Brothers In Arms - Chapter 12
Table of contents
Chapter 12
"We have to stop meeting like this," Irina said.
Kastor turned from his contemplation of the endless golden plains to give her a heavy-lidded stare. "Oh look," he said flatly. "It's you."
Irina grinned. She looked much the same as she had the last time he saw her: a blue-eyed, female version of himself. She'd been wearing men's clothing then, and this time she had a skirt on -- just as frayed and faded as the trousers she'd worn then -- but her cropped, untidy hair wasn't even a fingernail longer. Her bangs still just touched her eyebrows, the same as before.
She ran a hand through that short black hair, ruffling it into even more of a mess. "You were expecting me, huh?"
"You said I'd see you again if I screwed up. Given the setting..." He gestured to indicate the idealized steppe around them. This time it didn't even include the bit of river bluff where he'd carved his initials in the soft sandstone as a child. It was just pure, unadulterated Canagh na Ddheru, the fields of the dead. "And the last thing I remember is a couple of sadistic Mara deciding to cripple me. Did they overdo it?"
"You're not dead, if that's what you're asking. Closer to it than last time, though."
"That's quite a trick, considering I actually died for a minute or two on that occasion."
"I'm not talking just in a physical sense. Then, my boss was in a position to pull your bacon out of the fire. Now, you're on your own. Best we can do is send some help, and whether it gets there in time..." She shrugged her bony shoulders.
"Great." Kastor sank down crosslegged on a hummock of wind-bowed grass. Because this was the Sei made perfect, the hummock wasn't damp or full of ants, and the grass was as soft as it looked.
Irina flopped down beside him. She didn't move as if she was used to wearing a skirt. She didn't hold the back when she sat, nor keep her legs close in, so the threadbare fabric ended up rucked halfway up her thighs. Her knees, Kastor noted, were grubby, and one had a scabby scrape on it.
She saw him looking at the scab, and picked curiously at it as if just now noticing it herself.
"Why," Kastor said, "do you have skinned knees here? You can't have brought that from home. Right? Injuries don't come along, or I'd be gargling blood instead of conversing."
She just shrugged.
"Oh, that's right, you don't answer questions. Well, I'm going to ask them anyway, just to pass the time. If that's all right with you."
Another shrug. "I don't have any urgent messages. I'm only keeping you company."
"Before, you said all kinds of monsters would be chasing me for the key. But aside from Rema, I didn't see any sign of that happening."
"We didn't expect you to join up with Stiaan. That was a good move."
"He kept them away?"
"Sort of. The kind of creatures that are drawn to a magic like the key can sense Mara and tend to avoid them. So you're in a bit of a pickle now that you're separated."
"Aside from the whole being-stoned-to-death business, you mean?" He sighed. "Right. Something to look forward to. Why can't your boss heal me again? That was him, wasn't it?"
"He didn't confide in me. My guess is you're being watched."
"And he cares about that?"
"Maybe?" She got the edge of the scab up, thought better of it, and wiped a dab of blood on her skirt.
"Watched by who?"
"Couldn't say."
"Ah, there's the stone wall I was expecting. I was starting to wonder if you were really you. All right, let's try another tack. Are you my half sister?"
Her eyes flicked up to his face and held there, expressionless.
"You look just like me. A Mara who sleeps with human women wouldn't stop at one. Your mysterious boss is our father, isn't he?"
The corner of her mouth quirked. "You think a Mara could pop you in and out of the land of the dead just for a chat?"
"Who knows what they can do? Anyway, I gather this key isn't the only one. Maybe if I learned to use it I could do stuff like this."
She seemed to relax slightly. Her stare lost its sharpness. "I can comment on the sister bit, anyway. Hello, little brother."
"Anei, duaradda." Kastor cracked a grin. "I think the world is lucky we didn't meet as kids. I have a feeling you're even better at getting into trouble than me."
"Wouldn't have been possible. I'm fifteen years your senior."
"You're joking." He leaned forward, studying her face. "You're forty?"
"We're half Mara, kid. This is the last time you'll look your age. Even now you're pushing it. You could pass for eighteen by candlelight."
Kastor was quiet for a while, thinking about this. Someone had once mentioned to him that he might live to be five hundred, but he hadn't bothered dwelling on it. It hadn't seemed to matter at the time. Now he wondered what it would be like when Charis was grown. They'd look like brothers. No one would believe they were father and son. Would Charis be upset by that? Would he find it funny?
