Earth Awakened, page 13
Kitty took a long breath and sat back. “Fuck. I dunno. It’s complicated.”
“Seems dead simple to me,” McKay said. “The man’s an ass, kick him to the curb. He’ll screw you over like he did me without a second’s hesitation.”
Kitty shook her head. “No, he won’t. Well—maybe—but I don’t think so.”
“He will,” McKay said. “Mark my words, he will. Doesn’t matter how long you’ve run together. He’s too self-involved, too power-hungry. He won’t be held with whatever sentimentality he feels toward you.” She shook her head. “Fuck, I should have known. It’s not exactly surprising that a man who killed his own father would end up being a bad guy.”
Kitty’s milkshake glass clunked hard on the table. “Okay—hang on. Let’s get a few fucking things straight.”
McKay raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is there something I’m missing in my analysis? I thought we already agreed he was an asshole. He’s not good for you, Kitty. No matter what sentiments you share, when push comes to shove, he’ll ditch you. Maybe even bury you himself.”
“Okay.” Kitty sat up and pointed a finger. “First of all, push already came to shove, many times over, and he definitely didn’t abandon me. In fact, he went out of his way to rescue me multiple times, throwing his own interests aside and usually getting injured in the process. Second, he didn’t kill his father. Not technically.”
McKay paused. “What? I thought y’all came to Ryarne for that express purpose?”
“Well, yeah, we did.” Kitty cast a glance to the rest of the room and dropped her voice, possibly a bit leery to talk about planned murder in a dessert bar. “But it didn’t end up working that way. Gobardon stopped to protect Meese against him. He never actually killed him.”
McKay frowned. “How’d he end up dead, then?”
“We had another guy with us. A Reaper. He got to him before we could. He wasn’t supposed to kill him, just weaken him, but something went wrong.”
Christ, I’ll say it went wrong. She had no idea what a ‘Reaper’ was, beyond a character with a scythe and a cowl. From what she’d heard, the working theory was that someone had stabbed him with the raw, unstable version of Maanai and it had mutated into the magic-eating crystal that had caused the apocalypse of their old world, eating him and his power alive in the process.
“So, you would have killed him if you’d had the chance?” McKay asked.
“Fuck yes, we would have.” Kitty leaned forward. “You have no idea how truly fucked Michael was. That shit he did to Meese? That was fucking tame. He considered all us Terrans to be little more than livestock, inferior and not worth his time beyond what we could give him. Hell, he probably considered most people like that, which is why he stuck to Ryarne and didn’t live in Mersetz—the Mages here would have killed him. Fuck, the shit I heard him say. He hated me. Called me some Lürian term that basically translates to fly dung, treated Sophia like shit. Fuck. I don’t even want to think of how many people he killed, directly or otherwise.”
Ah. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten about what Michael had done to Meese. Jo had been pretty specific about that.
She paused for a moment, struggling to process the details.
“So, what—you’re saying that Gobardon decided to kill his father for the good of humanity?” She shook her head. “No, I’m not buying it. Especially after what he did to me.”
“It’s no fucking secret that Michael needed to be put down. What he did to Meese was beyond unconscionable. If Gobby hadn’t gone for it, Aiden and Sophia were already planning it. But you’re right. Gobardon lived years knowing what his father was doing, recovering from the shit he put him through growing up. By all fucking rights, Gobby should have turned into a Michael two-point-oh. But he didn’t. Believe it or not, he’s actually a nice guy, under all the asshole.”
McKay paused, her mouth open. A frown creased her brow.
Okay. She knew about having shitty parents. Fuck, they were half the reason Tachun had given her a card for a therapist—she wasn’t sure she’d ever fully recover from some of the shit they’d pulled.
Still. That didn’t mean he got a pass.
“That’s a lot of asshole, though,” she said.
“Oh, yes. It’s huge.” Kitty made a wide-armed gesture with her hands. “Gaping.”
An unfortunate, very pornographic image popped into her brain. She grimaced. “Jesus fuck, Kitty. God. I did not want that in my head. Fuck.”
