WARP world (32 page)

These men who hurt Stevan; they were going to pay.

Before she could make another move, ear-piercing bangs and flickering strobes of harsh, actinic light filled the room.

“Ama!” she heard above the din, and turned to see Seg standing inside the door. “Out!”

She hesitated. Seg fired a small, strange looking banger at one of the constables and ducked behind a pillar.

“NOW!” he yelled.

Ama scrambled to her feet, ducked forward and headed in the direction of the door. An explosion followed close enough behind to lift the bottom of her dress.

She pressed her back to the wall outside of the atrium, to hold herself up and to watch for more constables.

Seg appeared momentarily then charged back inside. Shortly after, she heard banger fire, the crash of glass and several screams. She prayed one of those screams belonged to Dagga.

With her left hand, weakened by the shot to her shoulder, she held the material of her dress while with her right hand she hacked the dress off at the waist. One problem solved.

Then she heard voices from another direction. And the heavy approach of boots. Lots of boots.

Bad trouble.

They had to get out of the temple. But then what?

The front gates would now be locked and guarded. There was the secret passage at the east end. But if anything went wrong, if they couldn’t find it, if the authorities followed too quickly, they would be penned in. Trapped.

They had to run for the passage, there was no other way.

“Seg!” she yelled through the open door, “We’ve got company!”

He appeared out of the smoke and confusion, tattered overcoat flapping behind him, the strange weapon clutched in his hands.

With one hand, he pulled a black disk from the device, threw it to the floor and replaced it with another. “How many?”

“Too many,” Ama answered, breathing heavily as she split her attention between Seg and the distant voices. “There’s a hidden passage,” she said, fixed her eyes on his and hoped he understood the message behind them. “Follow me!” she ordered and took off across the open walkway at a sprint.

He followed, seeding the area behind them with more of his devices, which bellowed clouds of
smoke
.

At the top of a set of stairs leading below, he caught up with her.

“Wait!” she shouted, as he was about to overtake her. She pointed to the lowest level, where more armed constables filled the stairwell.

Her head swiveled left then right. “This way,” she ordered, backtracking.

She zigged left abruptly, before the entrance to the atrium, coughing at the smoke that filled the air.

At a nondescript door, similar to those she had noted during their escorted walk, she slid to a stop.

She tugged at the handle. Locked. Damn. The smokey cover gave them some time and she bolted to the next plain door. She hoped Stevan’s detailed description of the temple had been accurate.

Stevan
. She wiped his name from her mind.

At full speed, she almost missed her target and skidded to a halt just past it.

Please, please, please
, she prayed as she reached for the handle. The door stuck fast, then there was a small
click
and it gave way and swung open. At that same moment there was another sound, from the walkway.

“Halt!” A constable barked.

She and Seg ducked inside a half second before another banger blast ricocheted behind them. The staircase was tight and steep, no need for grandeur for the Welf servants who traveled these hidden corridors.

Gravity helped speed their escape. Ama had no idea where they would come out, she would deal with that when they got there. All she knew was they would never make it to the meditation chambers.

Behind them, one of the constables shouted, “They’re heading for the main level.”

The stairs ended, a short pathway led to another door and she charged toward it, Seg right on her heels.

A group of Welf leapt up in surprise as the fugitives burst into their midst. This was obviously a service area, dishes and linens were stacked on shelves, servants were scattered about the room.

Ama scanned the area. There was a door leading outside. She ignored the servants, bolted for the exit and flung it open. Fresh air on her face was a relief.

One quick circle gave Ama her bearings and she pointed to a narrow path, leading to a high hedge. “This way,” she called to Seg, panting from exertion, and ran.

By the time they reached the hedge, the voices of the authorities were behind them again. More shots rang out from the bangers. One tore up a patch of earth just behind them.

Ama turned around in time to see a klip curve through the air. “Duck!” she yelled at Seg and squatted down. A second later the weapon whizzed through the space their heads had just occupied, before it circled back to its owner.

Nen’s death, that was too close!

