Brett 15 | planet-helen-project

XV.

When the Solarium had cleared it was apparent by bodies strewn across the floor that there was still much to be done. Spirits seemed to pour in through the main doors, which had been blown off their hinges. Each was wrapped in a thin fabric that waved in the darkness, obscuring shape. Jun recognized the arrows, tipped with the eggs of the Thrush. There were slingshots, crossbows, and a variety of small blades that glinted in the torchlight. In the corner of the room, an upturned table burned fervently.
What an insignificant creature the Thrush had been.
Now it seemed to drive all their actions.
Sana was beside him now, blood splattered on her ghastly hair; streaking down her face. She was the very embodiment of fear, in the dim light he saw the contours of her muscles; outlined in the gore of those she murdered. He squeezed the hilt of Steev’s sword, and felt the detail dig into his palm. His sobriety had completely sunk in. Though he felt sluggish from exhaustion, his senses were sharp. He bound up the staircase were Arinold had resided over his company not a moment ago, Sana hard on his heels. Orders were being shout, the spirits weaved this way and that, joining with Harvesters posing as the Duke’s servants. The movement of the room was like a dance, a twisting stream of death. Jun reached the landing and froze.
Hal stood in the doorway.
Blood ran down from his skull.
It’s not too late Jun. Repent.
The words gave Jun pause. “Never”. The apparition was gone, replaced by Sana charging through it and into the hall beyond. Jun shook his uncertainty and charged after. When he rounded the corner he saw the first of the Duke’s hired men. Then emerged from the shadow like great black dogs, thick black maces held high. Sana had seen them coming however, and was already ducking under the horizontal swing of the first. She bent in half at the waist, back arched lithely. The spikes played with her long hair as it flew over her.
She answered the cut with an upward strike of her scythe. The blade sparked against the dark armor, shooting fire into the man’s helm. He stepped back as the second stepped forward, dropping his mace with the force to splinted the hardwood floor. Which is what it did, because Sana was already spinning away; the hilt of her scythe catching the second man under the armpit and knocking him off balance.
When the two men retreated a step, Sana mirrored them. Her breath was labored, chest heaving with the exertion. Jun stepped forward, thrusting his blade at the face of the second man. His arms came up and deflected the blow; sparks flying as metal struck metal. Instead of striking, the second man started to flank the two, stepping sideways to block off their escape. Sana and Jun were pinned between two armored men, and the length of thick wooden wall that stretched on into darkness. Jun smiled, these men weren’t sellswords; they were soldiers.
Scigfried men.
“Any ideas?” Sana muttered between breaths, the two men started in at the same time. Jun threw his back against the wall, reaching for his shooter. He realized at the last moment that it would be too late, the soldiers closed the gap in a single bound. They lunged directly for him. But Sana was there again, the top of her scythe thrust into the guard of the second man’s helm, pushing him back. She slide the staff end to the side and caught the first man in the side of the temple, just as his arm came down hard on her hip in a backswing. She screamed out in pain as the three of them went down in a bundle.
There was a flash from outside, and it blinded Jun for just a moment. When his vision started to redefine, Sana was already straddling the back of the second guard, digging a small blade into the crack between his helm and shoulder plate. Her teeth were bared, mouth open in a blood-lust roar. For a moment her blade looked like a claw stretching from an abnormally long finger, the brief image burned deep into his mind.
But there wasn’t time, Jun moved over the first guard; who was now pushing himself back to his feet. He dove for Jun’s leg but it was too late. Even in the dark, Jun was certain. He pulled the trigger.
CRACK. The flash, the crunch of metal, the crack of powder, the snapping of bone, the spurting of blood, the scream of pain, the silence of death; all these things and more rang out like a chorus. Jun’s hand throbbed, the backfire of the blast had burnt the top of his hand. He slid the shooter away again, and made a mental note to pick up a nice pair of gloves.
Sana stared at him like a startled hart. Eyes wide, skin white against the dark blood strewn all over. The man under her struggled weakly, but she may as well have been a statue; powerful legs pinning him to the floor like stone. She stared up at Jun, eyes wide with fear. The shooter. The image of her shoulder blasting back in Harvesthome ran through his mind. She looked so different now, the feral thirst for death was completely masked in fear. Jun spat out the side of his mouth and chuckled.
