Courage (26 page)

Yayu had once told him that tears were the body’s way of getting the bad water out. The human (and Aigis) body was comprised mostly of water. The Scondish people believe that emotions affected the physical body. Clinging to any negative emotions poisoned the body or made it stagnant, and relieving oneself of negative emotions via tears cleansed the body of bad water. Aerigo found himself agreeing with this analogy. He stopped fighting the tears and let himself cry in earnest.

Aerigo heard some shuffling. He was able to open his eyes long enough to see Jenna kneeling before him. She placed her hands on his feet and began humming a low aria. He felt some sort of energy surge from her hands and into his feet. Whatever it was, it felt like every muscle in his legs was relaxing.

Jenna paused in her humming. “I’m doing a mix of chakra healing and Yuloji. Yuloji’s energy healing. It’ll open up your chakra points and remove all the blockage so your energy flows better, along with help your inner balance. You are terribly blocked up and off kilter. You’ll wake up feeling probably the best you have in a long time.”

Aerigo leaned back in his chair, and Jenna paused in her energy healing practice to recline the chair as far back as it would go, almost flat, then went back to what she was doing. Her humming sounded like a slow lullaby. His ears tuned out the EKGs and focused on the humming, which coaxed him towards sleep. Aerigo’s skin tingled wherever Jenna held her hands over or touched, causing his muscles to relax. The tingling turned into the sensation of a slow pulse, as if he was sitting in swirling water. Every time the tingling turned into a pulse, Jenna would move on to the next chakra point, and his body began to feel heavier, one section at a time.

Aerigo fell asleep by the time she started working on his heart chakra.

Chapter 18

At one point, Kabiroas lost all sense of distance and time, focusing only on the trail of red smoke that led him to his quarry. He crossed block after block as the zooming metal machines whooshed by. No sentient life met him on his path, but after a while it didn’t matter. His thoughts were getting too hazy to register much beyond the smoke trail. He only made faint note of his increasingly labored breathing, along with the slow dip the world’s sun was making. Night was approaching. All the more cover to kill with.

By the time the setting sun was low enough for the street lamps to turn on, Kabiroas found himself outside the building his smoke trail guided him in to. The smoke led on, unimpeded by two pairs of glass doors trailing into a bright interior. Kabiroas was so glad that his search was finally leading him indoors that he rushed forward as he reached out with both arms to push aside the doors. His breathing was coming in thin, ragged gasps. He had to kill Aerigo before this world’s air could claim him.

He leaned forward as the doors magically opened for him, and the white floor rose up to meet his face. Kabiroas turned his head just before he belly flopped onto the floor. The handles of his scimitars dug into the sides of his ribs and his cloak billowed before joining him on the ground, bunching over his shoulder blades. He tried to work his limbs and get himself back on his feet, but the floor had knocked the last of the wind out of him. He tried to twist his body so he could keep an eye on the red smoke trail, the only thing keeping him conscious. He could barely make it out mere feet above his head.

Kabiroas felt hands grab his arms by under the shoulder and hoisted him upright. He kept his head bowed so he could keep his eyes on his smoke trail. A female voice spoke near his left ear. She used a language he didn’t know, however there was urgency in her flowing speech. Shoulders wedged themselves under his arm. Kabiroas tried to get his feet under him, but he couldn’t swing his legs enough to get his boots flat on the floor. He didn’t much care for this kind of contact with complete strangers, especially on a world foreign to him. It was too easy for people to assume he was a hostile invader. He had over a dozen weapons hidden on his person, in addition to the two blades hanging from his hips.

The two strangers carried him past the second set of glass doors and in the direction the smoke trail led, his boots dragging along the floor. Voices answered the first, and then the lady on his left spoke directly in his ear. He ignored her since he couldn’t understand a cursed thing she was saying. His eyes followed the smoke trail, which led through a pair of wooden doors not too far ahead. The doors opened, revealing another female, a human-looking one with purple lips and ears, who guided what looked to be a bent bed with no visible support holding it up at waist height. Curious. Maybe this world was steeped in both magic
and
machinery. A rare combination.

His escorts set him on the bed, which didn’t wobble one bit as they rolled him onto his back. A fascinating detail. He’d expected it to wobble like a child’s swing.

Kabiroas groaned. He was losing his grip on his mental faculties if he was getting lost in details. Normally he didn’t care beyond what he needed to be forewarned of, like when Nexus had sent him onto that stinking, overcrowded white ship on Earth. Technology-heavy worlds were a plague upon the natural order of the universe.

