Crusade Across Worlds (42 page)

Sliding my fingers over the handle, I take a
deep breath. I grip the weapon like a lifeline—
my
lifeline,
ready to end his with the final blow. Reuzkimpart’s eyes dip to
mine. Momentary surprise reflects before settling into confusion.
He’s about to ignore me when he spots the object in my hand.

Now.

DO IT NOW!

Pulling back, I snap the whip with a sharp
crack, but he dodges before it can make contact. I don’t get it. He
should be dead. Dead like all the others. But he’s not. Instead, he
stands in a different spot on the hill, facing me, his own whip
clutched between black talons.

You think are special?

His voice whispers the words. Oh God. He
must have the same ability, the same time manipulation as I do. If
that’s the case, then I don’t have the advantage at all. Suddenly,
the very real danger dawns on me, but before I have time to process
it, the tail end of his whip cracks down by my face. I dodge in
time, watching his mouth curve into a smile.

Have you come to kill me?

He sends his whip flying again and I roll
across the ground, the black snake slicing into the snow by my
foot.

If you have, you better get your attempt in
quick, as it shall be over for you soon.

Another crack and this time, the whip makes
contact. It bites into my shoulder, separating my skin and I scream
at the tear. It hurts worse than I remember, worse than I can
reconcile. My first instinct is to grip it, to nurse my shoulder
back to painlessness by shielding it from any other injury. But he
cracks the whip by my neck, nearly slicing it in half.

I am surprised you are here. Did the
Fychu send you?
Reuzkimpart smiles wider.
Did he give you
something? A special serum to move faster? Do not be surprised when
it wears off and you have found all your limbs separated from your
body.

Reuzkimpart snaps his blade but I dodge it,
sending my own with a crack in retaliation. The Vermix Leader
barely ducks to avoid getting hit.

The Fychu must have given you something
extraordinary.

I aim for his head but he dives easily, his
movements smooth and fluid as if this was a dance to him, something
mindless and entertaining.

But why send you? Why not come and face me
himself?

I try for another strike but to no avail. I
go again and this time, Reuzkimpart fully dives to the side.
Rolling across the snow, he reaches back and lets the black tail
fly. It catches my knee.

Pain explodes. Pain like the split in my
shoulder, but worse. Much worse. He might’ve broken it. Snapped it
in half. I don’t know. I don’t know because all I can feel is the
agony of separated flesh. I bite my tongue, refusing to scream.

Has the Fychu grown scared these past
decades?

I crack the whip but it does nothing.
Reuzkimpart barely flinches.

Has he grown old? Weak? Decrepit?

I try again, but the black snake bites my
hand before I can strike. I drop the whip, shaking, bleeding.
Oh
God. Oh God.
A new, terrifying pain erupts and I’m afraid to
look; I’m afraid to see what he did to me. But I have to.
Flinching, I glance down. My palm is split open, diagonally from my
pointer finger to my wrist.

If I wanted your hand, I could take it. Just
like anything else I wanted.

I can barely move. I can barely see through
the dizzying pain, the torture dragging me in and out of
consciousness. And Reuzkimpart must know this because he reaches
back and lets the black tail fly once more. I do my best to dodge,
but it catches the side of my neck.

This is it.

He’s decapitated me and I’m dead.

Reuzkimpart won. The Vermix have won.

Except as I’m waiting for my head to roll
off, nothing happens. Reuzkimpart doesn’t boast a look of confident
satisfaction, only mild irritation. Maybe even disappointment. It’s
because he hasn’t done it yet. He’s only nicked me, merely caught
the side of my throat and that’s not enough for a fatal blow. With
a growl, he reaches back for the final strike. I know it’s going to
hit me this time. But I can’t move. I can’t do anything because I’m
in too much shock, too stunned and distracted by the throbbing in
my shoulder, knee, hand and neck to focus. I’m going to die.
Reuzkimpart is going to kill me and I’m…I’m going to fail.

The end of the whip comes down. Any second.
Any second and I’m going to feel it. Any moment and it’s going to
be my last. As I inhale what I’m sure is my final breath, something
knocks into me. I’m shoved into the snow, surprised to feel the
cold against my skin.

Clarence drops beside me, his neck split
open.