"For some reason," Irina said slowly, "I expected you to be resentful. All this time thinking you were an only child, and then suddenly you're not. People get a piece of news like that, they start questioning who they are."
"Really?" Kastor made a skeptical face. "As if the number of their relatives determines their identity?"
"Most people define themselves by the people around them. But I guess I knew you don't do that. It's why you got kicked out of the royals club."
He shook his head. "No, that was because Charis was born lopsided. Bad omen."
"That was an excuse. You offended pretty much everyone important in the whole government, and a handful of diplomats as well. Not that I was watching you every minute, mind. But me and the boss kept an eye on the situation."
"Come on. I wasn't that obnoxious."
"You didn't have to be. You didn't show them the proper respect, that was the problem. What they thought was the proper respect. When you've been introduced to an influential person, you don't turn around a minute later and say, 'What was your name again?' and steal a lamb chop off his plate. They take that as a deliberate insult. You had a lot of people cheesed off at you and you didn't even notice."
"Oh. What do you say then?"
She shrugged. "You just avoid using names and listen for someone else to say it. But don't worry about that. You'll never be good at it. It's part of your charm. You sass gods. Why change now?"
"It's nice to be appreciated," he chuckled.
A silence fell. Irina leaned back on her hands and turned to gaze at the distance. After a few moments, Kastor did too. They watched the wind caress the plain. Among the grasses, patches of wildflowers shimmered, orange and purple and yellow. Far in the distance, a herd of bison grazed. Calves frolicked among them. Kastor wondered whether there were seasons here, or whether spring was eternal.
Bit of hard luck for those calves if it is. Never getting to grow up. Not so great for me either, if I'm going to spend ages looking eighteen or twenty or however old I look. Thirty-forty-whatever years being treated like a green rookie? That'll be loads of fun. But of course that only matters if I come out of this alive.
It was peaceful here. The kind of peace he craved, a peace of long horizons and space to run, beasts to hunt, mountains to climb, rivers to freeze his rocks off in. A peace of freedom.
As if she'd heard the thought, Irina said, "Are you tempted to stay?"
Without looking at her, Kastor answered, "Rema has Stiaan."
With a long sigh, Irina lay back, lacing her hands behind her head. "That's the problem with an afterlife. You remember things. But everyone leaves unfinished business."
"There's 'unfinished business', and then there's 'best friend kidnapped by a creep who thinks torture is a flirtation'. No, I'm plenty motivated to go back."
"And what are you going to do about it? You're a mess, Kas. If you saw what you look like right now, you wouldn't recognize you. It'll be a long time before you can walk, let alone fight."
"I'll crawl after him and chew Rema to death." He laughed bleakly. "Look, your boss obviously has some use for me. You know I can be a good sport. You help me, I help you. That's how it works."
"Only with this one. Most of 'em just give orders."
"Most of what? Mara?"
She mimed buttoning her lip.
"You just like being mysterious, don't you."
"Mm. You wanna play a game or something?"
"No. I want to wake up."
Irina pushed up on one elbow to give him a warning look. "You really don't."
"Yes, I do."
"It isn't nice. Trust me."
"Fuck 'nice'. It's time to deal with reality. For all I know I'm bleeding out and I could save myself just by tying my scarf around my arm or something. It was good to see you --" He hesitated. "It was, actually. But now it's time to get back on the horse."
"Oh, little brother." She shook her head sadly. "No horses for you. Not for a long time."
Then he fell through the world.
.
Kastor opened his eyes, but he saw nothing but brightness. Agony clamored from so many places in his body that he felt like a doll made of pain. He couldn't move. He couldn't even lick his lips. His mouth was glued together with dryness. His throat burned. His eyes burned. His skin was roasting. The idea of tying a makeshift bandage to save himself turned out to be ridiculous. It was impossible even to check where he was bleeding.
On top of that, like a mean joke, his stomach churned with cold nausea. He really hoped he wasn't going to be sick, because he couldn't turn over to spew. He'd drown in it.
After untold ages of this, of trying to swallow and failing, of trying to turn over but not even being able to curl his fingers, of blinking stickily at the sky, the brightness finally resolved into the sun. It was close to right overhead. But there was something wrong with it. It wouldn't hold still. It kept drawing these little ovals in the sky...
