Shadow Heart (48 page)

But there was also beauty...an immense presence of something she could not explain, almost like a conscious force breathing life into this world of wonders.
God
, was the word that came first to her mind, something she had contemplated academically but never something she had experienced. Religion of any kind was forbidden by the World System, of course, and she had never really understood why people would be willing to die rather than give up notions of a fairy in the sky.

Feeling that force, whatever it was, she realized that she might have tapped into something bigger than she had ever imagined. The notion of a sky fairy was silly because of what it conjured in the mind. But this was nothing like that...it was ethereal, mysterious, and powerful; unseen but undeniable. To think of the consciousness behind something so enormous...it made her feel small, like a grain of sand before the crash of a mighty wave.

She passed through several of the Corridor's farms, barren now in the winter, and then some factories that appeared abandoned. She had not seen a single person now for more than an hour. Were they hiding? Had they fled the battle that would surely come? Perhaps Grace had taken them into the city proper for protection. Or perhaps Van Dorn had presided over something more nefarious.

Something changed in the air, an unnatural quiet as if the world around her had decided to hold its breath. Barley felt it, too, for his trot slowed to just a walk, and then he came to a complete stop. Liz looked around and felt the hair on the back of her neck rise with fear. It was that same sense she had felt when being tracked by the lions, though this time she was certain she was being stalked by a much worse kind of predator.

They had stopped in the middle of a barren field, with not a soul in sight. A ramshackle farmhouse stood—leaned, more like—at the edge of the field directly ahead, as quiet as all the rest she had passed. The river ran close here, as this was one of several places where the Solithium fence passed into the water. The fence would eventually drive her into a wedge and force her back onto the road to cross the nearest bridge.

That meant there was little room for her to go around the farmhouse, which was the only place in her line of sight where a threat might hide. It was also the perfect place for Van Dorn to place a patrol to prevent someone like herself from ranging too far north. And it was still too far away for her to go the rest of the way on foot. Sneaking up to the farmhouse and making sure it was clear would take too much time, not to mention the lack of cover.

She had no choice but to go on.

An explosion behind her removed the element of choice, as Barley took off at full speed. Liz looked back in time to see the scorched earth fall back to the ground, a crater nearly two meters wide just visible through the smoke.
What was that? An IED? A missile?

Her answer came as a shadow moved on the farmhouse porch, and another rocket screamed toward them. It shot wide and continued on until it detonated against the Solithium barrier. “Go, boy!” She urged Barley on. “You can do this!”

They picked up speed and came parallel with the farmhouse—where they would be in the most danger—and Liz drew her sidearm. She squeezed off four rounds in the shadow's direction to send him diving for cover, and angled Barley as best she could toward the tall grass that lay beyond the house all the way to the shore of the river. It would provide some protection, but not much.

Her cover fire must have worked, for no more rockets streamed from the house. Likely her assailants were regrouping and trying to adjust their vantage. With any luck, by then she would be—

A crack rent the air like a bolt of lightning, and her world descended into chaos. Barley tumbled and then collapsed beneath her, his nose crashing to the ground in a shower of dirt and grass. The force threw her from his back, and if not for instinct and training she might have emerged with a broken neck. Her hands hit first, and in that instant she was able to right herself enough to shift into a roll. Pain shot through her wounded shoulder, and the wind was knocked out of her as she hit, but she would live—for a few more minutes, at least.

She stared up at the sky from her back, tendrils of grass reaching up all around her. She would be concealed, now, but they would be coming. She needed to move. Rolling over with some difficulty, Liz looked back to where Barley lay, his breathing labored and blood staining the side of his neck.
No, no, no
... Against her better judgment she crawled over to him, placed a hand on his head, and stroked his mane softly. “I'm sorry, buddy,” she whispered as she held back tears. “I'm so sorry.”

It was a bullet wound in his neck, the kind of shot only a sniper could have made. She waited there for several seconds, knowing she should go but reluctant to leave the animal alone. He just watched her with sad, resigned eyes. And then, he stopped breathing. He was gone.

