The Far Shores (The Central Series) (72 page)

“Not sure myself.”

“Well, it was weird. One
of those Thule guys has some sort of illusion protocol, and he put on quite a
display. The other one, the woman – Lóa, I think – she does something weird
with time, or at least it seemed like it. They found me first, got me back on
my feet, and then we came after you two.”

“And the mission? The
World Tree?”

“Mostly destroyed,”
Alice said, shrugging. “The Thule people volunteered to hunt down whatever
Anathema are left, and I’m inclined to let them. Taking out the Anathema around
you guys took everything I had, and you and Xia can barely stand. Anyway, that
creepy Thule girl claims that the World Tree is dying, so I guess we don’t need
to worry about the Anathema using it to invade Central. Said it was hardly more
than a sapling to begin with, and then stress killed it. Think we have Mitzi to
thank for that.”

“Mitsuru? What did
she...”

“Don’t know. Not really
sure. She went Black, apparently, that Ecofage Protocol. Berserker mode, right?
Apparently she was fighting Song Li – you know, the one with the weird
Animate-the-Dead protocol? – and a mess of Anathema. It got nasty, is my
understanding. Blood and nanite disassemblers everywhere, even splattered on
the World Tree. At least, that’s the working theory, ’cause it’s all gone.
Nothing there but a ten-meter crater.”

“What about Mitsuru?”

Alice looked away, her
mouth drawn into one tight line.

“We can’t find her.”

Michael started, tried
to stand up, and she had to gently force him back down.

“What? What do you
mean?”

“I don’t know how else
to say it,” Alice said, with a shake of her head. “Nobody saw what happened. We
know she was fighting the Anathema right next to the World Tree. Which has
become a hole in the ground. And we can’t find Mitsuru anywhere.”

“Is she,” Michael asked,
his face twitching as he considered the possibilities, “alive? There are no
traces? What about the telepaths?”

“Hush, Mikey,” Alice
said, rubbing his shoulder. “Calm down. We’re working on it. We’re doing
everything, trust me. I don’t know if Mitzi is okay. I don’t know what is going
on right now. But I will find out, okay? Trust me.”

Alice grinned, and to an
unstudied eye, she might have looked blasé.

“And the kids? Are
they...”

She frowned and shook
her head, and Michael’s breath caught as he prepared himself for the worst.

“I don’t know. We’re cut
off from Central at the moment – some kind of communications failure. Without
Mitsuru or Haley, we don’t have a direct connection to the Etheric Network.
Comms are still working, more or less, but no one seems to know what’s going on
or who’s in charge. Total fucking chaos, I guess.” Alice looked away.
“Apparently Alistair went through the portal with some other Anathema, so it
seems they succeeded in opening a path to wherever they were going. I’m
thinking Central, judging from the mess on that side. It wasn’t a big force or
anything, just a squad at best, so Gaul should have been able to handle it,
even if he needed to borrow forces from the cartels, but I haven’t heard any
resolution or damage report. According to Karim, Katya and Alex followed
Alistair across.”

She noticed his
expression, and laughed softly.

“Yeah. Today is turning
out to be total shit, right?”

***

“Youngest half-sister Ériu,” Samnang
said pleasantly, offering her hand. “I am pleased to see you again.”

Eerie stared in horror
from where she crouched, back pressed against the wall of the chamber, legs
shaking, hands balled into fists.

“Why are you here?”

Samnang clicked her
tongue.

“I should be asking you
the same question, Ériu. Truly, I am pained to see you so diminished. Why do
you subject yourself to such degrading associations? To allow them to tamper
with you is unforgivable. Would you like me to take revenge, little sister? To
seek satisfaction on your behalf?”

Eerie covered the
injection mark with her hand self-consciously.

“No,” she countered
shakily. “I want to know why you are here. You should know that I will come
back when I decide – not before. You cannot force me, Samnang, and neither will
the Church of Sleep.”

“Oh, I know that,”
Samnang said, laughing and crossing her arms. “The Church sent me in the hopes
that I might be able to reason with you. Then again, now that I’m here – I
think I’d rather do you a favor. Tell me,” Samnang said, inclining her head at
Alex, who was cautiously retreating from Alistair and his extended blade, “do
you like that boy?”

“Come at me, Alex!
I’ll be generous and give you the
first shot.”

Alex continued to back
away, keeping his hands high and his eyes not on the long knife in Alistair’s
hand, but on his center of gravity, remembering the lessons that Michael and
Margot had drilled into him. The blade can be used to feint and distract, after
all, but the body behind it is limited and predictable.

“If you want to be
generous, get rid of the knife.”

Alistair laughed and
moved forward, moving the blade playfully from one hand to the other, sliding
gradually to the right so that he commanded the center of the room, limiting
Alex’s movement and options. Alex knew that he meant to cut off any avenues of
escape, but Alistair’s footwork was perfect, and he couldn’t see any openings
to attack or dart past him. Alistair was taking his time about it, but he was
gradually backing Alex into a corner.

“I’d rather not, if it’s
all the same to you.”

“Afraid I’d beat your
ass hand-to-hand? Like the last time?”

