Still Falling: Book 1: Solstice 31 Saga (25 page)

Barcus had surprised the beast. It reacted like a cat. A large ruff of a mane came up at its neck. It was more like feathers than fur. It was a reptile. Eyes on the front of its skull, a giant snout of bloody, snarling, teeth. It had mottled gray skin that looked like stone. It began to move like a cat about to fight, its back arched, its body pivoted to the side. Its head didn't move.

Its tail lashed him so quickly that he didn't see it until it was returning from a strike that hit him on his left collar bone, gashing downward across his sternum.

His gun was just clearing its holster when the second strike hit full force across his face. His left cheekbone took the most of it, knocking him off his feet to the ground as the predator advanced, arching for another blow.

Barcus could not miss the massive target of its ribcage when he opened fire, despite his blurred vision. The first shot would have been enough to kill it, blowing its heart and lungs out the far side, but it didn't go down. As he began to sit up, he shot it three more times. It fell off its feet as Barcus was regaining his.

The report of the gunfire echoed and faded into deeper silence.

He slowly turned to Po and said in a voice that didn't sound like his own, “Are you all right?” She was still frozen. Only seconds had passed, her hands on her mouth, eyes growing wider still.

Em chimed in his mind, “
Barcus you are badly wounded. You are frightening the girl. You need her.”
A window opened and it showed his own ruined face. The thing’s tail had slashed his face to the bone. His right cheek had been peeled from his face from just below his eye to his jawline. The flap of skin hung there, his skull exposed, white in places, teeth showing. He could see a deep score line in his skull on the bone of his cheek to his teeth.

He watched himself, almost casually, dropped the gun to reach up and press the flap back up to cover his skull.

That is when he felt the blood running down his belly and over his genitals.

Em chimed in again, or maybe she had never stopped, “
BARCUS! If there is another one of those, she is dead. You will go into shock soon.”
This got him moving.

Through gritted teeth, he said to Po, “Hurry,” and grabbed her with his left hand and moved to the gatehouse. This jump-started Po as well.

In a loud whisper he said, “I will go into shock soon. You need to help me and fast.” They moved into the gatehouse and he slammed then bolted the door closed.

“Under the bed is a large red case. Bring it.” She ran and was back in seconds. She lifted the case onto the table, sending items flying to the floor as Barcus sat. Barcus opened the first latch, and Po quickly opened the other three and flung it open.

Barcus reached in and withdrew a small tube marked “Trauma Pen: for use in emergencies only.” He pressed it down against his thigh. It made a snapping and a hissing sound. It felt like ice water being flooded into his veins. His vision cleared and the pain subsided. But it became clear where his damage was. He picked up a small towel from the table and pressed it to his face. “Hold this. We have to hurry,” he said to Po. Without hesitation, Po placed direct pressure on his cheek. “Stand here.”

When she moved to the side, the BUG showed the expanding blood stain on his chest around a great cut in his tabard.

With one swift motion, Barcus grasped the edges of the torn tabard and tunics and ripped them wide until his chest was bare all the way to his lap. Pain shot through him like an electric shock as he moved.

A giant gash went diagonally from his collarbone to his ribs on the opposite side. Ribs and sternum bones were exposed. Blood ran freely from the wound. From the case, he withdrew a canister.

“Watch what I do with this, Po. I will need you to repeat it with my other wound.” He seemed to be staring off into the distance. He was actually examining the wound via the BUG. Em was silent.

The canister functioned like a spray paint can. It looked like a dust of fine white chalk, as it covered the wound. When it was covered, he pressed on the canister a red button that lit. He winced as the blood flow seemed almost to stop immediately.

“Po, now watch this next part. I have to close the wound.”

“I know how to stitch wounds,” she said in gasping but controlled words.

“This is much the same but uses medical adhesive. It uses magic. Watch.”

He grabbed a device that looked like a syringe. He turned the base, and it activated lights that illuminated the area of the wound. Pressing a small button on the side caused a bit of active foam to excrete from the tip into the top edge of the wound. “Press the edges together as you go. See?” Barcus showed her. He handed her the device. His clarity was beginning to fade.

“Hurry. I will pass out soon.” He pressed the towel to his face again so she could use both hands. She didn't ask a single question as she began to close the wound.