Thinking through this pain was like wading through hip-deep mud, but it finally came to him. Boat, he thought. I'm in a boat.
Some time later, he added to the thought: I was in the middle of the desert. Someone moved me to somewhere there's enough water for a boat and put me in one. Who would do that? What the hell is the point?
He tried to consider it logically, but it was getting harder and harder to think. The pain was going on without him. It was still there, but it didn't seem to have much to do with him anymore. His eyelids were too heavy. He let them fall closed.
He spread out into the world, a web of senses, perception without sight. It was so much easier now than when he'd done it on purpose. Maybe that was because he wasn't trying to sniff out game or spot an ambush; he was just being. The water around him glowed with life. The wood of the boat was riddled with it, algae and barnacles cradling a shape barely longer than his body. Far from seaworthy, yet he could sense no shore, no bottom. What if he was far out to sea?
What was the point in worrying about it? He couldn't very well sit up and paddle.
With a screech like a delighted infant's, a sea bird landed on the rim of the boat. There's a word for that. Not rim. Gunwale, that's it. Is it still a gunwale on a little thing like this? That bird better not peck me. Do sea birds do that? No ravens out here. I think there are sea eagles, though. Whatever sort of bird it was, it ignored him, nibbling at its feet and arranging its feathers. So strange to watch with his eyes closed. Sketchy little glyph of birdness, feathers limned by the faintest light of living seawater.
It screeched again and launched itself, making the boat wobble for a few moments after. It circled for height, out to the dim edge of his awareness, and then suddenly dove. It intersected a fish. He felt the cool spray as it returned to its perch. He watched the fish's light fade, merging into the bird's. Another bird soon joined it, hopping and fluttering as it tried to steal a bit of the first fish's dinner.
Their screams sounded angry, but somehow he was sure the anger wasn't real. It was just trash talk. Barracks talk. He remembered that kind of friendly slanging. He could just imagine what they were saying.
"Screw off, you damn goldbricker. Catch your own fucking fish."
"Hey, ain't my fault I'm late to the party. Your mom wanted to go twice."
"Uh-huh, and that totally makes me want to share. Hey!"
"Haha, you didn't want that bit, didja?"
A third gull landed on the wooden seat beside Kastor's head. "Quit grab-assing around, you lazy shitpickers. You want squid duty? You just keep eyeballing me if you want squid duty. Do you?"
"No, Sarge."
"Right. Get the fuck back to work."
"Yes, Sarge."
Once they'd gone, Sarge cocked his beady black eye at Kastor. "You look like hell, son. Did Graveyard let you off the leash again?"
"No, Sarge," Kastor said, standing to attention as well as he could without putting his head above the wall. "The LT sent Graveyard up the ridge with Deuce and Shoestring. He said make myself available to you because he didn't need me there. I just came across a scuffle on the way back."
Sarge was chewing on a piece of match cord. When he couldn't smoke due to being around powder stores, he'd chew anything that'd fit in the corner of his mouth. He rolled it from one side to the other as he considered Kastor's condition. During that interval, a cannonball hit the earthwork at the base of the wall, spraying them both with dust and gravel. Neither flinched. Sounded like a nine-pounder. Nobody was getting this wall down with nine pound shot.
"Well, you can still stand up and you ain't bleeding faster'n you can piss," Sarge said at last. "You'll do. Fill your water bottle, drink til you slosh, then find a spot where you can watch that northeast corner. They try sidling up there with another sapper team, you just point out to 'em that we've noticed."
"I can do that," Kastor grinned. The pain of his injuries seemed to fade as he hurried off in a back-bent lope, two full quivers jouncing on his shoulder. He had a job to do. He was looking forward to it. Though he was paid as a specialist sniper, there weren't as many opportunities for fancy shooting as he would've liked. Which was a damn shame, because he was good at it.
Besides, it was sitting-down work. He'd had enough of running around for a while. It was so damn hot today he could hardly breathe...
.
The skiff turned slowly on the gentle swell like a leaf. Blood ran from Kastor's awkwardly sprawled form in several steady drips. It colored the warm bilgewater so that he seemed to sit hip-deep in weak wine. His broken fingers twitched from time to time as he dreamed of kill shot after kill shot.