Liz leaned forward to kiss the animal, then pushed herself back to her feet. Blood and dust now filled her vision, dismantling the image of peace and tranquility she had observed only moments before. And with that peace had gone a friend. An animal, yes, but a friend nonetheless. She would mourn him as such, if she made it out of this.

She turned toward the river and limped through the tall grass. If she could only reach the bridge, then she still had a chance. Maybe she could even swim across.

A bullet kicked up dirt just in front of her, and she sprinted left, crouching down in some thicker growth. Shouts rang out behind her, though she couldn't make out any words. If she stayed put, they would find her.

Liz took off again, and as soon as she did another bullet screamed past her, this time just grazing the cloth of her jacket. The sniper did not have a clear shot at her, but was tracking her by the movement of the grass. Smart. But that meant she could not stop. She needed to make it to the river.

More bullets whizzed by, one so close she felt the disturbance of air right by her ear. But there was also another sound: that of running water. She was almost there.

She felt the pain before she heard the shot, and her leg gave out beneath her, the sound of the bullet echoing off the sky as she crashed to the dirt. After a failed attempt to rise, she drug herself forward several feet until the grass gave way to the open air just beside the bank of the river. She might not be able to put enough weight on her leg to walk, but she could probably swim.

Boots crushing the grass underscored the importance of time, and rather than crawl the rest of the way, she turned and rolled down the bank. Rocks dug into the exposed skin on her hands and face, but her shoulder took the worst of it. She bit her tongue to prevent herself from crying out and giving away her position, which only served to create more pain.

Her maneuver ended prematurely as she hit something large and soft right next to the water. She sat up to see what had thwarted her and immediately pushed herself away.

A body. Dead for at least a day.

She gazed to the right and could not hold back a gasp. Three more bodies lay along the shoreline, two of them smaller than the other. The farmer who had tended this land, and his family. The children could not have been older than ten. They must have seen the patrol coming and had the same idea to swim to safety.

A deep well of sadness and anger sprang up in her chest, overwhelming now with the loss of Barley and the tragedy on display before her. She did not want to escape. What had she been doing, running from these sadistic bastards? Some men just deserved to die.

Liz recalled that vision of Grace, standing like a goddess among her fleeing people, and drew her Gladius.
Ignis
came to life in her hand, and she used it as a cane to steady her wounded leg. Once she managed to stand, she unholstered her sidearm and aimed it in the direction of her oncoming foes.

The first one bounded out of the grass without a care in the world, no doubt emboldened by the ease with which they had killed the farmer and his family. She dropped him with a single bullet to the head. The shouted curses of his compatriots replaced their thoughtless march, and Liz followed the direction of the sound until she perceived movement in the grass. She fired again and heard the body drop. It did not rise again.

Quiet returned, so much more potent than before, punctuated only by the rhythmic sounds of water lapping against the shore. Anticipation hung on the air like a drawn breath, for she knew there was at least one more man out there in the grass. Another crack sounded and she jolted back, tripping over the body of the farmer as she did so. Her sidearm went flying into the river with a splash, and her Gladius remained planted in the bank, for the moment out of reach. She rolled off the body with a groan and held tight to her arm, already dripping red onto the ground.
Seems I must bleed everywhere I go
, she thought dryly.

Her assailant emerged from the grass before she could attempt to retrieve her Gladius, the long barrel of his sniper rifle pointed leisurely at the ground. He knew she was beaten.

Liz laid her head back on the ground and took in the wide blue sky. She knew, too. But in all the times she had nearly died, this was the first where she could say it might have meant something, that she would die serving something greater than herself. Her mission was an abject failure, but at least she would die because of the choices she had made on her own. She was no one’s puppet. Not Sullivan’s, not the MWR’s, not even Grace’s.

She would die free.

“You killed my horse,” she said absently. Even her words seemed far away.