The woman who’d helped carry Kabiroas spoke to him again, but in a different language. Kabiroas replied with a few choice words in his native language. Yes, he was glad to be off his feet, but these people were interrupting his assassination mission. Now, if only he could get enough air in his lungs, he could rid himself of the trio of people holding him down. Despite his fatigue and growing delirium, he’d already tried to sit up.

The woman frowned at him, then tried a third language.

“Mind your own business,” Kabiroas said in English, one of five languages he knew.

“Aha! English!” The woman’s roundish face lit up. The expression made him think of sun fruit. He shooed the thought away, disturbed by his own inability to focus. “Sir, how long were you outside?”

Kabiroas thought a moment, recalling his nerve-wracking stay on top of a building, the long climb down, and what felt like an almost endless walk that followed. “An hour, I think. Your world’s air reeks of death.” Saying that much at once left him gasping for breath. He stopped struggling against the hands pinning him down, then took on more glance at his smoke trail before closing his eyes. He needed to conserve his strength for Aerigo. Just enough energy for one kill. Nothing else mattered.

“Yep, he’s got air poisoning. Page Donai--no, Arryk. Donai and Skitt are done for the day.”

Either his head began spinning in earnest, or the magic bed spun around. Whichever it was, he didn’t care. The world under him felt like it was tilting in one direction after another. He began to worry about what air poisoning was, but not too much. The people around him didn’t sound worried. In fact, they seemed prepared to help him. He must have followed Aerigo into a medical clinic, instead of the deserted building he’d been hoping for. Whether this turn of events would prove fortuitous or not remained to be seen.

A voice sounded overhead with the strength of a god--or perhaps it was a device similar to what Kabiroas’s people used when someone was speaking before a large audience. The amplified voice carried over the medical clinic’s din with ease. He felt his back sink ever so slightly into the magic bed as it was guided between the open wood doors and deeper into the building. He was still following the smoke trail. Good. He shut his eyes again.

Another set of doors opened and two new voices joined those of the people that’d carried him, then two pairs of shoes trailed off in the direction they’d come from--at least that’s what he thought. His head was making the world tilt too much to tell which way was up, much less which way was forward. The new male voice exclaimed, “Oh, hey, another Elf!”

Kabiroas forced his eyes open. He hadn’t expected to see an Elf standing over him. The man’s voice was delicate like one, but had too much feminine mixed in with a male’s voice. He’d more expected to hear about one of his fellow assassins who’d beat him here. Nexus was abysmal at trust. He wouldn’t have been offended if he encountered a fellow assassin. However, he’d be unspeakably furious if he was beaten to the kill.

Kabiroas took in the pale Elf with the feminine voice. They were both tall and lithe, but this one standing before him, wearing some thin white robe--a coat, not a robe--with buttons down the front, was undoubtedly taller, judging by the length of his torso. He had the same long, straight hair, but silver blonde, and his ears stuck out a bit more to the sides. He also had a rounder face. “What of it?”

“Nothing. It’s just nice to see another Elf now and then. I’ll blame your rudeness on the air poisoning. Anyway, have you been here before?” The Elf rummaged around in a red leather bag before producing a green canister with a thin tube attached to it.

“No. I’m unfamiliar with this world.”

“Well, welcome to Kismet. You’re in good hands now. Just relax and we’ll help you get better in no time. My name is Arryk, by the way.”

“Kabiroas. How long until I’m well again?” Kabiroas was torn between forcing his way off the magic bed and hunting down Aerigo, or taking some time to regain his strength and mental faculties. He’d have only one shot at taking the Aigis down. But still, the longer he waited, the more time he gave his target to recover as well. But if he hopped off the bed now, chances were he’d have to kill his way to Aerigo, wearing himself down even more.

“That depends on how long you were outside, along with how fast your race of Elves heal. I don’t have any special healing powers. Do you?”

Kabiroas shook his head, which made it spin a little more. He shut his eyes and listened to the din of the hospital. People were walking everywhere, machinery buzzed, hummed and beeped all around him, and nonintrusive chatter came from every direction. He felt a hand touch his forehead. He pushed it away with a feeble swipe and his arm flopped back by his side.

“Judging by your temperature and your clamminess, I say you spent well over an hour out there. If you’re in good health, you’ll be fine by morning.”