Kitty giggled. “Yeah—right!? Anyway, Gobardon married a Terran girl, and Michael felt the need to get involved, and then Gobardon found out who did it like a year later, so…”
McKay’s jaw slackened. “Michael killed his wife? What—did she look at him wrong?”
“No. He found out that Gobardon had ‘disgraced the Seif name.’ He had her offed.”
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
“Yeah, it was really fucked up.” Kitty’s lips flattened into a thin line. “Her name was Rurutia. She was really, really nice. I miss her a lot.”
McKay stared.
Okay, maybe she could forgive Gobardon a little. That was all sorts of fucked up.
“Anyway—Gobardon technically didn’t kill his father. Darren did, and it was mostly an accident.”
“Yeah, he accidentally stabbed Michael in the neck with bad Maanai?”
“Actually, I took a glass ball from Michael’s lab—it was shiny and small enough for my pocket, so obviously it was meant for me. After Michael clocked me out, it must have fallen out of my pocket. Darren found it, and during his square off with Michael, threw it at him. It apparently had Maanai inside of it.”
“Oh. Okay, but—”
“Thirdly,” Kitty said, interrupting her. “It’s more than sentimentality that keeps Gobby from stabbing me in the back, it’s also practicality.” She folded her hands together and shot McKay a sweet smile. “We’ve run together a long time. I have too much dirt on him.”
McKay tilted her head. “How long have you been running together?”
Kitty grinned. “He used to stand outside the fence of my orphanage. I think I was… seven? It was just a few years after the Transition started.” She flashed her grinning teeth, and a mischievous glint caught her eye. “I was a good influence on him. Had him toilet papering people’s houses within a year.”
McKay chuckled, picturing a pre-teen-sized Gobardon pitching a roll of toilet paper over a roofline—and likely using his magic to get it to unravel properly. “That’s an appropriate use of time.”
“I thought so. Gobardon seemed to enjoy it.” She grabbed up her fork and began picking at the remains of the pancake she’d half-eaten. “I think we should give him another chance.”
McKay snarled. “What? No.”
“Hear me out. He’s going to Seola, your grandmother’s town, to find a Terran Earth spirit. Don’t tell me you’re not interested in it—I saw it in your eyes. I think it would be good for you to go with him.”
She leaned back and crossed her arms. “The only thing I should be interested in is finding a strong, stable Earth Mage to teach me how to handle the cat.”
“And he already proved he could do that, so long as he keeps his head out of his ass. Look at you, you’re teleporting now. And don’t tell me you haven’t thought about going to Seola on your own, so hear me out. Okay?”
McKay hesitated, chewing her tongue as she weighed her options. Kitty made some valid points. Whatever else he’d done, Gobardon had taught her how to teleport. And it had been good. It had worked.
And she did want to go to Seola.
She sighed and sat back. “Okay. Talk.”
“Right. I think Gobardon was being partially drunk and half-assed when he attacked you. He’s really gone downhill these past few months. He used to think things through before he acted, and he’s been a bit weird and squirrelly since I got the bird, you know?”
The Thunderbird, she meant. The spirit Kitty had absorbed.
“You think he’s jealous?”
“Maybe. But I think he’s also curious. I mean, how many crystal spirits do you get to meet outside of their casing? I think he wanted to test Greneinta and see what she’d do. If she had decided to transfer into him—great! If she didn’t, he’d still get to see her power. Win-win.”
McKay closed her eyes. Mentally, she felt all the bruises that had come from the events of the day. “I don’t give a shit what his reasoning was—actions have consequences, and I’m not going to be anyone’s doormat or test subject.”
“What he did was super shitty, I agree.” Kitty was nodding “But I’ve got this little whisper in my spirit that’s saying you should go back.”
McKay cracked open an eye. “A ‘whisper in your spirit’?”
Kitty was known for being weird, but usually, that weird was relegated to things like climbing buildings and braiding feathers into her hair. McKay had never heard of anything like this.