His focus shifted from the HUD to her face as she worked. Her brow was deeply etched in concentration and concern as she worked unflinchingly. As she reached the bottom of the wound, he reached into the case and pressed a button and a moist towelette was dispensed. “Clean it with this,” Barcus said to her.

She set down the medical adhesive canister and took the towelette. She could feel a cool sizzle where she touched it. As she wiped around the wound, the towel caused a bubbling reaction as it absorbed and somehow consumed the blood and soil from the area until it was just his very pale skin and a horrific, somehow pulsing line on his chest. There was no bleeding at all.

“Last thing.” Barcus took another canister from the case and shook it. A thumb release allowed a cover to slide, revealing a soft-looking brush. “Don't ever use this unless you have cleaned it with that first.” He gestured drunkenly to the towelette. He painted the wound with the brush. A clear coating covered the wound.

Barcus almost dropped it as he set it down.

“We don't have much time. You have to do this.” He gestured to his face. “I am going to pass out soon.”

She grabbed the first canister and asked him, “Are you ready?” She tried to show a weak smile. His vision was beginning to tunnel and he knew it.

“Nanites first,” he said. She painted the open wound with white dust.

He pointed to the canister he held. “Close it.” She did without hesitation.

He pointed to the medical foam. “Clean the area then seal it.” He nodded. “Ready,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Doesn't it need to be cleaned on the inside of the wound?” she asked.

“No. The Nanites will handle it,” Barcus whispered.

She let the soaked cloth drop to the floor with a splat. Barcus closed his eyes as she sprayed. It was a mistake. The room spun. He opened them again to tighter tunnel vision. Feeling in his limbs was failing. But he redoubled his focus, fighting against the tunnel. Em was there.

“
Barcus, you need to stay awake a little longer.”
She was helping him fight the tunnel closing as Po worked.

Then Po was finished.

“
BARCUS
!” Em was yelling in his head. “
Take the Rapid Renewal
!” He looked to the case and found the small bottle, but his finger would not open it. Po took it from him and opened the top. He gulped 150 ML of fire. It woke him enough that he could get to his feet. The rags of his blood-soaked clothes fell off his shoulders. He staggered to the bedroom with Po supporting him under his shoulder. The bed was unmade, awaiting new sheets. He paused and loosened his belt and his remaining blood soaked rags fell around his boots. His naked body was covered in blood. He sat on the edge of the bed and slowly toppled.

“Barcus. Barcus...Barcus!” Po was getting frantic as she first pulled off one boot and then another, swinging his legs to the bed.

She looked at him. His breathing was shallow. Bruising was beginning to spread from both wound sites.

“Barcus.” It was a whisper now. A precursor to tears.

The Plate chimed loud and urgent.

She stared at Barcus a moment longer before she reached into her pouch and drew out the Plate. She touched the answer icon, incredulous. It said Barcus was calling.

“Hello, Po.” Em's face on a black background displayed. Po’s hand went to her mouth, and the tears spilled.

“It will be all right. I promise. I need you to do a few more things for him though.” Em's voice was reassuring. Po recognized it as the voice from her reading lessons.

“But...” She looked from the Plate to him. The gash and the expanding bruises were bad.

“I will show you everything one day. How all this magic works. I promise. But we are not done here yet.” Em on the Plate seemed to look over her shoulder at him.

“I need you to clean him up...completely. That same towel will still work.”

Po went into the other room and retrieved it and after returning everything to the case, brought that back as well. In a few minutes, Barcus was clean.

“He feels very hot to me. Even though it's cool in here,” Po said. The wounds were all closed now.

“I know. That's what we will address now. Do you see this compartment of the case?” An image of the case displayed on the screen, and a hand reached in and withdrew a small clear, flat piece of plastic that held three small disks and a ring.

“Take these out and place them here.” The image put one disk behind each ear and one under his left armpit, and the ring on his index finger.

She did exactly that. The disks adhered easily to his skin. The ring seemed too big at first and frightened her when she saw it shrink to fit his finger.

“Po, he has lost a lot of blood,” Em said.

She almost lost it to tears. “I know.” She looked at the bloody rags on the floor. The blood on the front of her own clothes.