Supreme…we have it…we have the Shadow
Bag.

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand why I’m on the ground and
Clarence—

He tries to swallow, but can’t. I don’t know
what to do. His throat is covered in blood. So much blood. It’s
leaking all over his neck, down to his collarbone and onto the
fabric of his clothes. None of it makes sense.

Me.

It was supposed to be
me
.

Something shuffles around us but I can’t
stop starring at Clarence, at his bloodied throat and wide,
panicked eyes.

Shall we kill the human?

Leave her. We have what we came for.

I know I should turn around; I know I should
do something to stop them, to kill them, but all I see is Clarence.
All I see is his broken body. His bleeding throat. The surrounding
green flashes to white and I know the Vermix are leaving. They’re
abandoning Larupip now that they have the Shadow Bag, but I don’t
make a move. I can’t. My focus shifts between my
great-great-grandfather’s eyes as he takes quick, shallow
breaths.

“No, it’s okay,” I sniffle. “We can fix
this—I can fix this,” I place my quivering hands over his neck,
trying to conjure the glowing white body I used to treat Werzo and
Qippert. Only a red form appears. No white. No pink.

“It’s fine,” I shake my head, refusing the
diagnosis and focusing on his bright red form. “We can—I can do
this,” I try growing the tissue in his throat. But there’s nothing
to grow. The ends are charred. Dead. Unable to replicate. There’s
nothing to reconnect. There’s nothing to treat.

“Clarence!” I shake him but his eyes are
fixated on the sky. Tears gush down my cheeks, blurring my vision.
Grasping his shoulders, I try pulling his body from the snow. But
it’s too heavy. And I can’t see anymore. Everything is a blur of
tears and blood and guilt and regret.

“Clarence,
come on
,” I try again,
managing to lift his torso from the ground. His head rolls back,
blood staining everything below it. I’m able to raise him another
inch when his weight gets the better of me and he falls back into
the snow. I fall with him, my face pressed into his chest, the
tears uncontrollable.

Somewhere between sobs I inhale his scent.
Familiar. Comforting. Calming.
Clarence
. It heals me,
reassures me, until I realize it’s a scent I’ll never know after
today. Sticking my nose to his chest, I breathe deeply. I breathe
as much of his scent into me as possible. I breathe in a lifetime
of it.

At some point, arms wrap around my body as a
new scent encloses me. Reid rests his chin on my uninjured
shoulder.

“Fallon.”

He wants me to let go. Maybe even needs me
to. But I’m not ready. Burying my face even deeper, I wiggle out of
Reid’s protection and onto my great-great-grandfather, squeezing
with everything I have. I’m squeezing him so tight that I hope
it’ll weigh him down, and that he’ll stay here, with me.

Through my bellowed sobbing, Sampson’s soft
voice speaks to someone. “We need to bring him back.”

“I will transport the others,” Vix says.

“Where will he want to rest?” Blovid asks
quietly. “Ellae, I assume?”

I don’t hear a response over my own crying.
Squeezing Clarence, my fingers dig into the soft flesh of his arms
as though clutching him might make him come back. As though
reminding him of my presence would be enough to change his
fate.

A moment later and Sampson’s voice breaks
through my sobs. “We shall prepare his departure after we get
settled on Mybyncia.”

Someone kneels next to me but I don’t bother
looking up. It doesn’t matter. It’s not Clarence. And it never will
be
Clarence. The thought brings on a new wave of panic, of
breathlessness, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe
again.

My hand is squeezed. Something is happening
outside of my limited vision, but I don’t care. I don’t care about
anything else. In this moment, nothing else matters.

“Fallon,” Sampson’s voice is soft behind me.
I don’t move. He can call my name all he wants but I’m not letting
go.

Someone else sniffles. I think it’s
Pratt.

“Fallon,” my name is a whisper. “We need to
take the body.”

I keep my grip strong.

“
Fallon
,” it’s a plea now. “We have
to have him cleaned up and you…you need to be looked it.”

I refuse to answer.

“Maybe we should wait,” Blovid whispers.

“He needs to have his neck wrapped. We must
prepare him…” Sampson inhales, “… as we have Jothkore.”