“Things change, Sana. You said so yourself.”
“Why?” The word was small, he wasn’t even sure he heard her say it. So he ignored her. He strolled down the hall, stepping over the two dying soldiers and following the screams of Nobles as they fell into the teeth of hungry Harvesters. Sana was at his side again, the soft patter of her bare feet on the carpet gave away her presence. He turned right around a bend, and saw a Noble rushing toward them; mad with fear. Jun grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and threw him clean through a window. He fell for a brief moment before his scream was cut off by the ground.
Jun drew up the cartography of the Mansion in his mind. He knew where he was, how to get where he needed to go, and what would be standing in his way. After all, he had planned all the events that were to happen tonight. He marched down the corridor, stopping to kick in a door that hadn’t been locked. A fat noble, lay dead on his back; his guts splayed across the bed he lay in. Standing next to him was a Harvester with long black hair, and deep tan skin. She was fastening her last boot, the knife still clutched in her blooded hand.
She looked up at Jun and smiled.
He left the room before she had a chance to speak.
The next room was empty, but the bed was slick with blood. It was then that he remembered the dark haired girl. The ‘entertainment’, Jun had remembered the hopelessness he had felt when he asked the poor woman to risk her virtue for their cause. She had answered with a smile, saying “I have already risked my life, and my virtue had been dead for some time.” Jun still couldn’t remember her name.
But as he looked into room after room, the results were largely the same; the Nobles were dead, the ‘entertainment’ nowhere to be seen. Jun had underestimated the resolve of these women. He made a note to never judge the strength of one’s character based on their gender again. Sana touched his arm, and he turned to him; her brow was creased. “Even Ronea could kill. We’re wasting time here.”
She was right. Whether these girls had accomplished their tasks or died in the process, it was too late to remedy now. He had to release his guilt, his concern for their safety. Things really had changed.
So they took off down the Hall, and ran into a man who had his sword drawn. He was in a circle with four other nobles, all of which still wore their ridiculous masks. Jun recognized them by name and status immediately, it was the Harvests that flanked them that he couldn’t determine. He made another note, to know his followers better. To study their identities, to learn of their pasts and ambitions. He hadn’t been a very good leader, and in the blood of Dal Niente he was starting to learn what it really meant to lead.
Nientia had transformed him, gave him the steel to fight on through emotion.
The five Nobles had established a decent defense, the bodies of two Harvesters at their feet attested to that. Jun didn’t slow his march, there wasn’t time to delay; they had to be dealt with. Sana seemed to understand without being told. The biggest of the Nobles looked up to Jun a moment before his composure broke.
“Traitor!” Then his face melted in a pop of brilliant yellow light. Sana had the second egg in his slingshot when their ranks broke; CRACK Jun dropped another. Two of the Nobles charged the Harvester, but were cut to pieces before they had a chance to properly strike. The last man had broken down, he felt to his knees; dropped his blade and begged for forgiveness. Two Harvester boys ran up to him, their eyes wild with a lust for blood. Jun thought to stop them, but his voice caught in his throat.
Two boys. One with dark hair; the older one, a blonde. They jumped on the man like dogs, tearing out his throat with their cutlery. They slashed his belly, his back, and head. They hacked off his ear, and the younger boy hoisted it above his head. The boys jumped in victory, holding each other in a camaraderie that rivaled the celebration of athletes. When they looked at him, Jun only saw the eyes of his dead friend.
Hallen Alwice and Harver Jun danced around the death of Nobles, children of mirth and death.
It’s too late, now. Hal’s voice filled his mind. Jun watched the Harvester scatter, Sana tugged at his arm. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. He just stared at the place where the boy had been. He stared at the place where he realized what could have been, the companionship that had made risking his life seem so worth it that night of the raid. He had looked into the blue eyes of his friend, searching for some closure. Searching for forgiveness, for an apology.
“Hey! Dumbass!” Sana punched him in the kidney. Jun cursed loudly. “Isn’t there somewhere we need to be?!” Her voice had regained his cold composure. Jun looked at her dimly, and saw the little girl she had been. The one he had known that night they were ambushed by Woodsmen. The night Hal had left him to die. But she wasn’t that anymore, she was a walking corpse; white as death and covered in blood. She was the epitome of strength and determination, the sculpted design of Rentis-Brood. In her eyes he saw the fire he had also been born with. He snapped out of his reverie, and burned the thoughts of Hal with them.
