The world ended on an August Sunday. This is the story of some who survived the end of everything.
Fifteen
Seamus was the only one perched near the gate when I arrived, my bow in hand and a quiver of arrows at my hip. Paul was up in the watch-tower with Davon; Rory and Greg were securing the gates, layering the second heavy bar into place. I could see the Wild Hunt starting to assume positions up on the walls, but none of them were terribly close to the gate—only Seamus, whose back was to me as he stared out over the field beyond the walls.
A chill crept down my spine.
I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I swallowed my unease and jogged the last few steps to the wall. “Seamus!”
He tore his gaze from the field to look toward me, blinking rapidly for a few seconds before he straightened from his crouch. “What are you doing here?”
“Defending my home,” I said as I started to climb up to the top of the wall. Rory broke away from the gates to give me a hand up and Seamus reached down to pull me the last little bit up onto the wall. I didn’t want to let on, but I was still more than a little sore from Lin’s birth. “Where the hell else would I be?”
“With my sister and your son and Tala and the kids?”
I’d left Hecate and my son with Neve, headed for the tunnels and safety, reassured by both me—and Neve—that everything would be fine. Tala had told me that she wasn’t going to stay hidden, though, not now. She was coming, too—she couldn’t justify hiding anymore, not to herself even if the rest of us would have let her hide forever if she’d wanted to.
“Even Tala’s coming to the wall,” I said quietly. “The last time Menhit came, she was able to call the camazotzi and control them like Cariocecus used to do. We’re going to need all the hands we can muster out here on the wall.”
Seamus wasn’t paying attention to my answer, though. He was gazing out over the field again, his brow furrowed, expression grim. I stared at him for a second, then followed his sight-line.
My stomach dropped. “What the hell is she doing?”
“Playing the hero,” Seamus said grimly. “Or at least trying.”
“She’s going to get herself killed.”
Seamus exhaled. “Déithe agus arrachtaigh. I hope not, Marin. I hope not.”
“Why didn’t you stop her?”
Seamus shook his head. “How could I and why would I? If anyone’s got any chance in hell of getting them to talk before they attack, it’s going to be her. She can offer the bastard his life—she can tell him that he’ll live if he turns back and he might actually believe it.” He sighed. “And if that doesn’t work, I’m sure she’s got a plan. She usually does and I’m sure she’s playing things ridiculously close to the vest.”
I stared at him, jaw tightening. “You should have gone with her.”
“Someone had to stay on the wall and make sure Thordin didn’t go off after her.”
“Congratulations. You still have that job and you get to convince him that this was a good idea.”
He winced but didn’t say anything, turning his attention back to the field. I got myself situated next to him, readying my bow.
The line of clouds heralding the storm had slowed slightly, though it hadn’t stopped moving. I could see the figure leading it now, a broad-shouldered man in a dark cloak, a shadow on the landscape. “Who was he then?” I asked Seamus, my eyes narrowing slightly, as if that would give me a better view of the enemy.
At least it looks like he’s alone—but that squall-line is following him. That’s never a good sign.
His being alone also made me wonder where his backup was lurking. On wings, in the storm? Hidden to our eye like the Greys could be?
Or something worse, something more horrifying than either of those possibilities?
“He was from Aegyptus,” Seamus said quietly. “One of the southern groups.”
“Southrons?”
The ghost of a smile curved Seamus’s lips and then vanished in the space of a few heartbeats. “Yes and no. We didn’t tangle with them so much as some of the others did. They were a southern group without falling into the term. Does that...does that make sense? They warred with the Southrons as much as we did, sometimes.”
It did and it didn’t, but I was willing to let that much go—it was thousands of miles and thousands of years away by now. “Right. Keep going.”
Seamus took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “He was one of the mid-level powers there—not in charge, but not a peon, either. A hunting god, which is how I think he ran afoul of Thordin in the first place—ranging too far afield of territory and a lot of rot like that. I don’t know. There was a lot going on during the wars and I couldn’t track all of it.”
“Well, you guys had your own problems to keep track of.”
“There is that.” Seamus shifted his weight slightly, repositioning next to me at the top of the wall. “There was the matter of a little war we were fighting.”
“Little,” I said, then snorted. “Right. Master of understatement right here next to me.” I swallowed, tasting bile at the back of my throat. “Give me the short answer, since she’s almost reached him. How dangerous is he?”
“As dangerous as a hunter gets, especially when backed into a corner.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Just great.”
Out on the field before the wall, Sif had slowed—but so had the figure ahead of her. My stomach sank.
“What the hell is going on out here?”
A chill shot through me as I heard the annoyance—and an undercurrent of fear—in my brother’s voice. My jaw tightened and I didn’t dare glance back to see the expression on his face. I already knew what it looked like, anyway.
He wasn’t happy, but neither was I. I didn’t answer him, either, knowing that he’d be on top of the wall with me soon enough—he and Thom both, probably, with Thordin and J.T. likely taking the other side. I’d be surprised if it turned out any different.
Seamus glanced sidelong at me—I caught his gaze out of the corner of my eye—and grimaced. “You’d better get up here fast,” he called, half twisting back to look behind him, down to the ground on the other side of the wall. “There’s not much time.”
“Where’s Sif?” Thordin asked.
This time, both of us ignored the question. My brother climbed up onto the wall, taking up a position next to me, his eyes narrowed, gaze focused first on me and then shifting out to the field. “Is that him?”
“That’s him,” I confirmed. My hand tightened around my bow. Sif and Anhur hadn’t quite met up out there in the field, but they were getting close enough that I didn’t dare tear my gaze away.
This feels too familiar. I don’t like it.
“Why is he here?” Matt asked.
“Not sure, but we’re certainly going to find out soon,” Seamus said quietly. “Running theory is that it has to do with Menhit coming back for another bite at the apple.”
Matt went rigid next to me. “No.”
“What are we saying no to?” Thom took up a position on the other side of Matt, perching nearest to the gate, his brow furrowing.
“He can’t be here because of her,” Matt said, staring at me. I could feel the weight of his stare, his voice laced less with fear and more with horror. “She was working for Hecate the last time she showed up here. Then, after I went with Hecate, she told her to back off, to leave us alone, that we weren’t a concern anymore. Whoever that guy is out there, he’s not here because of her.”
“That assumes that Menhit’s not hiring out to the highest bidder—or worse, gone freelance.” Seamus took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. A shiver crept down my spine. There was a ring of rightness to his words, as if I knew he’d grasped the truth of it.
Behind me, I could hear Thordin clambering up onto the wall.
I held my breath.
Out on the field, Sif had stopped walking.
Awakenings is a fiction serial written by Erin M. Klitzke. It updates three times a week at http://awakenings.embklitzke.com. Full chapters will be released here on Tumblr once a week.
Copyright 2008-2017 Erin M. Klitzke.
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