“I need you to retrieve this device from the case.” The Plate showed where a tube the size of a thumb was stored. She found it and compared it to the image on the Plate. It had written on it “Hemotropic Stims.”

“Hold it against his arm, here, press down and hold it there for a few seconds,” Em instructed

She did. It made a click and a hiss.

“What else should I do? Tell me what to do. Please?” She was nearly frantic.

“Thanks to you, Po, he will sleep now, for a long while. Please don't worry, he will be fine. Make sure he drinks some water often. I will remind you.”

“Leave the Plate on the table, and I will tell you if he needs anything. He will be fine.”

Starting to cry, she asked, “Why?”

“He will be fine,” Em said.

“Why would he do that?” She was looking at his unconscious body. Bruises spreading as she watched. She was crying now. The crisis had past.

“No one else dies before him. He'll not have it,” Em said from the Plate.

“But I am nothing. Why would you do that?” She was talking directly to Barcus.

“Never say that again,” Em said. Then softer, “Please.”

Po set the Plate on the side table, added more wood to the fire, brought in a pitcher of water and a cup. She reached up and flicked one button free on her bloody dress at the nape of her neck. It fell to the floor as she stepped out of her boots and climbed into bed with him. Naked and unselfconscious.

“Po, he will never let you die. You are his reason to survive. As long as he has you, he will have a reason to live,” the Plate whispered to her.

“But I am nothing.”

“The most powerful Keeper to ever walk on this world disagrees,” Em said quietly.

She curled around him, willing her life force into him. Her tears flowed in silence as his fever burned.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ulric's HUD

“The Emergency Module almost lost Barcus. System anomalies increased after the Telis attack. Up until that point, the EM had left the STU out of it.”

--Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: Emergency Module Digital Forensics Report. Independent Tech Analysis Team.

<<<>>>

EM: New short range comm signal detected, ping only. Recommendations?

STU: Source?

EM: Surveillance Subject 864. BUGs confirm. Unknown protocol.

STU: Recommend a short range broad base challenge response, full spectrum.

EM: Stand by. Initiated. Acknowledgment received. 1.47v HUD protocol.

STU: Version 1.47v is compatible up to 4.12v. Recommend upgrade and diagnostic.

EM: Upgrading. Complete. Cold start required. Stand by.

STU: Audio and Video access complete. No security present.

EM: This is going to be... useful.

***

Ulric came awake with a start. “What was that!?” he had become highly skilled at sleeping in the saddle. Loud sounds usually made his horse flinch more than Ulric.

“What was what? Your snoring wake you again?” Grady laughed.

Ulric was already digging out his flask for a long pull. When he brought the flask down, he caught a glimpse of movement in the trees, a silhouette of someone in black.

“There is someone there.” He pointed. “Behind that tree, just to the right of the boulder that looks like a ram’s horn.

“I saw nothing,” Grady stated flatly.

“Someone is there!” Ulric was still pointing, fear clearly in his voice.

Grady swung his leg over the pommel and slid down, silent in the snow. He produced a woodsman's ax from somewhere as he walked directly to the spot, about fifteen feet off the road.

“Nothing. Not even tracks in the snow.” He looked around. It was obvious he was taking it seriously.

“This tree?”

“Yes. Right where you are standing.” He tipped back the flask again as Grady walked back.

“What's in the flask?” Grady walked up, still scanning around. He didn't expect an answer.

“Ghosts,” Grady said. “Probably more ghosts. The closer we get to each village.”

Grady was climbing back up when Ulric heard it. It was just a whisper.

“Ulric...” The whisper was faint but there, and straight ahead. He looked into the distance. His eyes could still see in the distance a faint, dark, cloaked figure, was walking ahead, looking back to Ulric, in the center of the road, between the walls of trees. It was just descending the far side of a rise, limping, and was out of sight a moment before he could say anything.

Grady settled and they moved ahead in the virgin snow.

It took about fifteen minutes to get to that knoll. There were no tracks.

Ulric took another swig from the flask but didn't stop to investigate tracks that he knew wouldn’t be there.