“The Duke.” His words were choked. “He’s mine.”
“Not if I get there first.” Despite her smile, there was labor in her tone. Jun turned, unable to look at her directly. He knew inside that there was a chance she would soon bleed to death. They needed to move. There was a series of pops down the hall, and a cacophony of screams followed. Jun was charging after the carnage, rounding a corner to see flailing arms pulling at breastplate and chainmail. A group of wraiths emerged from the shadows, widows dressed in flowing white fabric. Their slingshots were loaded, cord pulled tight. Simple white masks covered their features, each an individual design.
The men were dying, cooking alive in the molten metal their armor had become. “The Thrush-Eggs don’t just explode; they spray a liquid so hot it melts metal. The faster it flies, the hotter it becomes.” Sana was by his side, favoring her left leg noticeably. “Armor has no defense, once the metal becomes hot enough,” Sana moved to the closest soldier and placed her foot on his neck. He weakly swiped at her, his flesh cooking where his chainmail melted to him. “It becomes an oven, and your insides become the meal.” Her eyes were dark circles in the shadows.
She crushed his windpipe with a gurgled ‘grump’.
They were moving again, twisting this way and that in the darkness. They returned to the ground floor, once Jun had seen enough bodies to know most the Nobles had been slaughtered. Jun saw bodies of Harvesters as well; not many, but enough to lead him to believe there was a resistance mounted somewhere in the Estate. Without pausing to consider, Jun marched straight for the Conservatory. Sana slowly fell behind, doing well to hide her discomfort. Jun cut through a Servant passage, emerging from a crack in the façade just before the greenhouse. The doors were shut, and a cluster of monsters were huddled around. A quick scan told Jun that they were Harvesters and Widows alike, each shroud in their own Rentis apparel. They turned to him expectantly, many uttered hushed whispers; most remained silent. He felt like the player in an Epoch; expected to make a speech that would forever taint the books of history.
He had no words for them.
What was there to say?
Thank you? Your sacrifices won’t be in vain? It was all nonsense, these people have done what he should have never asked of them. They had become monsters, driven by hate and anger and injustice. And he was their creator, the idea that mutated them into the machine of monstrous intent. They had, schemed, stolen, and murdered many people who were guilty only by association. Who was Jun to judge these men and women? Who was Jun to announce that what they had done was just?
So he didn’t say anything.
He just walked right up to the door, and turned the handle.
He heard Sana following him. He flipped the lock behind him.
Outside it was raining, or so he assumed. In the pitch of Dal Niente it was impossible to see anything; only the harsh pattering of rain against glass told him where he was. He stepped forward, his boots crunching on the soft grass. He didn’t need his eyes, he had traversed this path so many times that he knew what steps would take him to the tree in the center. He stepped confidently, feeling his way through memory and instinct. How much time had he spent in this room? Smoking Ghielrout, delegating with Nobles, slinging the shit and slowly slipping into the trap of a comfortable life. How close he had been to becoming one of them.
How strong the allure of the idea still was.
Only now, to change his mind wouldn’t only be betraying his cause, it would end in his death.
His planning had paid off, he had won the night. Nientia had brought forth a new monster.
When he approached the tree he noticed that the Conservatory was not exactly pitch dark. There was a light that glowed in the oppressiveness; a dim thing, a faint expression of life that flickered on the center of the pyramid. A single orange candle melted away with time, its flame casting unearthly shadows across the room. Jun could see then that there was someone sitting in the Duke’s chair, but immediately he knew it wasn’t Arinold. Where the Duke had been an image of fashionable elegance, this figure was a squat fat little fuck that invaded the space with a haughty rank presence. Jun’s blood boiled, his face twisted in rage and he didn’t even try to hide it.
“Majore.”
“Harver.” The man gave a frank nod, a big fat smile spreading across his half covered face. Despite his rage Jun smiled. “Hoy! Yes of course!” The fat man slapped his knee. “I didn’t have a pretty little animal like the rest of these Nobles, did. Chose myself a pig, I did! Bawhaha!”
“Fitting.”