“I’m going to kill you,” came the reply. “Doesn’t that give you greater concern?”

Not really
. With her unwounded arm Liz drew the knife at her belt and let it fly. Had she been at the top of her game or not on her back it might have lodged in the shooter’s neck. But, as it was, she was a little off. It pierced his shoulder instead.

The soldier cried out in pain and anger as he staggered back. He ripped the knife from his shoulder with another angry groan and tossed it aside. Liz just looked up at him and smiled, which only increased his rage. He raised his rifle, and she closed her eyes, preparing for the final plunge. “You’ll pay for that, you little—.”

Little? Little what?

Liz cracked one eye open, and then both shot wide. A blade protruded from the shooter’s chest, long and curved, shimmering with the light of diamond armor: a Spectral Scimitar. She sat up and scooted away until her hand dipped in the cold current of the river.

The owner of the scimitar withdrew the weapon from its victim and let his body fall lifeless to the dirt, giving Liz a clear view of the Persian. He surveyed her critically, and then moved forward. His gold armor clicked as he walked, and the breeze off the water ruffled the plume that protruded from that ridiculous-looking helmet. Well, ridiculous and terrifying.

“You were the one we saw on the road,” he said in a thick accent. “The one with the golden hair. Where is the other? The one who was with you?”

“Uh…” Liz struggled to comprehend the moment. Was this a moment for awe, meeting someone up close who had supposedly been relegated to legend? Or was it one for fear, for the nightmare that those legends had unleashed? “Who?”

“Where is Grace Sawyer?”

With that question reality crashed back down on her. So, Grace had been right all along. The Persians were here for Silent Thunder. And whatever they wanted, Liz doubted Silent Thunder would get away unscathed.

“I’ll never tell you anything. You’ll just have to kill me.”

One corner of the Persian’s mouth turned up in a sly grin. “Maybe. Maybe not. The commander will decide.”

Liz shifted her gaze back to the grass, expecting more Persians to emerge, but the man's eyes were behind her, on the river. She turned to see what held his attention. Were the rest of them on the opposite bank?

A disturbance in the water caught her eye, only a ripple at first but growing in intensity. A shadow moved beneath it, a black mass distorted by the shifting light. She turned around—against her better judgment, with her back to the Persian—just as the surface broke, and a man armored in black exploded out of the river like some mythical creature emerging from the depths. More came behind him, some in black and others in gold, water streaming down their armor and what bare skin she could see. Fifty of them, maybe more.

Whatever happened with Van Dorn now, it might not even matter, for the Persians had arrived to take their revenge.

The boot of the first black-clad warrior hit the bank, and he spoke through a speaker on his helmet, making his voice sound mechanical and inhuman, “Well done, Shahzad. What have we here?”

“Elizabeth Aurora. She
was
the one we saw with Sawyer, just as you thought.”

The black-clad warrior stared at her in silence for a few moments, contemplating behind the opaque visor that masked his face. “Aurora. Strange to find you here, so far from the Imperial Guard.”

“I don’t serve the Emperor any more.”

“So I gathered,” the warrior closed the distance between them and knelt in front of her. “You were with Grace Sawyer in the Wilderness. Where is she now?”

“Won’t talk,” the man called Shahzad said from behind her. “Says we might as well kill her.”

“You would die rather than give her up?” the warrior tilted his head. “Curious. But perhaps it makes no difference. You were riding north, which means you likely came from Corridor Prime. We will go south, and we will find her there.”

“What do you want with her?”

The warrior snorted, which translated into a burst of static, “While your concern is endearing, your history suggests you are in this for your own personal gain. So I guess the question really is: what do
you
want with her?”

Liz gazed long and hard at the man, frustrated that she could not see his face or even gauge the inflections in his voice. The helmet just made him sound callous and cruel, and all she got in return for her stare was her own haggard face reflected in his visor. “You don’t have to do this,” she said. “Let me go back to her. Negotiate a truce.”