Alistair laughed, but
Alex wasn’t shaken. He knew that he had been fortunate the last time he
encountered Alistair, and had the element of surprise on his side – but Alex
also knew that he won that fight. Since that encounter, his abilities had
increased dramatically, as had his combat experience. If Alistair expected the
same from Alex this time around, then he had badly underestimated him.

“Oh, yes,” Alistair
agreed, swinging the blade lackadaisically. “I’m very afraid. Why don’t you
teach me another lesson, Alex?”

Alex stepped back from
the blade, then cursed himself, realizing he’d given up a few more centimeters
of precious ground. Behind Alistair, Katya was sprawled on the floor, her legs
folded awkwardly beneath her, her mouth hanging open and her eyes vacant. It
seemed unlikely that she was just playing possum, waiting for the right moment
to shake off Alistair’s telepathic assault and intervene. The only other people
in the room were a technician over with the computers, the girl with the tattoos
on her face, and Eerie – so unless the wet and shivering Changeling had a plan,
Alex was on his own. Worse, he was unarmed.

That left only one
option. Alex steeled his resolve, took another reluctant step back, and reached
for the Black Door.

Alistair moved faster
than Alex would have believed possible. Alex never even saw the kick that
slammed into the side of his right knee, dropping him halfway to the floor and
sending jolts of pain up his leg. Alex caught himself with his hands and then
lurched backward, expecting Alistair to go for his head. The former Auditor
just laughed and watched Alex struggle back up, toying with his knife,
continuing to circle. Alex took a halting step, and then another, trying to
judge how much weight he could put on his injured knee.

It wasn’t good, but it
would have to do.

Alex surged forward,
feinting high and then throwing a low kick at Alistair’s ankle, aiming to slow
his movements or even knock him down. Alistair took a half-step back, ignoring
the feint, and swept the machete down in front of him, dragging the tip across
Alex’s shin. Alex cried out and stumbled back, yielding still more space, his
hand automatically checking the cut on his leg. He glanced downward and saw a
white flash of bone through the severed tissue, and felt a wave of dizziness.
There was no pain, but a great deal of blood, enough to saturate his sock and
dampen the inside of his boot.

Alistair laughed again,
and Alex snuck a look behind him. The wall was less than two meters distant.
Their battle had lasted only a few seconds, and he had already ceded nearly
half the distance he had begun with.

His options were limited.
If Alex attempted to stand his ground, Alistair would carve him up. There was
no way to fall back and defend, not empty-handed against a machete, not facing
the former Chief Auditor.

Alex shifted his stance
and rotated his hips, as if he were setting up for another kick. In the
meantime, he began the implanted routine that would open the Black Door and
activate the Absolute Protocol, intending to freeze the blood in Alistair’s
head solid.

This time he saw the
attack coming, and lifted his uninjured leg to block the low kick that Alistair
threw. He very nearly didn’t see the follow-up attack, a quick swing of the
knife level with Alex’s throat. Without a better option, he thrust his arm in
the path of the machete, stopping it with his forearm. The blade sunk through
the flesh and chipped his radial bone. Alex bit his lip to keep from crying out
and took another step back.

He needed a new idea,
and quickly.

***

“He’s not really trying, you know.
Alistair is depraved. He’s dragging this out to make a point.”

Samnang waited, but
Eerie didn’t say anything in response, watching the fight with wide eyes and a
pale face. The injection that the Far Shores personnel had given her was still
active, the poison quietly spreading through her body. The Changeling could
hardly stand, her skin red and hot with fever.

“Answer the question,
Ériu. Do you like him? Does this boy belong to you?”

Alistair faked an
abdominal stab with the knife and Alex twisted away, taking the full force of
Alistair’s left hook on the side of his jaw. The Anathema laughed cruelly while
the boy struggled back to his feet.

“We don’t have forever,”
Samnang reminded her gently. Alistair lunged at Alex, feinting with the blade
and then striking him with his free hand, a precise blow that splintered Alex’s
collarbone and made him cry out in pain. “Well, I suppose that
we
do. The
boy doesn’t, though.”

***

Alex searched for openings where
there were none. He did his best to ignore the searing pain from his chest,
from what felt like a broken bone when he attempted to move or breathe. He
could force himself into action, but all the strength had left his movements. Alistair’s
stance was casual, but his defense was impeccable. Every attack that Alex tried
was effortlessly dodged or deflected, with a bit more damage dealt out as a
reward. An attempt at a right-left combination earned Alex a knee to the
midsection that knocked him to the ground. A low kick was met with a shin check
that numbed the entirety of his leg. A jab to buy Alex space ended with the
hilt of the knife driven painfully into his elbow, sending pins and needles
down his arm. And his protocol...

“Too slow, Alex!”
Alistair crowed, laughing as Alex stumbled, reeling from a blow to the side of
his head that left his ears ringing. “Your protocol won’t work on me. I don’t
even need to use telepathy to see it coming.”