“Yeah, yeah, I know—but hear me out. You ever get something like a gut feeling?”
McKay nodded. “Yes.”
Every soldier had, at one time or another. Even if it was simply their brains lying to them, telling them a place was bad when it really wasn’t, or that a Swarzgardian marine was about to come around the next corner and shoot.
She’d spent hours staring at corners, her hand tensed around a gun.
But, sometimes, when paranoia and PTSD weren’t around, the feelings were real. And in those times, they felt different, too. Instead of a sense of all-consuming dread, it came as a tingle in her gut, or a touch on the back of her mind. The equivalent of hearing a small bell ring, except without actually hearing anything. Or pressure on your shoulders, directing you back, or a voice in your head cutting off all the other noise and mess of your mind to say ‘stop’ or ‘watch out.’
Still, until it actually happened, it was hard to differentiate from PTSD.
But Kitty didn’t have PTSD. Or, if she did, she clearly functioned around it.
“It’s like that. One of my friends calls it ‘Angel Whispers.’ It’s like a feeling that comes around my spirit and keeps saying things until I feel the vibration of its voice.”
“And it’s saying I should go see Gobardon again?” McKay asked.
“It’s saying that you need to go to Seola, anyway.” Kitty shrugged. “I personally think that we should go confront Gobardon. If he apologizes and makes amends, fantastic. If he pisses us off, well… we can just destroy his place, loot his information, and go to Seola ourselves.”
McKay lifted her head. “‘We’? You’d do that?”
Kitty nodded. “Yeppers. And you bet your candy ass I’d enjoy it, too. Gobby and I haven’t had a real fight in years, and I can only imagine the destruction you could wreak in his fancy-schmancy place.”
She broke into a grin as she thought about it. “You’re right. There is a lot of stone to work with there.”
“There sure is.” Kitty huffed a happy breath, then turned her attention back to the spread of pancakes before them. “Now, what do you say we finish this, waddle ourselves out and window shop a bit, then drive around on my motorcycle listening to thrashcore? I know a hostel we can crash at later.”
McKay sat back.
Well, that solved two of her problems. She got a place to stay and a friend to stay with. A friend with powerful enough magic to put her down in case of… incident.
Professor Tachun would be so proud of me.
“Sure,” she said, picking up and taking a sip of her milkshake. “I can’t think of anything better to do tonight than ride bitch on a bike.”
Chapter 15
May 13, 2003 - Transition Year Twenty-One
Occupied Seola
Javen’s first morning in Seola came earlier than expected.
He opened his eyes, giving a dull stare to the underside of the curio cabinet he’d slept next to. Clumps of hair and dust collected beneath it, coating the wooden floor and adding a dry scent close to his nose. As he shifted, a crick in his neck let him know that using his balled-up jacket as a pillow had not been the best idea.
He blinked slowly, stifling a yawn as his mind began to tick forward.
With the long journey the night before, combined with the comfort of a deep, restful sleep, he’d expected a late rise the next morning.
And he would have gotten it, too—if it hadn’t been for the crows.
It had started with a single caw around five that morning. He’d stirred, recognized it for a crow, then rolled over and gone back to sleep.
Then, about five others joined in.
He had no idea what they were on about, but he could swear they hadn’t been this loud in Terremain—or this constant.
Caw, caw, caw. Caw, caw, caw.
He gritted his teeth, staring straight ahead.
Maybe the salt air amplifies their syrinxes.
Ten minutes later, when he finally admitted defeat, rolled over, and pulled himself into a sitting position, most of the room had given up on sleep. Rosie sat on top of her bedroll with her knees pulled up to her chest, staring sleepily into the lantern as it cast a pale glow over her face—God, she looked young. Too young for this war—and, to her right, Caleb lay flat on his back, blinking up at the ceiling.
Gannon was the most lively of the bunch. He sat on the swaybacked couch by the wall and chewed on a breakfast bar, the wrapper crinkling in his fingers.