They rode a long day for Ulric. It was less than half the pace Grady kept when alone. They left the road by a small cairn of stones that Ulric would have completely missed if Grady had not pointed it out. Less than an hour later, they reached a remote farmhouse. It was empty as if abandoned without a moment’s notice.

There was a large black cook pot still hanging on its hook over the fireplace ashes. A further search found that the house was equipped with a stone oven. Six loaves were in the cold thing. They were black.

“I will put the horses in the barn. There might be grain there,” Grady said as he left.

Ulric set about getting a fire started. He set the cook pot out on the porch for the small animals to clear out. There was water in a large ceramic cistern. He had a kettle on for tea by the time Grady returned.

“Any sign of the occupants?” Ulric asked as he hung his winter cloak and then his pack on a handy peg, conveniently located there so the farmer’s cloak would dry by the fire.

“There are six things out there covered with snow. I didn't look closely.” He set down saddle packs and took off his own outer layers. “There was feed in the barn as well. I will go out after dinner and brush the horses down proper.”

Grady searched the farmhouse and discovered someone had already done the same. He did find an overlooked sack of potatoes and a small wheel of cheese. A stew of dried beef and onions with the freshly peeled taters was soon simmering.

“Why have you taken to wearing that backpack all the time under your cloak?” Ulric asked as the cork came free from a bottle of Roofers Oak, a quality Bourbon. He held the bottle up to punctuate his question, adding an offer to join him. “You even wear it when riding. There are saddle bags for that.” Ulric poured himself a tall beer mug full. Almost half the bottle emptied into the mug.

“One of my old tracker habits,” he replied, holding a small clay mug out to be filled. “I have everything I need in this one small pack if I find myself on foot or in trouble.”

Ulric was focusing on not missing the small clay target of a cup as he poured.

“In my youth, it's all I ever carried.” He took a sip. “Now, despite my best efforts, I sleep under roof a bit too often.” He set the cup on the mantle and worked his way out of two more layers, hanging both on pegs at the door.

“The horses are settled in the barn and just in time. It is now snowing hard. Sky smells like we're in for it.” He dug into his small pack, drawing out a leather tube. Opening it, he slid out a carved flute and a small oiled cloth that held carving tools. He retrieved his cup and sat in a reasonably comfortable chair. He unrolled the tools and after taking another sip, started carving on the flute.

“You have been carving on the thing this entire trip. What's taking so long?” Ulric demanded. “I swear you have been working on it for the last ten years.”

“I can't believe you never asked before now. What is up with you?” Grady was staring at him. “I make one every year. It's Ironwood. Feel it.” Grady tossed it to him, unconcerned. Ulric wasn't ready for it and the only move he managed was to protect his drink. The flute was incredibly heavy, far heavier than he expected.

It bounced off Ulric’s chest with a thud and hit the floor end-wise. The slate floor tile cracked where it hit. Grady snatched it from the air before it damaged anything else.

“My god, man, are you trying to kill me?” Ulric was rubbing his chest in mock pain. “Why would you use Ironwood? I thought that was a useless wood, all twisted and thorny.”

“Twisted and thorny, it is. Do you know how hard it is to find an Ironwood sapling that is straight enough to yield a three-foot section?”

“Why bother? Aren't most flutes Rosewood or Cherry?” Ulric asked. “They are so much easier to carve.”

“You have to use special, hardened tools and files. The intricate carving gives it a special sound.” Grady was looking at the flute, smiling.

“I have never heard you play it. Why?” Ulric asked like he was asking a very personal question.

Grady smiled, looking at the flute.

“As you know, I usually spend my winters in the south. I usually sell the flute there to finance my wandering without having to hire on with the Keepers or anyone else to be comfortable. After I sell it, I harvest another sapling there and spend the next year working it. I just didn't get south this winter...” He obviously left it hanging there.

“Can you even play it?” Ulric asked.

“I can play. I try not to play it, though. If I did, I may not be able to sell it. I usually only play it a few times once it's finished. This is the most beautiful one I have ever made. I have worked it much longer than in other years.”

Ulric set down his mug and held out his hand. Grady handed it to him. He was ready for the weight this time. It felt like iron. He began to look closely at it. It was black and very smooth. It didn't really feel like wood because the grain was so dense. It was like a typical flute, but the carvings were a work of art. The density of the grain allowed incredible detail in the tiny carvings.