Only once they were in front of it, was the small passage through the hedge visible, a clever optical illusion she had noticed on their walk in. They hurried through the gap and the grounds opened up before them.

There was a long stretch of emptiness between them and the ceremonial platform perched over the falls. They were wide open and exposed

Keenly feeling their vulnerability, the two dug in and raced for the platform jutting out over the cliff edge. Shouts and banger fire continued in their wake. Ama’s shoulder sent stabbing pains through her body with every step.

At the short flight of stairs that led up to the large, stone structure, Ama and Seg bounded up, two steps at a time, and ran.

Ahead of her, Seg slowed his momentum just before the apex of the curve. He looked around him, then back at Ama, “Where’s the hidden passage?”

“Behind us,” she panted, not slowing her pace.

Another banger shot behind them.

Seg’s mouth opened. He looked over the perilous drop, to the churning pool of water below. “No, we can’t—”

Her hand latched onto his coat collar as she tackled him.

Seg screamed as the water rushed toward him.

His stomach remained behind on the platform, or so it felt, as his body submitted to the demands of gravity. When at last he connected with the water, the element lost all of its soft and fluid qualities–it felt as if he had been thrown against a wall and the wind knocked from him. Beneath, the torment did not let up; water pressed on him from all sides, squeezed out what dregs of air remained in his lungs. His feet instinctively lunged out for something solid but, as before, found nothing; likewise, his arms clawed uselessly in every direction. Sound was muted; the only noise a relentless, gurgling thrum, like a monstrous heart beat.

When he was finally spit back up to the surface, panic set in. He thrashed in every direction, desperate for something solid to hold on to.

Ama’s hand connected with his face. A direct strike, hard and immediate. The jar of it shook him out of his panic as she worked to keep him afloat. He shook his head and looked into her eyes, his fear and his loss of composure evident.

“
Hang on
!” she shouted above the roar of the falls, grabbed Seg’s hands, one at a time, and repositioned them–one on each strap of her bodice. With her good hand she tore the silver nove off her neck, then her second eyelids flipped up.

She tugged him close, took a deep breath, pressed her lips against his, forced his mouth open, and pulled them both underwater. As much as he struggled, her grip held him firm–lips tightly sealed to his, both of their mouths open slightly

Seg kicked and writhed, then drove his fist into Ama’s injured shoulder, but he was out of his element and eventually succumbed to her direction.

And then, somehow, there was air. He was breathing. Pressed so close, his vision blurred by water, he could only guess. Her dathe; she was breathing for both of them.

In a pause that stretched for what felt like a lifetime, Seg’s eyes moved skyward. Above them, distorted by water, he saw the cliff wall, rays of sunlight, green. Then they were moving, the force of Ama’s kicks transferred to him through the dense element. Her element.

Down and forward, caught now by the river’s flow, they bumped and twisted along the bottom as they clung to each other. Several silvery bodies flashed by, small fish perhaps.
What else is in here with us?

Seg closed his eyes, crawled inside his mind and willed his thoughts to shield him from the current reality.

Focus.

“Segkel doesn’t care for family dinners,” eldest sister said, with a wicked smile. “He’s more the bookish type. I wouldn’t think he’d want to go on such a trip.”

Focus.

“Fitness!” the drillmaster screamed. “You think those Outers will care if you’re tired? They’re chasing you with sticks and knives and want to EAT YOUR LIVER, you lazy bastards! RUN!”

Focus.

When they surfaced, the shock of air, taken in without Ama’s assistance, woke him out of the self-induced trance. The river had leveled out, shore was not far away but the temple, thankfully, was.

Ama’s head swiveled left and right; he heard her gasping for breath. Before he could speak a word, she pulled him in again.

Don’t worry, I’m not enjoying this either,
her eyes told him.

Under again, back to the world of muted sight and sound, where creatures with poisonous spines and razor teeth hunted. He had no control here; he could not even summon the illusion. Ama directed his body and his fate. The distance between life and death was only the distance between his lips and hers.

