“Get its mouth open!” I wave my free hand, blade humming as it parts the air. “You rotting little coward, just get this thing to open up!”
I’m not sure Berun understands, but Meroe does. She grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him, hard. His eyes are wide as saucers, but he brings his hands up, focusing his Tartak power. I see the wisps of pale blue energy hover around the hammerhead’s mouth, tentatively at first, then pushing harder as Meroe shakes Berun again.
The creature’s jaw levers open. I’m sure Berun wouldn’t be strong enough if it were bearing down, but he’s caught it by surprise, and in a few moments the thing is yawning wide. I purposely don’t look at my leg, catching only a sidelong glimpse of a mess of torn fabric and skin, painted liberally in crimson. Instead, I grab a tooth in my free hand and swing myself forward, into the hammerhead’s mouth.
This is, to put it mildly, completely insane.
The two black tongues writhe around me but don’t grab hold yet, the creature unsure what to make of this development. Pulling my leg free from where it’s still impaled on the hammerhead’s teeth hurts so much I nearly black out, but I cling to consciousness like grim death, crawling toward the back of the thing’s gullet. I plant my boot on the base of its tongue, and push upward, slamming both of my blades into the roof of its mouth. They cut through its palate and slice deep enough, I hope, to reach the brain.
This time, I managed to hit something. The hammerhead wobbles, slewing like a cart with a snapped axle. I stab again and again, ignoring the lash of its tongue against my waist. I feel it when the creature starts to roll, legs losing their coordination and going out from under it. It falls heavily and flips over, sending me crashing against the roof of its mouth, then flips again, ending up on its side. I lie curled inside the monster’s cheek, its tongues twitching and shaking against me, as it slides to a halt.
There follows one of those timeless moments that could be an instant or a thousand years. It’s dark, and warm, and smells of spoiled meat. My leg no longer hurts, but I can’t feel anything below my knee, which I suspect is a bad sign. In spite of the heat of the hammerhead’s bulk all around me, I feel cold, which probably has to do with the rate at which blood is leaving my body.
Now what, Isoka? Going to die now?
This admonition manages to get me wriggling forward. But the hammerhead’s mouth is almost fully closed, and the most I can do is put my hands on its teeth. Prying its jaws apart is beyond my strength, and I can’t even think of trying to resummon my blades.
Rot.
A shudder runs through the hammerhead. For a moment I think it’s going to get back up, and then its jaw levers open. Meroe is standing in the gap, breathing hard, arms trembling.
“Isoka!”
She reaches past the rows of needle teeth and grabs me under the arms. I scrabble weakly, trying to help her, but only push her off balance. She stumbles back, and I end up in her lap as she sits down heavily. I’m soaked with a mix of hammerhead blood and my own, my skin caked and sticky with the stuff, and Meroe frantically brushes it off my face.
“Isoka!” she says. “Hang on. I’m going to find a bandage.”
I almost laugh, because I need a hell of a lot more than a bandage. It comes out as a cough. Some ways off, I hear Berun shout, and Ahdron swearing in his own language.
“I have never seen something so crazy,” he says. “Is she all right?”
“Of course she’s not rotting all right!” Meroe shouts. “Get over here and help!”
“I—” Ahdron says.
Berun cuts him off. “It’s moving!”
There’s a crunch of twisting metal. I manage to raise my head.
The hammerhead’s dying tumble took it close to the edge of one of the holes in the deck, and Meroe and I are still lying beside it. We’re several yards away from the hole, but the deck beneath us is flaked and pitted with rust. The hammerhead, which had been lying still, begins to thrash, clear fluid spraying wildly from its mouth, legs twitching in uncoordinated spasms.
“Run,” I gasp at Meroe. She won’t let me go.
One of the monster’s mindless tremors lifts it off the deck as its back arches. It slams down with a tremendous crash, hundreds of pounds of flesh hitting the rusty, rotten deck. There’s a scream like a dying giant as a whole section of metal warps under the impact, supports giving way with a rapid pop pop pop. Plates of rust at the edge of the gap flake away, and then the deck beneath me tilts as one end dips toward the abyss.
The hammerhead begins to slide as it thrashes, and its weight pulls the deck down farther. I feel Meroe lose her balance and fall, then start to skid toward the edge. I grab her wrist, but I have no strength, and nothing to hang on to. Metal rasps at my clothes as the deck dips again, becoming a ramp leading into darkness.
Someone is screaming. Possibly me. The hammerhead goes over the edge, flailing aimlessly. I reach out with my free hand, trying to get a grip, but the ragged, rusty deck only shreds the skin on my fingertips. When we reach the gap, I try again, bloody palm grabbing for the edge of the deck. It crumbles in my grip, and we’re falling.
I pull Meroe close, wrapping myself around her, putting every scrap of my energy and will into summoning my Melos armor. Then I close my eyes, knowing it won’t be enough.
10
The same dream. The angels cluster around me, a mass of twisted, monstrous shapes, their voices overlapping, indistinct, but full of madness and terror. It’s like they want something I don’t know how to give them, pressing against me in their need until I want to scream.
“… Isoka?”
A human voice, barely audible above the babble. There’s a figure behind the angels, visible in glimpses, outlined in soft gray light. Wavering, indistinct, but still familiar.
“… oka … listen … something…”
Hagan?
I always dream of the people I’ve killed. Even when I’m dead, apparently.
* * *
Am I dead?
I don’t feel dead. But that may not mean much.
I open my eyes, and see the stars.
* * *
In Kahnzoka, between the city lights and the ever-present haze, we don’t often see the stars. But while I’m not an expert, I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to be moving, and that none of them should be green, red, or blue.
“I don’t think I’m dead.” I say the words aloud, as an experiment. They come out as a raspy whisper, but I can hear them.
If I’m not dead, where am I?
That’s enough to bring it all back, and I close my eyes, throat working.
Rot. Rot, rot, rot, Blessed’s rotten balls in a rotting teacup.
Okay. That’s enough of that. Focus.
I open my eyes again and try sitting up. Somewhat to my surprise, I manage it easily, though my head spins for a moment. I’m in no immediate pain. The light of the stars isn’t much to see by, so I run my hands along my leg, searching for the wounds left by the hammerhead. While my trousers are torn and squishy with blood, my skin is smooth and unbroken underneath. The bone that I felt shatter is in one piece.
This whole scenario is unpleasantly like waking up in Kuon Naga’s custody. But then I’d only been beaten, not half bled out and dropped off a cliff.
I ignite one of my Melos blades. Energy sizzles out of my wrist, a solid wedge of white-green power. It doesn’t cast much light, but it’s better than nothing, illuminating my immediate surroundings in a ghostly, flickering green. By Melos light, I can see that I’m sitting on fine white sand, which stretches away in all directions, its small hills and undulations casting long shadows. A few steps off, a dark shape is huddled in on itself.
Meroe. I roll over and stumble in her direction, Melos blade held aloft like a torch.
She’s lying on her side, breathing softly, her features slack. The sand around her is disturbed, and I guess that she crawled a short distance. I kneel beside her, searching her for injuries. Her left leg is obviously broken, crooked underneath her at a bad angle, and there are strange dark lines running across her. Charred marks, marring her clothes and skin.
Powerburn. I was holding her when we hit the ground. My armor must have flared, trying to protect both of us. But if the backlash was strong enough to burn her, it should have cooked me into roast beef.
Her skin is hot to the touch. She needs water. So do I, for that matter. Meroe’s pack is nowhere to be found, but my canteen is still on my belt. I pull the stopper and tip the water gently into her mouth, but it’s barely more than a couple of swallows. I swear quietly and get back to my feet, raising my blade higher.