“Is this the valley at Collins Ford? And this is that beautiful fireplace at the inn by the Wickliffe River. That's me with my favorite clay pipe! And that's...” he was looking at a beautiful woman sleeping in bed.

A long pause followed as he examined the rest. Images carved from life during the last year. All were surrounded by vines and leaves. There were only a few inches that remained uncarved. The carvings became darker the lower they went: Arrow filled bodies, swords cast aside, a barn with a door open like a gaping maw.

“It's a diary. I had no idea. Why don't you play it?” Ulric asked, humbled, offering it back toward Grady handing it to him.

In answer, Grady took it, stood, and put it to his lips.

Grady closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and began to play a familiar, simple lullaby that Ulric knew. The tone and quality of the flute defied description. It was like the flute’s tones were made of emotion instead of breath. It made tones deeper than he thought possible, its scale and range and volume the most beautiful he had ever heard.

He didn't realize tears had spilled until Grady had stopped playing and opened his eyes, saying, “I am unworthy to play it - a novice. In the right hands, you would not believe what it can do.”

Ulric was left incredulous.

“This is the twelfth one I have made, my best yet. The carvings improve the tone somehow. This one has more than any other. I may fill the whole of it before I see home again.” Grady sat and rolled out the oiled cloth his tools were in.

“I noticed you always disappeared in the winter. Have you a home in the south as well? I thought that horrible rock cabin in Northknock was your home.”

“For the summers. A base of operations. It keeps the rain off,” Grady said.

“What are you carving tonight?” Ulric asked, taking another drink.

“The stone wall out there to the left and the six bumps in the snow,” Grady said soberly.

“What will that mean to the one that buys it?” Ulric asked.

“The tales are part of the price of the flute. Whoever buys it will get an evening of stories that tell the flute’s tale. It's one reason they pay so very much.”

“What is it you do with all this money?”

“I invest it. Save it for my retirement. Spend some. I don't need much.”

“Don't need much? I have never met anyone that needs less!” Ulric laughed and drank.

“I'm frugal and self-sufficient,” Grady admitted.

The conversation lapsed. Grady carved and filed his flute. Ulric fell asleep in his chair.

Grady kept the fire going and eventually went and slept on the bed, fully dressed.

***

Ulric woke with a start, but his dream was slow to dissipate. It was the first time he had heard the cello in thirty years...

The music was quiet and sad. It made him remember home - his parent’s estate. They had so many slaves then. But he wasn't dreaming. Was he? He rubbed his face hard with both hands, but the music didn't stop.

He sat up and pulled on his boots. They were dry now. He clumsily put two more logs on the failing fire.

But the quiet music kept playing. It was coming from somewhere outside. In the distance.

He was going mad. He needed to stay clear, to not let Grady know. He'd go out and have a quick look, but if Grady asked, he was going to the outhouse.

He went out as quietly as the door allowed.

The snow was deep now, more than a foot. He struggled to focus past the drink. How long had it been snowing, where was he, where WAS that music coming from?

He stepped into the darkness, letting his eyes adjust to the snowy night. The snow had stopped, and the moon was bright behind the clouds but covered. The music was a bit louder. He walked toward the low stone retaining wall in front of him and looked directly down into a pasture surrounded by trees at the fence line, a perfect paddock. And in the center of the snow covered field was the form of a person playing the cello. He recognized the tune. It was Adagio in D minor by Tomaso Albinoni. He could not believe it.

He stared for a minute, and in the midst of it, she stopped and stood, staring back at him.

He turned and ran back and around to descend the path past the barn and to the field. The snow was deep and slowed him down very much, and when he got to the paddock, he ran through the open gate into the middle of the field.

She was gone.

She was utterly gone. The snow was completely undisturbed as if she had never been there. When had the music stopped? All he could hear was his blood pounding in his ears and his labored breathing. He looked around in all directions. He even looked back up to the top of the vine-covered retaining wall.

Grady was standing there looking down to him.

Ulric hesitated and then waved.

Grady shook his head and turned back toward the cottage.

That is when he heard the whisper from the darkness.

“I remember you...Chris.”

Ulric froze. He was unable to breathe.