Next chapter
Chapter 12
"We have to stop meeting like this," Irina said.
Kastor turned from his contemplation of the endless golden plains to give her a heavy-lidded stare. "Oh look," he said flatly. "It's you."
Irina grinned. She looked much the same as she had the last time he saw her: a blue-eyed, female version of himself. She'd been wearing men's clothing then, and this time she had a skirt on -- just as frayed and faded as the trousers she'd worn then -- but her cropped, untidy hair wasn't even a fingernail longer. Her bangs still just touched her eyebrows, the same as before.
She ran a hand through that short black hair, ruffling it into even more of a mess. "You were expecting me, huh?"
"You said I'd see you again if I screwed up. Given the setting..." He gestured to indicate the idealized steppe around them. This time it didn't even include the bit of river bluff where he'd carved his initials in the soft sandstone as a child. It was just pure, unadulterated Canagh na Ddheru, the fields of the dead. "And the last thing I remember is a couple of sadistic Mara deciding to cripple me. Did they overdo it?"
"You're not dead, if that's what you're asking. Closer to it than last time, though."
"That's quite a trick, considering I actually died for a minute or two on that occasion."
"I'm not talking just in a physical sense. Then, my boss was in a position to pull your bacon out of the fire. Now, you're on your own. Best we can do is send some help, and whether it gets there in time..." She shrugged her bony shoulders.
"Great." Kastor sank down crosslegged on a hummock of wind-bowed grass. Because this was the Sei made perfect, the hummock wasn't damp or full of ants, and the grass was as soft as it looked.
Irina flopped down beside him. She didn't move as if she was used to wearing a skirt. She didn't hold the back when she sat, nor keep her legs close in, so the threadbare fabric ended up rucked halfway up her thighs. Her knees, Kastor noted, were grubby, and one had a scabby scrape on it.
She saw him looking at the scab, and picked curiously at it as if just now noticing it herself.
"Why," Kastor said, "do you have skinned knees here? You can't have brought that from home. Right? Injuries don't come along, or I'd be gargling blood instead of conversing."
She just shrugged.
"Oh, that's right, you don't answer questions. Well, I'm going to ask them anyway, just to pass the time. If that's all right with you."
Another shrug. "I don't have any urgent messages. I'm only keeping you company."
"Before, you said all kinds of monsters would be chasing me for the key. But aside from Rema, I didn't see any sign of that happening."
"We didn't expect you to join up with Stiaan. That was a good move."
"He kept them away?"
"Sort of. The kind of creatures that are drawn to a magic like the key can sense Mara and tend to avoid them. So you're in a bit of a pickle now that you're separated."
"Aside from the whole being-stoned-to-death business, you mean?" He sighed. "Right. Something to look forward to. Why can't your boss heal me again? That was him, wasn't it?"
"He didn't confide in me. My guess is you're being watched."
"And he cares about that?"
"Maybe?" She got the edge of the scab up, thought better of it, and wiped a dab of blood on her skirt.
"Watched by who?"
"Couldn't say."
"Ah, there's the stone wall I was expecting. I was starting to wonder if you were really you. All right, let's try another tack. Are you my half sister?"
Her eyes flicked up to his face and held there, expressionless.
"You look just like me. A Mara who sleeps with human women wouldn't stop at one. Your mysterious boss is our father, isn't he?"
The corner of her mouth quirked. "You think a Mara could pop you in and out of the land of the dead just for a chat?"
"Who knows what they can do? Anyway, I gather this key isn't the only one. Maybe if I learned to use it I could do stuff like this."
She seemed to relax slightly. Her stare lost its sharpness. "I can comment on the sister bit, anyway. Hello, little brother."
"Anei, duaradda." Kastor cracked a grin. "I think the world is lucky we didn't meet as kids. I have a feeling you're even better at getting into trouble than me."
"Wouldn't have been possible. I'm fifteen years your senior."
"You're joking." He leaned forward, studying her face. "You're forty?"
"We're half Mara, kid. This is the last time you'll look your age. Even now you're pushing it. You could pass for eighteen by candlelight."
Kastor was quiet for a while, thinking about this. Someone had once mentioned to him that he might live to be five hundred, but he hadn't bothered dwelling on it. It hadn't seemed to matter at the time. Now he wondered what it would be like when Charis was grown. They'd look like brothers. No one would believe they were father and son. Would Charis be upset by that? Would he find it funny?
