Captain Pacal and his men stared after Flavius, blood splattered and breathing deeply. The wounded groaned and cried from the floor.
“What are you standing around for?” Empress Malinche snapped her fingers and pointed through the shattered window. “After them.”
Pacal nodded and leapt through the shattered window, his squad following after.
Flavius looked up from where he’d fallen and rolled, getting tangled in a thick mass of spiny vines in the process. The drop from the window was only a bit higher than he could reach, but the ropey vegetation that’d cushioned his landing were even better at digging into the skin.
As the militia were finding out first hand.
Flavius tried to stand only to find a vine had managed to wrap around his thigh, holding him down. Every time he moved, the hairy spines gouged a little deeper into his flesh.
“Goddamnit,” he muttered, sawing at it with Memory. The vine parted, but not before giving a fierce constriction. “Yeow!”
He leapt up and kicked his leg free. He found Acaona a short distance away, held fast by a knot of the vines. Flavius could see now they were definitely moving, and not as a result of Acaona’s struggles.
“Lassie, what kind of garden have we landed in?” Flavius demanded as he hacked away at the tendrils coiling around her.
“I don’t know. The gardens along the secure wing are off-limits,” she answered as he pulled her to her feet. The gray-green vines extended perhaps half a stone’s throw from the building, but ran the length of the entire wing. The vegetative mass undulated menacingly in the starlight. “Whatever it is, I think we’ve woken it up.”
A blast of green cuayab fire illuminated the night as a militiaman scoured the ground around him. “Damn bloodnettles are everywhere!” he shouted. “Shit! One’s on my leg!”
“What’d you expect, frothwai blooms? This is the secure wing, you idiot,” another grumbled.
“They’re bloodnettles,” Acaona offered, wincing as Flavius tugged the last tendril from her back. A needlepoint trail of blood blistered up.
“Thanks, but I got that much,” he answered, slashing Memory at a grasping vine. “Can ya burn us a path out of here while I hold off our friends?”
“I dropped the cuayab.”
“Of course ya did. Well, let’s find it.” Flavius turned in time to parry a blow from Captain Pacal. Sparks flew as Memory took another deep bite out of the cuayab. Pacal feinted and jabbed, catching Flavius square in the midsection where the cuayab’s caged fire burned through his shirt into his belly. Flavius backpedaled, his feet sarling among the bloodnettles.
Pacal pressed his sudden advantage, jabbing to keep Flavius off-balance, then raining overhead blows upon him. Flavius warded off the attack with Memory, the sword taking bigger and bigger bites from the cuayab.
Abruptly, the cuayab stuck.
Cage broken and split, braided staff spitting fire from a dozen fissures, the cuayab had embedded mid-blade on Memory, stuck fast. Arms throbbing, Flavius pulled Memory back, jerking the cuayab from Pacal’s hands.
“I’ve just about had my fill of ya,” Flavius said, raising his sword.
Three militiamen charged before Flavius could strike Pacal. Cursing, Flavius swung Memory in broad, deadly strokes. Now unconfined by the narrow apartment, Memory’s reach was a good foot better than the cuayabs, and he pressed his advantage. The impaled cuayab was like a lead weight on the sword, though. It also proved to be a convenient target for the militia, who chose to block at it rather than Memory directly lest their cuayabs end up impaled as well. With every crunching blow, the mangled cuayab spouted more spark and flame.
The bloodnettles continued grasping at his ankles.
“Flavius! I’ve found it!” Acaona shouted, loosing a well-aimed emerald burst at a knot bloodnettles reaching for her legs.
“Brilliant! Burn us a path out of this gorse patch!”
Two militia swung their cuayabs simultaneously. Flavius blocked them, but the shock proved too much for the battered cuayab. The cage broke away completely. Fire erupted from the open end uncontrollably.
“Fall back!” ordered Captain Pacal. “All militia fall back and take cover! The cuayab’s going to blow.”
“These things explode?” Flavius asked accusingly of Acaona.
“How should I know?” Acaona shot back. “I’m Sajal, not militia!”
The fire and smoke belching from the cuayab wreathed Memory in a swirling inferno. Flavius’ hands blistered.
“Come on, Memory, let’s be rid of this faggot, eh?” Flavius whispered. He swung the sword at arm’s length, once, twice, then abruptly pulled back at the apex of the arc. The cuayab slid neatly off the end of the sword.