Reid crouches beside me. He loosens a piece
of hair and tucks it behind my ear. I look up. His thumb traces
circles around my cheek, his eyes never leaving mine. He’s not
asking me to let go. He’s not asking me anything. He’s just holding
me, touching me, reminding me that he’s here, reminding me that I’m
not alone.

Looking past him, I find the
partially-damaged Docking Station. We must’ve come here at some
point, but I don’t remember when. With a blink to clear my vision,
I see the others are here too, even Tucker. The sight offers a
little peace, but not much. I’m still wrapped around Clarence and
everyone is gathered around us in a circle, standing like a barrier
to block the outside. Except Reid. Reid is beside me, refusing to
make me do this by myself. He doesn’t speak. He knows he doesn’t
have to; he just needs to be close to me.

With a look back over my
great-great-grandfather, my chest tightens again. Someone has
closed his eyes; it’s like he could be sleeping. But he’s not.

He’s gone.

He’s really gone.

Arms slip around me but I don’t protest.
Reid picks me up. Maybe if I stay in him arms, I’ll never have to
come out. Maybe I can hide in them forever.

Something rustles and Able’s pained voice is
low. “Where are you taking him?”

“The Healers will apply his bandage… and
prepare him for tomorrow,” Sampson says in soft, controlled words.
“When they are done, they will look at the rest of you. Qippert,
Werzo and Fallon first.”

I’m being carried somewhere. I want to yell
at Reid to stop, to take me back to Clarence but I can’t find my
voice. It’s gone, along with the will to stand, along with the will
to fight.

It’s my fault Clarence is dead.

I can’t ever change that. I can’t do
anything other than feel this and know I’ll never be able to take
it back. I’ll never be able to tell him sorry; I’ll never be able
to talk to my great-great-grandfather again. He’s gone, just like
the rest of my family.

***

My eyes hurt.

They’ve been staring at the ceiling since I
was brought in here. It must be hours now. Everyone else fell
asleep some time ago, but I can’t will myself to. I want to. I want
to fall into the same escape the others have found, but it won’t
come. Maybe for me, sleep is too good a release.

I glance down at my wrist.

Bare.

I don’t even remember losing my Callix. It
could’ve fallen off any time after leaving Arosin. I try to think
back to it, pinpointing the moment I lost Reid’s sacred memento to
me. Maybe if I’d cared more I would’ve at least noticed it missing.
But I didn’t. I didn’t realize it until only a little while ago,
when I grew dizzy from staring at the ceiling and needed a break
for my eyes. Normally I find comfort in brushing the smooth pink
and red petals, but when I reached for it, I discovered my wrist
was bare and my heart broke anew again.

Reid stirs beside me.

I have no idea which wing we’re in. Male or
female, it doesn’t matter. After the defeat on Larupip, nothing
matters anymore. The Vermix have both Gifts, Jothkore and Clarence
are dead, and Werzo and Qippert are severely injured. I was only
nicked. A flesh wound on my shoulder and hand and neck—I’ll
survive. My injuries are the least of the Arizals’ worries. Still,
Sampson wants me to see the Healers in the morning. I doubt they’ll
be able to help. They can merely mend the broken skin. They have
nothing for the crater in my chest.

I have to see Clarence.

Climbing from the bed, I’m careful not to
wake Reid. He’s sound asleep, just like the others who are sprawled
along the floor, a few in similar sleeping arrangements. Slipping
past them, I head through the tunnel, not entirely sure where to
go. But I let my feet do the walking, trusting that they’ll take me
where I need to be. Clarence is here somewhere.

And after searching for twenty minutes, I
find him.

My great-great-grandfather has been placed
in a servants’ quarter, along with Jothkore. Both lie on high
slabs, eyes closed with their arms across their chests. It’s
silent. And damp. Perfect for solitude—something he thought I was
seeking when I first met him, something he thought I needed after
learning about ‘the war.’

I inhale a shaky breath. Then force a step
forward, toward Clarence. My heart pounds, tears burning behind
dry, un-cryable eyes.

He’s so still.

So…so…quiet.

I scan his body, hoping for a movement, a
twinge—something. Some sign he’s miraculously alive and that
everything that happened earlier was just a bad dream. A nightmare.
I wait, but nothing happens. No movement. No reassurance.