“Isn’t it though? Quite contemptible aren’t I? Yet at the end of it all, it’s always the least likely person pulling all the strings, Heh?” The man leaned forward, and the shadows highlighted the curves of his pig-mask. “I’m done rolling in my own shit, Jun. Now I’m rolling in theirs!” He guffawed and leaned back into the upholstery, his presence itself oozed filth. “You see, I rule Solstice now.”
Just then there was a hiss, a flare of light so bright that Jun threw up his hand to cover his adjusting eyes. Another man stood in the darkness, his shape and demeanor becoming clear as the torches light ebbed in oppressiveness. Mathius Betheloo, with his half-cocked grin stood under the tree; one arm holding the torch, the other resting on the hilt of his shooter. But he wasn’t the only figure present, and as Jun’s eyes adjusted, Majore’s words finally sunk in.
“You’ve killed him.”
Duke Arinold hung from the tree by a noose. His neck was broken, blood oozed down his white feathers where the spine had punched through skin. The sight was so appalling Jun had to fight to stay upright, this man had been his mentor. Jun had spent days plotting to kill him, but now that he was dead he could only mourn the friendship they could never had.
His fist clenched, knuckles white under his gloves.
His heart wasn’t as dead as he had hoped.
“Jealous?” Majore bellowed, his belly jiggled in his slumped position. His leg swung off the arm of the chair and he rose to his feet. “I have to hand it to you, boy. You did great! He didn’t have a clue I was behind all this. He thought he had it all figured out, that you were a usurper; just waiting to snap at his throat and take his fortune. Baha! Said he saw it in your eyes, said you had a hunger for power.” He took a deep swig from a bottle he swiped off of the small table. “Like an animal, he said.” He strolled up to Jun, his bulgy eyes all the more prominent behind the mask of a pig. “Nope. Couldn’t ‘ave done it without you, HAL. Bwahah!”
Jun just smiled. Majore stopped laughing, his smile fading once again.
“It’s not done yet.”
“Oh? Are you so sure?” Majore spun on his fatty leg and walked over to the obelisk. He lifted a hose to his lips and inhaled. The smoke sprayed from the button-snout of his mask. The smell was odd, like nothing Jun had ever smelled. “Got something else you need doing?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.”
Click. Betheloo’s thumb was on the gear of his shooter, cocking it back. The smirk on his lips was maddening as usual, but Jun ignored it. He pushed the rage deep inside him, his mind racing for a solution.
“Well, there is something left to do. I have to kill you.” Jeleps slapped his belly, chuckling. “A shame I know, I wish I didn’t have to. But ye see, your just too unpredictable. Can’t have you running around, scheming behind my back—”
“How do you plan on getting out of this alive?” Jun looked back to the door, and thought of the Harvesters beyond. “The Harvesters aren’t going to know you from any other Noble. They’ll tear you apart.” Majore just laughed.
“Didn’t I say I was behind all this?! Did you think I would come here if I wasn’t completely sure that the Harvesters were more devoted to me than your shitty little cause?” Jun snorted, Majore shot him a glance.
“You don’t know anything about Harvesters, Jeleps.”
“And you don’t know anything about leadership.” The round man moved to Jun, getting so close that the exhaled smoke stung Jun’s eyes. “Or men. Or greed. Or reward.” Hose to lips, inhale. “Put yourself in their boots. Fight for a crazy-man who has no end, no goal but slaughter and revenge through death…” He exhaled the remaining smoke, shaking his head. “Or fight for a man that fills your tummy, and puts whores in your bed.” His smile was crooked, further twisted by the shadows playing off his dark teeth. “You’ve got nothing to offer these people, Harver. Not one thing.”
Jun swallowed hard. You’re not fit to lead. Hal’s ghost stood next to Betheloo for a moment, staff clutched in his hands. He stood like a Justice, statuesque. Jun looked away, but the image remained in his periphery. Sweat began to bead down his neck. Shit.
“I came here, because once I emerge from this room the Harvesters will know who their new leader is. You may think that they follow you, but they don’t. I’ve been the one filling their purses, sneaking them food. I’ve been the one telling them to follow behind you, I’m the one that secured all the materials you requested; the one who bribed the servants that read your falsified ledgers. You’re nothing without me Harver. And that’s how you’ll end.” Majore lifted his hand, Mathius raised his shooter.
“And you.”