The spitting missile sailed over the scattering militia and through the shattered apartment window. The window where Empress Malinche, Papantzin and the two militia bodyguards had gathered to watch the melee.
Friday, March 27, 2009
MEMORY: 35
Thursday, March 19, 2009
MEMORY: 34
“They can’t understand you,” Acaona said.
“What’re ya getting on about?” muttered Flavius.
“They’re not nobles, they’re militia,” Acaona said, as if the simple statement was as obvious an explanation as anyone would need. Flavius’ baffled stare drew a sigh from her.
“Only nobility in the Eternal Dominion are gene-grafted with a linguistics lobe, dear Flavius,” Empress Malinche offered helpfully, her cool composure recovered with the arrival of the militia. “The expense and effort would be squandered on them, after all. The only times they venture Otherwhere their purpose is to destroy the enemies of the Eternal Dominion, not have a nice chat. This keeps things simplified, don’t you think?”
“Oh. Right,” muttered Flavius, casting an annoyed look at Memory. “I ken that.”
“Your Imperial Majesty can understand that croaking noise?” the militia captain asked suspiciously.
“After a fashion, Captain...?” Malinche answered absently.
“Pacal. Captain Pacal,” he answered uneasily, unaccustomed to imperial attention. “If Your Imperial Majesty will allow, these two men will escort you to safety.”
The Empress considered the suggestion. “No, I prefer to stay and watch.”
“You Imp--” Captain Pacal began, but a sharp look from Empress Malinche silenced him.
“Now, as this diversion has continued far too long, you and your men will bind and escort the lesser sentient to the Imperial wing under guard. I expect he’ll resist, but I don’t want him injured.”
“Uninjured? But... he’s got a sword, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“You may bludgeon him then, if you must. But no open flame,” Empress Malinche allowed. “Feel free to bludgeon the Sajal, too, while you’re at it.”
The braided cages at the end of the militiamen’s cuayabs flared with a menacing green glow. Two men took up guard positions on either side of the Empress as Captain Pacal and three other men spread out, shoulder-to-shoulder in the narrow apartment, warily stalking toward Flavius. As soon as there was room, four more entered to form a second rank.
Flavius backed away from Papantzin, who’d recovered enough to drag herself toward the Empress. Acaona slipped close behind Flavius, clutching his pack tightly.
“What are we going to do, Flavius?”
“Exit through the window there, lass, that’s what we’re going to do.” Flavius swung Memory, a sudden powerful blow that rattled the window.
The glass remained intact.
“This is the secure wing. The walls and windows are blast resistant,” Acaona said. “Didn’t you know?”
Flavius mouthed a silent curse, then lowered his head to hers. “Look to yerself, lass. It’s likely to get a mite rough.” Before Acaona could question him, Flavius hoisted Memory and charged the militia with a full-blown highlander scream.
Flavius swung Memory at Captain Pacal. The captain blocked with his cuayab. Memory bit into the cuayab with a metallic snap. Emerald sparks flared from the cage. Flavius swung Memory back to the right, parrying a blow from another militiaman.
“Mind your weapons! He’s got some sort of enchantment on his blade!” shouted Pacal, jabbing his cuayab at Flavius. Tiny wisps of flame escaped from the gouge in the braided body.
One was a split second too slow bringing his cuayab up. Memory split his chest open. In that instant, another militiaman saw his opening and jabbed his cuayab into Flavius’ back. Flavius cried out as the cage burned through his shirt and into flesh. Instinctively he lashed out, Memory severing the legs of his attacker below the knees.
“Get him surrounded! Press him! Press him!” Urgency drove Pacal’s orders now as the remainder of the squad pressed into the room. A dozen men total, the narrowness of the room that hampered Flavius’ full use of the long claymore also served to keep the militia’s superior numbers bottled up near the door.
As more sparks and flame shot from his damaged cuayab, Pacal adjusted his grip so the gouge faced away from him. As he did so, he pressed the side of his helmet. “Request immediate reinforcements, secure wing. Everything you’ve got. What? I don’t give a damn about any emergency you’ve got! Her Imperial Majesty is here! Reinforcements. Now!”
“Look lively, lass,” Flavius said, kicking a dead militiaman’s cuayab to Acaona.
As Acaona reached for it, another strong tremor shook the palace. A sudden, loud pop followed. She looked up. Several large fissures radiated out from the center of the window.
“Flavius!”
“Cannae it wait?” Flavius shouted back, blood and sweat streaking his face. “I’m a wee bit busy.”