“Caw!” Gannon called. “Caw! Caw! Caw!”
Caleb let out a heavy grumble and closed his eyes. “Gannon—don’t.”
Gannon stuffed the rest of the breakfast bar into his mouth and chased it with a long swig from his canteen. Water poured past his lips and dribbled on his gray shirt. He lowered the canteen, wiped his face with his arm, and slid from the couch. Slowly, cat-like, he crawled across the floor and toward Caleb.
“When I wake up,” he sang, laughing. “Don’t need to make up a reason, any season. My mornings are good with you.”
“Shut up!” Caleb said, pushing Gannon sideways. “It’s too fucking early for this.”
“Ain’t like you’re gonna sleep through those crow calls, anyway!”
“Guys,” Javen said.
They both turned to him, wearing completely different expressions. Gannon had a wide grin, laying where Caleb had shoved him, while the lantern light cast long shadows over Caleb’s dark face in a way that made him look demonic.
Javen wet his lips. “Caleb’s right, Gannon. We should try to get a better feel for the place before we relax too much.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dan.” Gannon pushed himself off the floor and retook his place on the couch. “I guess I’m a bit excited because this is my first time camping.”
“How the fuck is this camping?” Caleb asked.
Gannon raised his hand and started counting on his fingers. “We went out of the city. We slept in sleeping bags. We used a camping lantern.”
“We were also in a house the whole damn time, dumbass.”
“Well, you need to go to the doctor, man. When’s the last time you had your privilege checked?”
“We’re pulling a plug on this now, I think,” Javen said. He scooted on his bottom and pulled the sleeping bag off of his legs. Like the others, he wore a gray T-shirt and army fatigue pants. They were more comfortable than he expected, but Naomi warned that they wouldn’t stay that way.
He was counting on them having access to laundry facilities before that happened.
“Seola isn’t like Terremain,” he continued, standing and stretching his arms above his head. A satisfying pop in his back revived him more than the orchestra of crows that continued their chattering all around the outside of the house. He bent over and pointed his foot to slide it into a brand-new, tan combat boot. The stiff leather made it hard to bend his ankles, so he had to lean against the curio cabinet while he tied the laces. “We won’t have to stay inside of a shield here. Once we’ve secured a home for ourselves, we can live a bit more than we ever did in Terremain. Those mountains out there have some of the best camping areas on the continent. When things get settled, we’ll all go.”
Caleb lifted an eyebrow while Gannon’s eyes widened.
“For real, Mr. Dan?”
“Totes,” Javen said, laughing.
They spent the next half hour rolling up their sleeping bags, choosing their breakfasts, and freshening up using the lukewarm water they had brought with them. Gannon had a head start over the others and spent his extra time wandering around the abandoned house. Whoever had owned the place before Seola’s fall was a person who’d kept everything. Stacks of faded, almost melted, newspapers lined the walls of the hallways. The smaller bathroom’s bathtub had been filled with magazines of every subject and taste. There was even a stack of milk jug rings on the kitchen counter.
One man’s trash was another man’s treasure, and Gannon certainly found his treasure, his shout echoing through the house. “Guys, there’s a room of trains up here!”
“Gannon, we should really get going,” Javen called back. He poured water from one of the jugs into his canteen and did the same thing to the one Caleb handed him. Rosie handed hers over next.
“Are you doing alright? You haven’t really been yourself today.”
“Just tired,” she said. Her black hair had been tied low and thrown over her shoulder. She twisted the ends of the strands in her fingers. “The crows.”
The fatigue bottoms she wore were a bit too large for her slim frame. She had rolled the top at least twice, and they still bunched around her ankles where she had tucked them into her boots. This brought a sharp emphasis on her tiny frame.
He was reminded of how young she’d looked earlier, with the lantern light shining over her face.
This isn’t the right world for her. She deserves something better. Something softer.
They all did.
But the war had ripped that softness away from them. And it would take a while to file down the edges of the new, hard world they found themselves in.
He handed the filled canteen back. “I’m here if you need to talk.”