Kabiroas wanted to ask how long that would be precisely, but at this point he didn’t care. He felt so tired. So, so... he snapped his eyes open and frantically searched for his red smoke trail. If he came across the end of it without seeing it, he’d have to cast the spell all over again. He wasn’t sure if he had enough circirium left for a second spell. His vision blurred for a moment, casting two smoke trails before his feet.

Arryk pressed something clear and hard over Kabiroas’ nose and mouth, slipped an elastic string behind his head, and the object fit snugly over his face. He recognized the material.
Passic... pastic... plastic
. That’s what it was. Plastic. A material he and his people hoped to reproduce one day on Cynderion, his newer home world. It had potential for high usefulness.

A sweet-smelling gaseous substance seeped into the plastic face object. Kabiroas sucked in several lungfuls, taking as deep breaths as his ailing lungs would allow. The scent reminded him of the meadows outside
Nava-Burhdeorc
. Why had the Elf given him this scent to breathe?

“Like that stuff, huh?” Arryk said. “It’s an oxygen rich mixture that’ll help clean your lungs out.” They pulled into an empty room and Arryk began taking a few items out of his red leather bag. They weren’t on the smoke trail, but he could see it through the doorway.

A hand wrapped around Kabiroas’ left wrist. The lady’s. He’d forgotten she was there. He grabbed her wrist and pried her hand off before she could touch any of his concealed weapons.

“Kabiroas, I need to get an IV in you. The oxygen mixture won’t do the job alone, especially if you’re in a hurry to get well.”

He had no idea why any healer would want to wrap bare skin in ivy. It was ludicrous.

“I need to put a hollow needle in your arm so we can put liquid medicine into your system. You’ve got a lot of nasty stuff floating around in your bloodstream. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”

Bloodstream. Liquid medicine. Hollow needle. So this was how people got around using extended reality to cure illnesses. Kabiroas pulled his cloak over his left arm, slipping a throwing knife and a wristband full of poison needles into a deep pocket of his cloak, then clumsily pulled his sleeve out from under his fist gauntlet with stiff fingers. The lady helped him roll it up past his elbow.

“I’m Jenna, by the way. I don’t know if you’ll remember that in five minutes. You look ready to fall asleep.” She looked across the bed. “Arryk, do you want to take him to ICU first, or straight to RPR?”

Arryk pursed his lips. “RPR. Unless you think he might slip into critical when no one’s looking.”

“No. I’ve seen far worse cases. He looks too physically fit to worry much. He’ll bounce right back.”

Kabiroas wasn’t sure what “bounce right back” meant. It was unfamiliar lingo. The lady wiped the crux of his elbow clean with something cold and wet. An antiseptic, he presumed. This world understood the importance of cleanliness in a medical setting. Good. Not that it shouldn’t have been obvious with so much whiteness surrounding him. He felt a slight discomfort when Jenna slipped the needle in him, but nothing to cause him any alarm. He ignored the rest of her actions and focused on the smoke trail so he wouldn’t fall asleep.

Once the doctors were finished doing whatever they needed to do, they guided his bed out of the room and back along the smoke trail. His heart began to pound, a distressing development. A pounding heart was often just enough to give someone away when he used a spell that amplified his hearing. What if, while in the state he was in, the two doctors carted him past where Aerigo was, and the Aigis was awake, alert and well? Aerigo would kill him without hesitation, and with little struggle from Kabiroas. He might get in a few blows, but nothing lethal. His darts, which he doubted could puncture an Aigis’ skin, were dipped in a plant poison, something far less potent than dragon venom. He pulled his cloak over his weapons and prayed to Vancor that Aerigo wouldn’t be looking out in the hall when he passed by. He had no energy to cast a concealing spell.

“So, Kabiroas,” Arryk said, “what originally brought you to Kismet?”

Oh, gods, the damn Elf wanted to converse. At least Aerigo wouldn’t recognize his voice. The girl might, but chances were she was dead, or close to it. “None of your business,” he said, putting as much finality into his raspy voice as he could muster. He could feel and taste phlegm beginning to coat the back of his throat. Was it from the air poisoning, or a side effect of the mixture he was inhaling? No matter.

“Fine, fine. Be mister mysterious, Kabby--can I call you Kabby?”

At the same time as Kabiroas told him no, Arryk said, “Great!”

Arryk frowned, but didn’t look overly upset as he helped guide the magic bed along the smoke trail, which was visible only to Kabiroas. “Fine. I’ll have to see if I can cure your sense of humor,
Kabiroas
, while I’m at it. I know breathing troubles tends to stress people out, but there’s nothing like humor and laughter to make you feel better.”