“The window!”
Flavius sliced open the chest of another militiaman, then hazarded a quick glance. “Oh!”
More fissures appeared, spreading like spiderweb across the window. Acaona grabbed up the cuayab with both hands, swinging it into the window. The window shattered. A million shards of glass skittered across the floor.
“Brilliant!” Flavius shouted, a broad grin on his face. Glass crunched under his boots. “Now, if ya’d got yerself dressed when I told ya, I wouldnae have to do this.” He grabbed Acaona with his free arm, heaving her nude body over his shoulder. He bare feet kicked in the air. “Got a strong grip on my pack there?”
“I’ve got it. Ow! I’ve got it already!”
“I just dinnae want ya to drop it when we jump.” Flavius took two quick steps to the shattered window, and with a great lunge, threw himself and Acaona through.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Holy moly! A year already?
For those of you who missed it, we're also a week shy of the anniversary of my first (and thus far only) interview with one of the two leads in the story, Flavius MacDuff. The interview didn't go quite as I'd expected, which puts it on footing quite similar to Memory itself. Enjoy.
MEMORY: 33
Papantzin slapped the flat of the blade away. Her kick to the chest sent Flavius sprawling. Immediately she turned back to Anacaona, a reed-thin stiletto glinting wickedly in her hand.
Anacaona scrambled away, stumbling over the corner of the bed. She fell hard onto the small pile of her clothes on the floor.
“Damn ya for losing focus, ya git,” Flavius gasped from the floor where he’d fallen. He still held Memory--thank goodness--but his chest burned like fire where she’d kicked him and it felt as if all his ribs were pulling loose as he tried to get up. “She’s nae just some stuck-up handmaiden. Ach! Damn, but she kicks like a mule!”
Papantzin moved quickly and fluidly to Anacaona. She bent over the fallen Sajal, stiletto poised for the killing stroke--
A burst of green flashed, flinging Papantzin away.
Anacaona sat up, a miniature cuayab glowing in her hand.
“What the hell is that?” Flavius managed, glancing over at Papantzin, who lay moaning--and smoking--in the middle of the floor. Empress Malinche stood frozen in place, disbelief and outrage battling for supremacy on her face.
“Palm cuayab. Nobility of Sajal rank and higher are entitled to carry one for personal protection. What? I keep it in my belt pouch,” Anacaona said, staring down at Papantzin with loathing. “They’re not powerful enough to more than stun. Unfortunately.”
Papantzin grunted and propped herself up on her elbows. Flavius quickly directed the sharp tip of Memory menacingly above her chest.
“Ah! That’ll be far enough, I’m thinking,” he said. “I’m nae squeamish about bloodying a lass, or even ya, Papantzin, but I’ll be letting ya live out of respect for my deep, meaningful relationship with yer Empress. We had some good times, didn’t we Malinche?”
The Empress’ disbelief and outrage had compromised to express themselves via a disapproving scowl. “This joke has lost all humor. Sajal, you will help Papantzin up and then accompany her to your suite where she will administer atonement. Flavius will accompany me to the Imperial wing.”
“I ken yer having a wholly different conversation than the rest of us,” Flavius said, staring at the Empress in exasperation. “Right then. Anacaona, whatever’s in the wardrobe, fit it in my pack there. Hand me my sporran, too, when ya get a chance. Hurry now, lass, be quick about it.”
“Have you made up your mind, then?” Anacaona asked as she stuffed Flavius’ few possessions into the much-abused pack. “About my traveling otherwhere with you?”
“Dinnae be a git. Of course yer coming with me. On one condition-- I have to have yer solemn promise yer going to let me sleep at least a week before we finish our business.”
“Yes! Yes!”
“And lass, much as it pains me to say this, ya’d better put yer clothes back on. The Nexus of All Realities is nae place to be flouncing around starkers.”
The room shook suddenly, an unnerving lurch just strong enough to throw Flavius off-balance.
Papantzin reacted, rolling to the side as Memory wavered. She came up thrusting her stiletto. Flavius pivoted, dodging the blade. His momentum carried Memory around, catching Papantzin’s knuckles. She cried out. Blood flew across the room, streaking Anacaona’s breasts scarlet. The stiletto clattered to the floor, along with splattering drops of blood.