Alex bought time,
circling with his guard high. Katya had warned him as much – as powerful as the
Absolute Protocol was, it was too slow for use in close combat. Alex could see
no way to gain the space and time to employ it properly without a weapon or
some sort of distraction. He only needed a few seconds, but Alistair knew
exactly what he needed, and kept it frustratingly out of reach. It was nearly
impossible to defeat a telepath in hand-to-hand combat, due solely to their
ability to anticipate attacks and respond accordingly. Alistair was fully
capable of more advanced techniques, as well, including misdirection, blinding,
and even direct telepathic attack.

Alex avoided a wild slash
from the machete in the vicinity of his head, gave up another step, and used the
momentary respite to glance around. There were three or four bodies nearby,
from the fallen Anathema, but only one was close enough for Alex to reach. The
soldier lay sprawled across the elevated perimeter of the room, one arm
dangling over the lip above the sunken floor on which Alex faced Alistair. That
soldier was armed with a type of carbine that Alex didn’t recognize – not an
ideal weapon for close quarters, but better than nothing.

Alex made his play,
feinting as if he were planning to dive for a double-leg takedown, and then
diving for the carbine instead. He felt his fingers close on the barrel.

Then, impossibly, the
front half of his index and middle fingers, along with the whole of his pinkie,
separated from his hand and tumbled to the ground.

The blade pulled back,
streaks of red across the middle. Alex was momentarily fixated, watching the
fragments of his fingers leak and roll on the floor, before the pain hit. Alex
flinched, far too late, clutching his maimed right hand to his chest and crying
out. From the other side of the room, he faintly heard Eerie make an anguished
sound, but it was hard to hear over the sound of the blood rushing in his head.
He glanced at the stumps of his fingers, neatly severed and bleeding profusely,
and thought briefly that he would simply pass out. Alistair’s mocking laughter
brought him back to reality.

“Too bad. You really
need that gun,” Alistair said, chuckling and wiping the machete clean on his
pants. “Care to try again?”

Alex screamed and lunged
for Alistair, meaning to hit him with a shoulder block, knocking him to the
ground, but he collided with nothing but air. Alistair sidestepped the attack
gracefully, passing so close that Alex could see his grin and the knife aimed
for his head. Alex twisted desperately, and the knife passed by his head, the
side of his face going suddenly numb. Then he fell, crashing into the ground,
knocking the air from his chest with his own momentum. His vision blurred, and
he momentarily had trouble making out the small thing lying on the ground
beside him.

Then his vision cleared,
and he wished it hadn’t.

Alex scrambled to his
feet and ran halfway across the room, his uninjured hand clamped to the side of
his head, where his right ear had been.

***

Eerie slid slowly down the wall, body
ravaged and burning with poison, a quiet noise coming from the back of her
throat that sounded almost as if she were choking. Samnang crouched beside her,
putting a hand to her forehead sympathetically.

“You must decide, little
sister.” Samnang inclined her head to whisper in the Changeling’s ear. “Shall I
take him from you?”

“No,” Eerie whispered. “Please
don’t.”

***

Alex was in shock. He knew he was in
shock, because instead of dwelling on the bits of him that were scattered across
the floor of the room, he noticed that his failed rush had at least allowed him
back to the center of the room. As if it mattered. As if this were an actual
fight, and not a protracted massacre.

Alistair was going to
take him apart, piece by piece, Alex realized, in a fit of slowly dawning
horror. And no one was coming to rescue him.

He leapt back up, aware
that he had only made it back to standing because Alistair allowed it. His
opponent laughed and spun the knife around as if he was in a martial arts
movie.

Alex’s anger heated up
again. He decided that if he were going to die here, then it wouldn’t be alone,
or for nothing. He braced himself as best he could and reached for the Black
Door, determined to withstand or ignore whatever Alistair threw at him.

“I think not,” Alistair
said gleefully, lunging forward with the point of the blade.

Alex flinched at the
proximity of the knife, shattering the routine before he could complete it.

Not that it mattered.

The point of the machete
pierced Alex’s right eye.

***

Eerie screamed and tried to stand,
succeeding only in toppling over forward.

Samnang crouched above
her, one arm around Eerie’s shoulders, so to be sure the Changeling heard her.

“Now or never, Ériu.
What will you decide?”

***

Emily emerged from the portal beside
John Parson to the scene of carnage. Alistair stood over Alex in the sunken
center of the room, an enormous blood-covered knife in one hand. Alex was
missing fingers and bleeding from the side of his head, and one of his eyes had
become a well of red that was gradually coating his face.

“Alistair, what are you
doing?” Emily demanded, covering her mouth in shock. “Stop it!”

“Really, Alistair,” John
Parson said gravely, standing aside so that his guard could enter the room. “Such
cruelty is beneath us, as Anathema. I must ask that you cease this barbarity
immediately. This is not part of our plan.”

“Of course. In just one
moment,” Alistair agreed, swinging the machete without bothering to look, embedding
the knife into Alex’s extended leg, the blade driven through his tibia and into
the marrow, fracturing the bone crudely down the middle. Alex made a strange
keening sound and stared blankly at the shards of bone protruding from his skin
while Emily screamed. “I’m very nearly finished, you see.”

“Savagery,” John Parson
said, with obvious distaste. “You disappoint me, Alistair.”