Fractured Dreams Read online

  The stone they followed allowed them to move without leaving a trail in the snow a blind man could follow. He was fortunate to find several caves to pick from. One had a tiny round opening the horse would barely fit in but went deep into the mountain.

  To Saunders’s surprise, a warm wind rushed out of the tube of a cave. He would not need a fire. If anything, they might become too hot if he closed up the mouth. The downside was the air smelled of a privy in dire need of cleaning. A light-yellow dusting powdered the ceiling of the glasslike tube. Saunders didn’t care. The place was warm and secure, even if it stank like the hells themselves.

  He paused long enough to lower Alegria to the ground. He nearly dropped her over the side of the horse, but he should show her slightly more respect than she showed him. He unloaded the saddle and the baskets containing the kits. Better to let the horse rest. If the animals from the home-hold attacked, the horse would do little good anyway. He knew death would come swiftly. There was no false bravado bolstering his chances for survival.

  One more quick check to make sure his captive remained secure before he led the horse deeper into the cave, far enough where the two of them could rest and Saunders was fairly confident he would not need to sleep in horseshit all night long. He swiftly hogtied his captive and started searching for rocks to seal themselves up in the cave. There was little doubt the monsters would force their way past any barrier, but it might help keep their scent from drawing them in for the kill.

  Three-quarters of the tube was blocked off when night fell. The warm air blowing out of the cave did wonders for drying his boots. He felt warm and comfortable. The curve of the cave nestled his back perfectly, but safety was more important than his comfort. The cries of the monsters could be heard echoing down the valley Saunders previously traveled. He hated being correct. The creatures must have left the home-hold and now hunted for them.

  “They will find us,” Alegria muttered from the back of the dark cave.

  Saunders looked back to see her eyes watching him. “Probably.” He wasn’t in the mood to fight with the woman.

  “My home?” she asked in her strange accent.

  “Gone.” Saunders didn’t know what else to say. Lying to her would do little good and might give her false hope. He wasn’t surprised she didn’t start crying. She was like the few women that served in the Brotherhood: hard, emotions held close to the chest. He sensed she felt like him, tears would do little good now.

  Her voice held no emotion. “I will die when the attack comes.”

  She was correct of course. They would both die when the monsters attacked. After witnessing the carnage in her home-hold, Saunders could think of no tactic that would defeat the scales on the creatures. He listened to the hunting cries echo down the canyon walls again. It was hard to tell, but he felt they drew closer.

  He stood with both spears in his hands. Looking down at her, he leaned one against the wall and pointed the blade at her chest. If he freed her, she might turn on him and kill him in his sleep. If he didn’t, and the attack came, they would both die… When the attack came, they would both die no matter how many spears they had. He motioned with the tip.

  She raised her hands, and he slit the leather strap that bound her wrists to her ankles. They could work out who was whose prisoner in the morning… if they survived the night.

  Chapter 18, The Spy:

  His ward now slept under the protection of the Huntress. The goddess statue watched over her. The Spy had never been a religious person, but he thought Della, in the green leathers when he first met, was what the goddess might look like as a child. If a goddess ever dealt with childhood. Something about the face on the gold replica reminded him of her, or vice versa. It wasn’t innocence, Della had never been innocent in his mind. She was a street-smart ruffian, even if she was brought up in a palace away from harm. Her family was not so gentle to let her have a real childhood.

  He stayed up with the priest, his counterpart from the town of Cliffside. They shared a drink of weak beer. The priest never asked about the young woman who tagged along, and the Spy never gave an explanation, certain the priest must assume who she was. The red hair was hard to miss, but he was smart enough not to broach the subject. The Spy killed many others over less. He would do what was needed to protect his current client.

  There was a small problem. She controlled no way to pay his expenses now. Something would need to change, or he would need to take other work to make ends meet. Over time, he had grown accustomed to the little luxuries in life, like food. He didn’t want to go without once again.

  Even with the constant cloud cover, he could tell the twin moons had slipped below the horizon. It would not be long before the sun rose and he could search the harbor below the cliffs.

  He left Della sleeping in the priest’s care and ventured out into the quiet of early morning. He was the only one about. Like a cat, he slipped down the deserted alleys to the cliff’s edge.

  Dawn could not come soon enough. He needed to check to see if his boat lay in the harbor still. He doubted it did. When the panic hit the city of Zar, any still-floating craft would have been the first things stolen as people fled the chaos.

  Reaching the precipice, he was shocked to see the glow of fires still burning throughout the city below. Unsure if fueled by bodies or buildings, it was a quick decision that the water’s side remained a much more dangerous place than the slums above the cliffs. Even the pillar of black granite that housed the mayor’s home still smoldered from hidden flames.

  First light came. It only took a quick check to find his craft hadn’t survived the pillaging. They would need to return to the field of bodies and find anything he could get off the shard with. The longer Della remained here, the higher the likelihood they would be found out.

