she imagined perhaps she could buy a horse or perhaps a bike or a broken cycle she could bang back together and make her way toward the mountains. Sha and Kieron had escaped — it would be beyond stupid for them to come back for her; it was time to run like hell — that’s it. There were outposts past the Ilonan borderlands where she could hail the Kriegs and beg to be returned to Allied land — likely that’s what Sha and Kieron would end up doing, right?

“Right?” she said aloud, and when she heard the tremor in her broken voice, she felt the tears finally come. Everyone else was wailing; she fit right in — she let them fall as she melted into the fray, and let the wild, rioting city close itself around her.

* * *

The walk back was maddening; a thousand stings and itches and grinding agonies shifted from his skin to his muscles; Coryphaeus reached the base of the wall and stared up at the vine-covered expanse with tears in his eyes. “It will be easier,” he said to himself, “without carrying the Westlander. I can do this. I must do this.”

He began the laborious ascent, pulling himself up in the rain, feet scrabbling against the stone, hands gripping the vines, the chinks in the mortar.

Halfway up, he felt his gorge rise, felt the world grey over. Everything disappeared, and he barely had time to tangle himself in the vines before he went slack.

The wall held him, even as the sun crept closer to the horizon, and the stormclouds began to give up their hold over the night.

Coryphaeus woke as the last of the stars exhaled their light and became one with the dawn. He cursed his weakness, and with renewed drive, he pulled himself up the wall, until he could see over it, to see the writhing, burning form of his Guardian. He stared in horror, in awe, to see the creature’s face lit from within, his wounds searing themselves closed, smoke and ash falling to the mud, the ravenfeathers of his hair cascading forth, his body working to draw in breath.

Coryphaeus was certain he could hear the man’s heartbeat, from atop the wall, roaring in defiance of death.

He scrambled over the lip of the wall and let himself down as quickly as he could manage; when he hit the ground, he turned and carefully stepped past Djara, looking down at her vacant eyes, pained. He shook his head and went to the Guardian, to kneel beside him, to put a hand to his skin. He pulled it back immediately; the Guardian’s flesh was feverish, steaming.

“Surgite, custos mei.” Coryphaeus’s voice was all but lost. His wounds had dried and broken open more than once — dawn was breaking, and with it came the last of his strength. Get up, my Guardian. Rise. Wake. Please.

Golden eyes fluttered open. Coryphaeus stayed quite still as Jet sat up, as the last of his shattered mask fell away. He reached up a hand to touch his face, his temple where his head had been dashed in. He looked to Coryphaeus, and for a moment, the Legatus could see a frightened little boy looking back at him.

He wondered what the Guardian saw in the dark, in the land of the dead, before he returned again and again.

He could not ask; Jet’s hand reached out and curled around his neck, squeezing tightly. “You will die,” he growled.

“Yes,” Coryphaeus choked, “Majesty.”

Jet watched his own hand choke the life from Coryphaeus. He watched the man’s eyes roll back into his head. He felt the desire to feel the light drain from him — but then… he remembered someone else’s face. Someone else’s eyes.

He let go suddenly and let Cory slump down. While the Legatus was struggling to catch his breath, Jet looked around, panting, “Where… where is the boy?”

“Escaped,” Coryphaeus rasped. “With a man, and a woman.”

“Then… Where is my Prince?” Jet asked, moving to get up, to stand, to look around and take in the destruction that could better be seen in the dawn.

“…He and a Westlander…” Coryphaeus looked to the ledge where the ground was torn up, where there was blood on the rocks and then the earth simply fell away to the yawning abyss that looked out over the inland sea. “…fell,” he finished lamely, swallowing back bile and fear and wonder. He would have died, were it not for that Westlander. He may still die. He closed his eyes, tears of exhaustion running over his face.

Jet’s eyes widened; panic seized him in cruel teeth. He went to the edge and knelt, looking over it, looked down at the rocks, the foaming waters, and could not see if there were bodies below, dashed to bloody nothingness. All he saw was dark and light, the inland sea whorling, the foam on its tides washed against the cliff again and again. “They fell,” he whispered, putting his hand into the fingertracks, digging into the blood there, feeling his throat tighten. He looked back over his shoulder at Coryphaeus, saying, “Why… Why are you here?”