Then he felt her kick again. Kick and turn.
She’s heading to shore
, he thought. The relief that followed the realization slowed his panicked breath at last.

With a final burst of energy she dragged him to shore, then clawed her way up the riverbank.

Seg sloshed his way out of the few remaining inches of water, senses returning to normal.

The micro-chack was lost behind them, somewhere in the river. The Outers would probably recover it someday and reverse-engineer it in anticipation of the next raid. That was why the rules were in place. Once the People came, they didn’t return. No matter how advanced their technology might be compared to many of the worlds they raided, their greatest weapon was surprise–and that only worked once.

For now, the lost weapon, even if discovered, would do these Outers no good, and he still had two pistols hidden away. He pulled one out, to have at the ready, then tossed off his sodden outer garments. Clad only in undershirt and trousers, he opened his mouth to call to Ama but she was gone.

His eyes moved across the landscape until he found her, not far ahead, face down in the mud.

“No,” he murmured and crawled across the riverbank to her side.

He wasn’t going to lose her now, not after that performance. He rolled her onto her back and cleared the mud from her mouth and nose; his fingers instinctively moved to the location where a pulse would be on a Person.

Something rustled nearby. He reached for the pistol, looked around and waited. Nothing.
Probably an animal.

He returned his attention to Ama, pleased to find a pulse but without any idea where to move her or how to get back to the boat for his auto-med.

“You there, get away from that woman!”

Seg looked up to see a towering man, a short distance away. He lifted his pistol, then raised it further and took aim. The man brandished a weapon identical to the one Ama had used against him on the boat and, by his appearance, he was obviously Kenda. Beneath his fingers, Ama’s artery pumped weakly. Was it possible she had chosen this point of exit deliberately?

He lowered the pistol. Her cousin, she had spoken of her cousin who lived on the river.

“Brin? Put that silly piece of metal down and help me,” he ordered, a snap of steel in his tone.

The man reacted to his name, lowered the blade, then raised it again, took a few steps closer and examined the face of the limp body.

“Ama?” He dropped the weapon and rushed to Seg’s side. In one stroke he scooped her up in his arms, “Come with me.”

Seg slogged behind the Kenda, on legs chilled and rubbery. So, Ama
had
chosen this spot purposefully; a fact that gave him some measure of relief.

The Kenda led the way into the house, carrying Ama through the kitchen, answering his family’s rapt stares with instructions to bring blankets, cloths, and clean water. As soon as he had her laid on a small bed, his wife grabbed a cloth and wiped away the dirt around the wound on her shoulder.

“Dalit, Nixie, go close the doors and all the shutters,” the man ordered his children. With forced restraint, he spoke, “What happened to her?”

“The constables,” Seg said, “killed Stevan and wounded her. We got out. My name is—”

“Seg,” the Kenda said, his face grim.

The name halted the frantic tumble of words spilling from Seg’s mouth. “Yes, that is my name.”

“I’m Brin, Ama is—”

“Your cousin,” Seg finished.

“They killed Stevan?” Brin asked, after his own pause, and exchanged a look of concern with his wife. When Seg nodded, Brin tightened his hands into fists.

“Brin!” Perla gasped, and directed his eyes to Ama’s neck, now clear of mud and debris.

“Dathe?” he asked, in a hushed, awed whisper, and leaned closer as if he could not trust his own eyes.

“If you can stabilize her,” Seg interrupted, his eyes on Ama as he spoke to Brin, “I can help her–if we can get to her boat and extract some things.”

Brin forced himself away from his cousin and pulled Seg aside to talk out of earshot of his young. “Get on that boat? Impossible. There’s been constables crawling the docks since high sun. Whatever you’ve mixed Ama up in, the
Naida
will be locked up tighter than a virgin on the offering day.” He ran a large hand through his mane of hair. “How is she?” he asked his wife.

“Breathing but weak,” she answered, as she sponged clean the wounded shoulder. “I’ll do my best but we need a healer.”