  Now was the time to leave before anyone awoke to start asking questions. He needed to escape the city with his ward in tow. Soon, too many prying eyes would be stalking the city. Time to flee this death trap once and for all. The return trip to the makeshift temple was as swift as possible. Every second the sun rose higher increased their chances of being stopped as they left the city.

  The man with no name didn’t particularly trust the priest from Cliffside, but they had worked together in the past, sharing information when it suited. Between them existed a professional courtesy not normally found between members in their line of work.

  The priest needed to stay in the city. He fed information to the town of Cliffside. His contract was not up. Besides, he had no way to leave the city.

  “We need to leave now.” The Spy’s simple words to Della were uttered when his hand reached her shoulder, giving her a light shake.

  She was up in an instant. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, but there is nothing for us here. Your city is dead.” He might have oversimplified things a tad, but he didn’t need an argument with the child. He needed her to do the logical thing and run for her life. From what he knew of her, that shouldn’t be a problem. But in his limited experience with near-teenaged girls, he knew they could be emotional at times. Now was not the time for emotions.

  It might have been from the sleep still in her eyes, but she didn’t argue. She stood and bundled herself to not be seen.

  The old priest came in from the back room. “I want you to take this.” He held out a bow and a quiver of arrows to Della, similar to the one the statue of the goddess held.

  “I have never found the need for a bow.” Della reached out her hands, touching the weapon.

  “The Second Daughter is a powerful warrior and protector of children. She will do well to serve you,” the old man said as he handed the bow to Della.

  “Thank you. I don’t have anything for you.”

  “I require nothing in return. Simply remain safe one day to return home.”

  She moved in and gave the old man a hug before pulling her hood over her head.

  The priest turned to The Spy and asked, “Do you have plans?”
/>
  “I do, but we both know it is better if you don’t know them.” It was a simple truth: if the priest was suspected of helping a Villa, he would be tortured and would give up any information he had. No one could withstand the pain of torture forever. It was only a matter of time before a person would break. Besides, the Spy had no real idea where they would go once they escaped the shard of Zar. After that, the world stood wide open.

  The two men shook hands. In this strange world, it was odd that today they stood working together. Tomorrow they might need to fight one another. The Spy knew he needed to keep his friends close while he could.

  Della said, “Thank you. I will keep it safe.” She held up the bow.

  “More like it will keep you safe.” The old priest opened the door for them to sneak out.

  The Spy led the way. The streets were still deserted as he took a direct line east and out of the slums of the city. Little sound could be heard from the shacks as they slipped by in the early morning mist. Few remained behind in these hovels. Their occupants had fled the city long ago.

  He stopped at each corner, making sure the coast was clear before continuing. They nearly reached the city edge when a gruff male’s voice called out from behind.

  “Hey you, stop.”

  The Spy pulled Della behind him as he turned to face the man who challenged them. It was plain to see he had just come from an alleyway. Cursing under his breath, the Spy had not checked to make sure it was clear.

  The guard worked hard to tie the rope that held up his pants and kept the blade at his waist. He had to be twice the weight of Della’s Black Knight. The only way to win this fight would be to get in close and insert his sail needle between the man’s ribs and into his heart. If he was caught in the man’s grip, he might be snapped in half before he had a chance to free his arms and attack.

  Before the Spy could commence to engage the man who marched toward the pair, his right hand on the wicked-looking sword hilt, an arrow appeared in the man’s throat. Eyes bulged as the beefy man reached both hands to the arrow. His mouth was working but failed to utter a sound. Finally, he silently dropped in a pool of his own blood.

  Della smiled from behind him, bow still in hand. “I said I had no need for a bow. I never said I couldn’t shoot one.”

  He turned and reached for her arm, pulling her down the street and away from the body as quickly as they could move without drawing unneeded attention to themselves.

  The others who patrolled the streets would find the body. If the pair found luck that day… they would escape before the grim discovery.

  It wasn’t far to the first fields. The pair made it out of town without further encounters. The Spy did his best to keep them hidden behind the hedgerows and low walls, blocked from the sight of anyone who might be lurking about.

  They spotted no one as they headed back to the field of death, the remains of the refugee camp. The heads on spikes and a pile of decaying flesh spoke their warning loud enough for no one to return, except the two fugitives.

  The trek down the cliffside took nearly the amount time as it did to travel from the slums of Zar to the deserted refugee camp. The steps had not been completed, and Ollie’s pride, the elevator, had been destroyed the night he died. They worked their way down the cliff face, the man helping Della from time to time to reach the beach safely.

  The sun was low on the horizon when they reached the beach. It had taken them most of the day, but in such a secluded place, the man could finally relax. As far as he could tell, no one followed them. Now they needed a way off this rock.

  A few fishing boats floundered in the bay. Little could be done to float them again, and they would be sitting ducks if they tried. The tide was in. Beached on underwater rocks near the mouth of the bay, he spotted something that might prove useful.

  “Can you swim?” he asked.

  She looked at the clothes she wore and shrugged. “If I have to.”