“Where else would you have me go, Guardian?” Coryphaeus asked softly. “I serve Ilona. I serve the Prince. I serve you. Unto death.”

“My brother named you traitor,” Jet said, standing again, approaching the Legatus.

“He did,” Coryphaeus answered. “I did not know at the time he would be displeased. I told him about the boy, and I kept the woman for myself.” The woman. Jules.

“The boy,” Jet said softly, looking heartsick. He remembered his hand sliding against Kieron’s cheek. He remembered Kieron’s face, all fury and disgust. He remembered reaching up to take off the mask, and then — nothing. Blackness. “The boy …escaped? He’s safe?” He was here. He was. Jet pictured Kieron’s face, bloody, wounded, fierce, and his heart sang like struck crystal, and then shattered like it had so long ago, the morning he woke alone.

United, but for an instant.

Gone, the next.

Coryphaeus blurted, “I made sure of it,” and then flinched.

Jet looked up at Coryphaeus, his eyes fierce. He stood. “You helped them escape.” It wasn’t a question.

“I made a promise, Guardian. And now I have returned. I will pay for all crimes with my life, if it pleases,” he said softly, moving to kneel before Jet.

Jet towered over Coryphaeus, gold-eyed, trembling, and pulled a knife of black glass free from its sheath.

Coryphaeus closed his eyes, thought of wild red curls, and smiled.

* * *

FIN, Book One

This is Issue #162 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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* * *

Kieron sat back, not quite within the circle of Sha’s arms, and stared up at the Krieg, his eyes still wide.

Sha looked back over her shoulder, and upon seeing the man, she shifted to put herself more fully between him, and Kieron, protective of the boy, her dark eyes flashing brightly, distrust plain on her face. She looked around, glanced up at the place that surrounded them. Austere lines, dark wood, favor toward chrome instead of brass. And then the fierce raptor insignia that the Alliance had taken for its own.

“We’re on a Krieg ship,” Sha said, the expression in her eyes turning to wonder.

“A what?” Kieron said, pulling back further, and wiping his eyes. “Professor?”

“Not. Now,” Garrett said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat back on his haunches, exhausted.

Kieron flinched back, every bit the child he’d been struggling to shut away.

Sha moved to gather Kieron in her arms. They held one another, struggling in their grief. She had not seen Nathan give his life to protect Coryphaeus. She had not seen the way Kieron ran for the ledge as though he would’ve jumped off after him, had he not been stopped. The last thing she remembered was clashing with the Guardian, rolling with him. She’d cut him; she felt his blood on her hands. She looked at them now even as she let Kieron lean into her, the hot tears on his cheeks turning cold against her neck. They were still bloody, filthy, though the rain had washed them somewhat, and the journey had been long, they hadn’t been cleaned up more than was necessary.

“When will we get back?” she wondered.

“Back?” Kieron wondered.

“To Ilona,” Sha said, at the same time Garrett said, “To Kriegsland.”

They both looked at one another — Garrett looked baffled, while Sha looked furious.

“You’re not going back into Ilona,” Garrett snorted, rolling his eyes.

Kieron released Sha, who stiffened, twisting to stand up in front of Garrett. She swayed, briefly, and her dark eyes grew darker for a moment as her eyes tested their focus. She could feel the wound on the back of her head throbbing. She stared Garrett down, saying, “You were a legend to most of us. A hero. You know that?”

“I didn’t ask for it,” Garrett said through his teeth. “And I’m not asking you — I’m telling you: You’re not going back into Ilona.”

“I am Not. Leaving. Her. There,” Sha said, baring her teeth.

“Her, who?” Garrett wondered.

“Jules,” Kieron whispered, looking shocked. “She’s still in the Palace. She’s… they still have her.”

“And with O’Malley gone, I’m not leaving her there,” Sha said fiercely. “I’m not.”