There was a brief pause, Betheloo and Jun locked eyes.
“What about you Betheloo? What do you get from this?”
“Shoot him.” Majore tried to sound calm, turning his back to inhale from the obelisk. But the pause elongated, into silence. Jun’s hair stood on end. This was it, his last resort. “Shoot him, my boy.”
“Go ahead, Betheloo. You’re next.” Mathius smiled, Majore laughed. “Think I’m bluffing? You didn’t before.”
“Oh?” His smirk was gone, replaced by a grin that was as shallow as his appearance.
“Just shoot him already. I hate dramatics.”
Jun leaned forward. “What happens next, Betheloo? I will remind you. The cycle continues. With Harvesthome and Solstice in his grubby little pocket, fat shit over here would become much more than Arinold ever was. He would rule everything south of the trade route, and you would be his puppet.”
“Shoot him, man.”
“ ‘All of Olmeer would count of me’. Sound familiar?!” Betheloo’s smile was gone, his eyes were far away; he was thinking. Jun was shaking, expecting the shooter to go off at any moment. The tension was palpable, Jun was sweating freely. Majore was glaring at him like a fat-snake wearing a pig mask. “What an honor for your family name!”
“Shut yer dirty little—”
“Serving second to this?! The Betheloo legacy! All Hail—”
“Shut up!” Mathius was yelling now, his arm fully flexed.
“Enough of this!” Majore was moving toward him now. Jun locked eyes with Betheloo.
“Think he’ll keep you around? Think he wants your tainted name? You’re just a tool to men like this.”
Thwack! Jun felt the grass smash into the side of his face. Spots danced across his vision, he tried to shake them; but something pressed onto the side of his head. Pain seared across his ears and neck as he fought against the pressure. He could hear his heartbeat thumping, his adrenalin pumping. There was a voice, but it was muffled beyond these sounds. Jun tried to look, but something stung his eyes. The pressure increased, there was yelling. His vision swam, his voice rose to a scream. He felt the pressure increase, and just when he could bear it no longer.
CRACK.
The weight was gone.
Jun pushed himself to his knees, shaking his dizziness. Blood stung his right eye. Smoke rose from the Clockstern, clutched tightly in Mathius’ hand. His arm was shaking, his eyes wide. Jun glanced back and saw Majore’s head, or what was left of it, the swine-mask lay in pieces around his twisted neck. Jun spit blood from his mouth, his jaw aching. The sound of the Rain returning. There was a long silence.
Jun looked up to Betheloo, and knew it was a mistake.
The man snapped from his reverie. His extended arm moving the Shooter over to Jun.
“You have no idea how good that felt.” Jun laughed at the other’s words. Betheloo smiled like a mischievous little boy.
“I might.”
“But not for long.” Jun swallowed hard.
Click.
“So long, Jun. Let’s hope you stay dead this time.”
A flash of lightning, so brilliant that Jun was certain the Shooter had gone off. The thunder that followed was nearly loud enough to shatter the glass of the Conservatory. But Jun hardly noticed either, beyond the thing he saw racing toward Betheloo. A smile split Jun’s lips; he closed his eyes and welcomed his death.
Knowing it wouldn’t come.
POP! But not a crack.
Jun opened his eyes to Mathius’s screams. His ornate jacket and cloak were aflame, his hair and face were covered in a blaze of hot white liquid. Steam and smoke lifted like violent tendrils from the man’s face. He clutched at the burns, and they spread to his fingers. His screams grew, he ran this way and that; stumbling like a drunk-child. Jun pushed himself to his feet. He wiped the blood from his mouth and cracked his neck with a twist.
Someone else was in the Conservatory, Jun had seen it just before the Pop. The size and shape of it was clear to him, familiar. He hadn’t been able to identify it, but when another flash of lightning illuminated the room it became clear. The small form walked up to him, confidently; a crossbow held firmly in her hands. A short half-mask connected to the waif-like fabric that fell over her soft shoulders. And despite everything, Jun had never seen a more wonderful creature.
“Eena.”
“Shut it.” She loaded another bolt into her crossbow and scouted the horizon, stopping briefly to watch Betheloo’s thrashing come to an end. The flames from the Thrush-egg went out, and the form disappeared in the shadows. “You owe me, Harver.” Her voice was harsh, cold.
“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?” She scoffed.