"For some reason," Irina said slowly, "I expected you to be resentful. All this time thinking you were an only child, and then suddenly you're not. People get a piece of news like that, they start questioning who they are."
"Really?" Kastor made a skeptical face. "As if the number of their relatives determines their identity?"
"Most people define themselves by the people around them. But I guess I knew you don't do that. It's why you got kicked out of the royals club."
He shook his head. "No, that was because Charis was born lopsided. Bad omen."
"That was an excuse. You offended pretty much everyone important in the whole government, and a handful of diplomats as well. Not that I was watching you every minute, mind. But me and the boss kept an eye on the situation."
"Come on. I wasn't that obnoxious."
"You didn't have to be. You didn't show them the proper respect, that was the problem. What they thought was the proper respect. When you've been introduced to an influential person, you don't turn around a minute later and say, 'What was your name again?' and steal a lamb chop off his plate. They take that as a deliberate insult. You had a lot of people cheesed off at you and you didn't even notice."
"Oh. What do you say then?"
She shrugged. "You just avoid using names and listen for someone else to say it. But don't worry about that. You'll never be good at it. It's part of your charm. You sass gods. Why change now?"
"It's nice to be appreciated," he chuckled.
A silence fell. Irina leaned back on her hands and turned to gaze at the distance. After a few moments, Kastor did too. They watched the wind caress the plain. Among the grasses, patches of wildflowers shimmered, orange and purple and yellow. Far in the distance, a herd of bison grazed. Calves frolicked among them. Kastor wondered whether there were seasons here, or whether spring was eternal.
Bit of hard luck for those calves if it is. Never getting to grow up. Not so great for me either, if I'm going to spend ages looking eighteen or twenty or however old I look. Thirty-forty-whatever years being treated like a green rookie? That'll be loads of fun. But of course that only matters if I come out of this alive.
It was peaceful here. The kind of peace he craved, a peace of long horizons and space to run, beasts to hunt, mountains to climb, rivers to freeze his rocks off in. A peace of freedom.
As if she'd heard the thought, Irina said, "Are you tempted to stay?"
Without looking at her, Kastor answered, "Rema has Stiaan."
With a long sigh, Irina lay back, lacing her hands behind her head. "That's the problem with an afterlife. You remember things. But everyone leaves unfinished business."
"There's 'unfinished business', and then there's 'best friend kidnapped by a creep who thinks torture is a flirtation'. No, I'm plenty motivated to go back."
"And what are you going to do about it? You're a mess, Kas. If you saw what you look like right now, you wouldn't recognize you. It'll be a long time before you can walk, let alone fight."
"I'll crawl after him and chew Rema to death." He laughed bleakly. "Look, your boss obviously has some use for me. You know I can be a good sport. You help me, I help you. That's how it works."
"Only with this one. Most of 'em just give orders."
"Most of what? Mara?"
She mimed buttoning her lip.
"You just like being mysterious, don't you."
"Mm. You wanna play a game or something?"
"No. I want to wake up."
Irina pushed up on one elbow to give him a warning look. "You really don't."
"Yes, I do."
"It isn't nice. Trust me."
"Fuck 'nice'. It's time to deal with reality. For all I know I'm bleeding out and I could save myself just by tying my scarf around my arm or something. It was good to see you --" He hesitated. "It was, actually. But now it's time to get back on the horse."
"Oh, little brother." She shook her head sadly. "No horses for you. Not for a long time."
Then he fell through the world.
.
Kastor opened his eyes, but he saw nothing but brightness. Agony clamored from so many places in his body that he felt like a doll made of pain. He couldn't move. He couldn't even lick his lips. His mouth was glued together with dryness. His throat burned. His eyes burned. His skin was roasting. The idea of tying a makeshift bandage to save himself turned out to be ridiculous. It was impossible even to check where he was bleeding.
On top of that, like a mean joke, his stomach churned with cold nausea. He really hoped he wasn't going to be sick, because he couldn't turn over to spew. He'd drown in it.
After untold ages of this, of trying to swallow and failing, of trying to turn over but not even being able to curl his fingers, of blinking stickily at the sky, the brightness finally resolved into the sun. It was close to right overhead. But there was something wrong with it. It wouldn't hold still. It kept drawing these little ovals in the sky...