Kieron watched the Krieg’s eyes narrow, watched him turn to look at Sha. The giant said nothing, however, so Kieron looked to Garrett, and said, “Professor, please. It’s not like she’s asking you to g–”

“Shut up, Brody. I’m taking you back to your father,” Garrett said. “There’s a narrow window we’re working within, and–”

“You don’t understand me, Professor,” Sha growled, pointing a finger in Garrett’s face. “I am a Captain in the Allied Forces Air Legion and you. Are. Retired. The last I knew, you can’t give any orders to–”

“Please!” Kieron said, dashing tears from his eyes. “Stop fighting, this is stupid! You’re both–” He looked frantic; neither Sha nor Garrett appeared ready to back down — they shouted at one another, both full of fury and restless, directionless anger.

“–don’t have to listen to some washed-up has-been that–”

“–this washed-up has-been got you out of that bloody jungle–”

“–don’t understand why we can’t talk this through like reasonable–”

“–couldn’t save but two of us–”

“–had to carry your ass over the wall because none of you could follow instruct–”

“–couldn’t just let them kill her–”

“–never leave anyone behind–”

“–could’ve caught him if you hadn’t held me back!”

“–wouldn’t have even had to if you hadn’t run away from home like a spoiled brat!”

Kieron swung, but his fist was caught in a very large hand.

The Krieg moved the boy as though he were little more than a doll, so gently restraining him, a startlingly gentle expression on his face. “There are some things you cannot be taking back, cadet,” he said softly. “Regret is a heavy thing.”

Kieron was moved, and stood still, fists still clenched, chest heaving with each breath.

Garrett looked up at the Krieg and said, “Thanks — I’m getting a little tired of having to explain–”

“Zatkni past,” Danival chided Garrett, poking him in the chest, looking stern. Shut your fucking mouth. “You should not say such things to the boy.”

Garrett looked shocked, then hurt. He recoiled, crossing his arms over his chest, and said, “What are you–”

Danival ignored Garrett, looking at Kieron, then Sha. “Nathan O’Malley?” he asked, his expression far and away for a moment as he tugged his beard, looking thoughtful.

“Yes?” Kieron said, and his expression shifted from guarded to purely looking confused.

“My Quarter,” Sha said, speaking up. “He… he died, back in that place.”

“And you want to go back for whom, then?” the Krieg asked, his expression unreadable.

“My friend. Quarter of the Maxima,” Sha said, still wearing a look on her face that assumed she would take control of the ship somehow, and make it do her bidding. “His wife. We have to go back.”

Garrett rolled his eyes, looking irritated as he shook his head. He couldn’t imagine sacrificing an entire ship to go back for a single soldier — No One Left Behind was a wonderful ideal… but it never worked in practice. Too many people died trying to recover something that was nothing more than meat, most of the time. That poor woman, whoever had been left to the Ilonans… now that the Prince was dead, wasn’t likely to receive any kind treatment.

He’d gone back to get Kieron, to get Jet, to bring them home sacrificing only himself. He’d felt responsible, in a way, that their misadventures had gone so desperately wrong. Here it was, barely a week after he’d made the decision, and not only had he only been able to save one of them — the boy’s captain was outright trying to get them all killed.

“Yes,” Danival said quietly. “We go back.”

“Wait, what?” Garrett said, baffled. “Dani, are you insane? The Homeland will be furious enough that you crossed the border to retrieve us in the first place — you don’t have time to go charging off to save one man’s wife because–”

“Alec, the only reason you were saved was because I went charging off to come get you once I’d gotten wind of your distress beacon,” Danival said irritably. “The only way you got into Ilona to begin with was because I’d gone charging off to help you go charging off. You are getting off your high horse, now, Garrett.”

It was then that Garrett’s shoulders slumped; the realization struck him, and he nodded, putting his face in his hands. “You’re right,” he sighed. “I just–”

“Just nothing, Alec,” Danival said. “This is my ship. This is my army. We’re not just charging off,” he said, his expression growing more and more fierce by the moment. “The Homeland wanted me to lead an invasion?”

Kieron squeezed Sha’s hand, daring to feel hopeful, and looked to the Krieg, who wore an especially ferocious, determined grin.

“It begins now.”

* * *

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