  “Never mind. I will take care of it and come back for you.” He could have forced her to strip down and follow him into the water, but something stopped him. Him, a grown man, with a preteen girl… the thought seemed too creepy, even if they were alone. Better for him to stash her, safely hidden in the rocks, while he swam out to investigate a wrecked ship. If he was right, it should take no more than an hour.

  He moved her to a rocky outcropping protected from the cliffs, and there she could see the wreck he targeted. “You stay here and cover me with your bow. If anything happens…” He didn’t know what to tell her. If he died while trying to reach a boat, she would be on her own. What do you tell a little girl to do if she watched you die? “Take care of yourself.” It was all he could think of.

  Turning his back to her, he stripped out of his leathers. Rather than turn to see if she watched him, he ran into the water naked and dove straight in.

  Many people swam in the waters of the cracks. The life that lived under the waves did little to harm the humans who moved across the surface. He had made his way over the water as a fisherman. He knew there were more than a few creatures that would gladly eat him for dinner if they happened across him swimming in the bay. He assumed the chances would be low such a thing might happen. After all, the water that filled the cracks ran deeper than any ever found and covered a vast area. He tried to do the math of the odds while he swam to take his mind off the horrors that might pull him under the surface at any moment.

  Once he reached the aft deck of the half-sunk ship, he didn’t wait to pull himself out of the water. He did not totally enjoy the feeling of the water on his bare flesh. He wanted the safety of dry land… deck under his feet.

  He counted himself lucky he had not been attacked while making the swim. He was certain the thoughts of being eaten alive helped motivate him to swim faster than normal.

  On the deck, he found what he sought. It was a long boat, pulled up on the deck of the sailing ship. It took some work, but he was able to right the craft and push it into the water. It would be cramped for the two of them, but it had to be better than staying on Zar. He loaded the oars and mast, with a spare sail inside the skiff. He found nothing else of value on the waterlogged vessel. Food and water would have been beneficial, but beggars could not be choosers.

  It felt strange rowing the craft to the beach in the nude, but better to be nude and alive than dressed and dead. The sun set, and the clouds covered any stars before the moons rose. It would be a dark, dangerous transit out on the waters of the crack.

  Back at the rocky beach, he wasted little time dressing. The fear of being caught in the open outweighed his fear of being caught in the nude. “Let’s get out of here.” He threw his gear into the center of the boat. It was growing darker, and he knew there remained little time to row past the rocks before he lost all light.

  Della held her tongue while he grabbed his clothes and equipment. There was little space or protection from the rain on the open-hulled boat, but it should see them to Cliffside.

  “Stay to the front.”

  With a heave, the skiff was pushed back in the water. Being flat-bottomed, the craft would sail like a brick, but it was better than swimming to Cliffside. However, now was not the time to bother with the mast and sail. They needed speed only his back could provide. “Watch the rocks while I row.” He put his back into the twin oars as they glided out from the beach.

  “Go to the right, there are rocks,” Della said in a soft voice.

  He looked over his shoulder and spotted what she talked about. It was her right. They would discuss port and starboard tomorrow, now was not the time.

  With every pull on the oars, the likelihood of dying in a shower of arrows lessened. That made him smile. He realized it had been several days since he smiled. Since before he chased after Della, back when he lay in bed with the woman he only knew as Six. Back when life was normal, or at least as normal as his life ever was. Now all proved strange.

  Chapter 19, Hope Shoemaker:

  “You’re certain they
all need to be awake for the ceremony?” Hope looked over the three nude people who adorned her workshop. The two virgins, trussed up by their ankles, had been drugged by Tanner before they even made it into her lair. He helped her strip the two scullery wenches and hang them from their ankle tendons like pigs waiting to be bled for the slaughter. It would be their blood that filled the basin for the ritual and provided the power needed.

  Tanner outdid himself. Yesterday they tested the shallow wading pool with water to make sure none of the gore from the victims would spread over her floor. Everything needed to be perfect for this to work. She knew her time grew short. The talk around the citadel concerning her strange proclivities grew intense. She couldn’t assume the nobles wouldn’t act against her.

  Had Meyers returned, she could have used him to deflect the talk of her insanity. Instead, she would need to take action alone. Her half-brother/lover remained lost in the mountains hunting demons. She fought the urge to giggle since she had found the demons hiding in the keep all along.

  Hope was fairly certain that her half-brother’s whore of a mother was the one leading the charges against her. She just wouldn’t let the death of her pet white witch go. Hope adjusted the witchy woman’s tanned skin on her shoulders.

  Her floor-length mirror had been propped against the wall so Giblet could see the events as they unfolded. Oddly enough, he sat on the reflection of a stool Hope had placed in front of the mirror. Every time she passed the seat, she brushed her fingertips over it to make sure he wasn’t really in her world.

  “Everyone needs to be awake.” Giblet pressed his face against the inside of the mirror. “Your man needs to be awake to accept the gift he is about to receive. If a demon could invade a sleeping person, there would be no need for this elaborate ceremony, now would there? You want the conscious mind invaded, not the subconscious. That would be a different effect and not at all desirable.”