Thinking through this pain was like wading through hip-deep mud, but it finally came to him. Boat, he thought. I'm in a boat.
Some time later, he added to the thought: I was in the middle of the desert. Someone moved me to somewhere there's enough water for a boat and put me in one. Who would do that? What the hell is the point?
He tried to consider it logically, but it was getting harder and harder to think. The pain was going on without him. It was still there, but it didn't seem to have much to do with him anymore. His eyelids were too heavy. He let them fall closed.
He spread out into the world, a web of senses, perception without sight. It was so much easier now than when he'd done it on purpose. Maybe that was because he wasn't trying to sniff out game or spot an ambush; he was just being. The water around him glowed with life. The wood of the boat was riddled with it, algae and barnacles cradling a shape barely longer than his body. Far from seaworthy, yet he could sense no shore, no bottom. What if he was far out to sea?
What was the point in worrying about it? He couldn't very well sit up and paddle.
With a screech like a delighted infant's, a sea bird landed on the rim of the boat. There's a word for that. Not rim. Gunwale, that's it. Is it still a gunwale on a little thing like this? That bird better not peck me. Do sea birds do that? No ravens out here. I think there are sea eagles, though. Whatever sort of bird it was, it ignored him, nibbling at its feet and arranging its feathers. So strange to watch with his eyes closed. Sketchy little glyph of birdness, feathers limned by the faintest light of living seawater.
It screeched again and launched itself, making the boat wobble for a few moments after. It circled for height, out to the dim edge of his awareness, and then suddenly dove. It intersected a fish. He felt the cool spray as it returned to its perch. He watched the fish's light fade, merging into the bird's. Another bird soon joined it, hopping and fluttering as it tried to steal a bit of the first fish's dinner.
Their screams sounded angry, but somehow he was sure the anger wasn't real. It was just trash talk. Barracks talk. He remembered that kind of friendly slanging. He could just imagine what they were saying.
"Screw off, you damn goldbricker. Catch your own fucking fish."
"Hey, ain't my fault I'm late to the party. Your mom wanted to go twice."
"Uh-huh, and that totally makes me want to share. Hey!"
"Haha, you didn't want that bit, didja?"
A third gull landed on the wooden seat beside Kastor's head. "Quit grab-assing around, you lazy shitpickers. You want squid duty? You just keep eyeballing me if you want squid duty. Do you?"
"No, Sarge."
"Right. Get the fuck back to work."
"Yes, Sarge."
Once they'd gone, Sarge cocked his beady black eye at Kastor. "You look like hell, son. Did Graveyard let you off the leash again?"
"No, Sarge," Kastor said, standing to attention as well as he could without putting his head above the wall. "The LT sent Graveyard up the ridge with Deuce and Shoestring. He said make myself available to you because he didn't need me there. I just came across a scuffle on the way back."
Sarge was chewing on a piece of match cord. When he couldn't smoke due to being around powder stores, he'd chew anything that'd fit in the corner of his mouth. He rolled it from one side to the other as he considered Kastor's condition. During that interval, a cannonball hit the earthwork at the base of the wall, spraying them both with dust and gravel. Neither flinched. Sounded like a nine-pounder. Nobody was getting this wall down with nine pound shot.
"Well, you can still stand up and you ain't bleeding faster'n you can piss," Sarge said at last. "You'll do. Fill your water bottle, drink til you slosh, then find a spot where you can watch that northeast corner. They try sidling up there with another sapper team, you just point out to 'em that we've noticed."
"I can do that," Kastor grinned. The pain of his injuries seemed to fade as he hurried off in a back-bent lope, two full quivers jouncing on his shoulder. He had a job to do. He was looking forward to it. Though he was paid as a specialist sniper, there weren't as many opportunities for fancy shooting as he would've liked. Which was a damn shame, because he was good at it.
Besides, it was sitting-down work. He'd had enough of running around for a while. It was so damn hot today he could hardly breathe...
.
The skiff turned slowly on the gentle swell like a leaf. Blood ran from Kastor's awkwardly sprawled form in several steady drips. It colored the warm bilgewater so that he seemed to sit hip-deep in weak wine. His broken fingers twitched from time to time as he dreamed of kill shot after kill shot.
Next chapter