“I’m fourteen.”
“You saved me.” She didn’t respond, she just lowered her bow and stared up at him. He watched as another figure approached, by the way it staggered forward he knew it to be Sana. “You save us all. You could have very well saved our entire cause.” Eena spit out the side of her mouth. Jun gestured toward the tree, and the conservatory surrounding. “How did you manage—?”
“Been here the whole time. I’ve been up in that tree all day. Nor had a feeling the Duke would hide here, after you showed her the map Coie Hespen’s daughter drew up. Said that he had a flare for the dramatic.” Her voice was soft against the rain that rocked the glass around them. “When those two showed up, I nearly pissed myself. Thought they saw me for sure.” By now Sana had reached the clearing, Jun noticed the way her chest heaved with the exertion; her eyes were distant. She was about to pass out. He turned to her, and her green eyes shot to him. Breath coming in hard.
“You need to rest.”
“Fuck…You…”
“You’re not our dad, Jun.” Eena butt in. Harver could only laugh. “Fuck you.” But despite the coldness in her voice, Jun could hear something else. There was a twinge of relief; the humor of being pushed beyond the limits of one’s capabilities. The three started to laugh, a slow jerking awkward laugh stuffed with pauses for breath. Jun felt that stress start to ease; the pain that once weighed on his back was lifting. They had done it! He could hardly believe the thought himself. They had dismantled the society of Solstice. His legs felt weak, he threatened to collapse right there in the grass, surrounded by carnage. Others were starting to enter the conservatory, taking in the lavish wonder. Sana fell to her knees, her laughter growing stronger. She was going to live, they were all going to live. He knew it.
Click.
Jun’s hair stood on end.
The form lifted from the ground, like a slumped corpse. With one hand it held its face, the other rose limply from the grass before lifting toward them in a whip like jerking motion. Jun’s heart skipped a beat. The laughter stopped. The lightning flashed. Time itself seemed to take a breath. “No.”
CRACK. Eena Hobbin was blasted backward a step, a spray of blood crossed Jun’s cheek. Click. Jun threw his hands up, instinct taking over his motor functions. The shape yelled something, words gurgling in melted flesh and blood. Pure seething, screaming hatred.
CRACK. Sana jumped to her feet, and collapsed to the grass in one awkward movment. Her body flopped like a discarded doll, drooling blood from a ruined hole in her cheek.
Jun’s heart stopped. His eyes watched Sana’s limp form collapse. They lifted to Betheloo. Click. Jun froze. In that moment, he was stuck. His muscles cramped, his mind screamed, his heart hammered once, and his lungs pushed a word up through his lips. When it erupted from his mouth there was a flash of lightning so brilliant he was blinded.
BOOM! The thunder thumped Jun’s chest. Glass cracking in place.
There was nothing, no pain, no ache. There wasn’t darkness or light or peace. Death was an odd thing, Jun thought. Not at all how he had imagined it. Yet his mind still ran, to his dismay his heart still hammered. It wasn’t until his vision returned that an even odder thought crossed his mind. He may not even be dead. It wasn’t until he heard the cries from the Harvesters beyond that he was able to move. He ran his hands across his chest and face; there was no wound, no hole. Nothing.
He missed. No. It was only thunder he had heard. He had used his last shot. It was the only explanation. Jun turned to where Betheloo had stood, wondering if the man was still aiming at him. But he wasn’t of course. He was gone, the far end of the Conservatory was far too dark for him to even see. Jun’s vision flashed blindness, his head pounded. The lightning had destroyed his night vision. Not again, he couldn’t let him get away. His thought fell back to Corin Mohanas. Remembering the chunk blown from his skull.
Jun took a step forward.
Something grabbed his leg.
Sana Lanson lay in the grass next to him, her bloodied corpse flickering in the torchlight. She was grasping at the soil; forcing herself to her feet again. Jun watched, half in awe as she used his frozen body to pull herself to her feet. Jun watched, half in horror as she dug her fingers into mouth and pulled out a twisted chuck of bloody mess. She didn’t look at it, she just flicked it to the side and dragged her hand across her ruined jaw.
There was blood everywhere.
Her eyes were glowing.
“Kill him.”
The next moment they were taking off into the darkness.
The savior of Harvesthome, and his Rentis Brood.