“You moved as quickly as she did,” Anacaona said, eyes wide. “Your skill in disarming her--”
“Skill, hell. I was aiming to lop off her goddamned head!” Flavius kicked the bloody stiletto to Anacaona while keeping Memory trained on Papantzin. Anacaona snatched it up. Flavius tried staring Papantzin down with a murderous glare, but she returned it with equal ferocity as she cradled her bloody hand. Finally, he gave up. “Anacaona, that shake we just felt--that something happens often around here?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“Yer Imperial Majesty...?”
“The Palace of Un-pic Ja’ab has the most advanced inertial dampers in forty cosms,” Empress Malinche said proudly. “It does not shake.”
“Then just what--” Flavius jabbed Memory at the Empress for emphasis, “--do ya call that belly-knotting jitter what came through a moment ago and made the room go all wobbly, eh?”
The door to the room opened. A squad of Eternal Militiamen stood outside in the hall.
“Your Imperial Majesty, a situation has...” the commander trailed off, dumbstruck by the scene before him. The sounds of alarms drifted in from the hall.
Flavius looked at the Militiamen, then at Memory, pointed directly at the Empress. He closed his eyes. “Bugger me,” he muttered under his breath. Quickly he directed Memory away from the Empress, back toward Papantzin.
“Lads, it’s nae what it looks like,” he said, forcing a smile. “I was just having a chat with Her Imperial Majesty, that’s all. It was Papantzin I was having a wee row with.”
The commander’s eyes, if possible, got even wider at the sight of Papantzin’s blood everywhere.
“Damnit man, I ken what yer thinking, and it’s nae like that. She tried to kill me first. Ask Sajal Acaona--” For the first time, Flavius noticed the blood streaking her naked body. “Oh, Goddamn it all to hell. I’m nae getting out of here without a fight, am I?”
Friday, January 30, 2009
MEMORY: 32
“Well,” said Flavius after an uncomfortably long pause. “Bit of water under the bridge since I’ve last been seeing you, eh? How’s life been treating you, then?”
“It is as you feared, Your Imperial Majesty,” Papantzin said, ignoring Flavius. “The Sajal has debased herself with the lesser-sentient.”
“If Your Imperial Majesty would--” Anacaona began, but the Empress Malinche raised a hand, cutting her off as she entered the room, closing the door behind her.
“I’ve never entirely grasped how it is that the imperial cousins are always so eager to bring scandal down upon themselves with this impure fixation on... beastiality,” Empress Malinche said easily as she walked over to Flavius.
“Disgraceful,” muttered Papantzin.
“Hold on, now,” protested Flavius. “Nae need to talk that way about me! I have seen ya starkers, after all. And a whole lot more that I cannae remember...”
“His Imperial Majesty said you had no memory of the affair,” gasped Anacaona in surprise.
“People don’t always tell the whole truth, now, do they?”
Empress Malinche stepped in front of Flavius, so close he had to stop himself from flinching back. Her manner was light, but he could almost feel the heat of her rage lurking beneath the surface. The Empress examined his erection with pursed lips, then ran her hand across his chest. It came away glittering with a dusty sheen. “Oh my. This is most distressing. You’ve shed your passion all over him, Sajal...”
“Anacaona,” Anacaona said. “Your Imperial Majesty knows very well who I am, third cousin--”
“Debased Sajal should know to hold their tongues in the presence of Her Imperial Majesty,” Papantzin said.
“Gently, dear Papantzin. Sajal Anacaona is obviously beholden to her more primitive urges. We mustn’t judge her too harshly. This defect sometimes manifests itself among the distant cousins where noble blood runs thin,” Empress Malinche said, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together thoughtfully. “The only decent thing to do is to protect her from herself. Tell me, Papantzin, do we know of any likely candidates for a union?”
“Nu’n Huyng comes to mind,” Papantzin answered.
“Ah! Perfect! Nu’n and Sajal always do make exceptional marriage pairings. Their unions are always so vigorous.”
“No,” Anacaona said, eyes wide. “You can’t do this. You can’t condemn me!”
“Anacaona, think of this as an act of Imperial generosity,” Empress Malinche said gently. “Think of the scandal. You’ve irredeemably tainted yourself. What citizen in the Eternal Dominion would consent to union with you after you’ve spread your sheen all over this lesser sentient?”
”His corpse fucking glowed when they dragged it out of your bedchamber!”
Silence descended like a vacuum, sucking all the air out of the room.
“You... you...” stammered Papantzin finally, “dare to slander Her Imperial Majesty so? In front of the lesser sentient? The penalty for those words is--”
“Death?” Anacaona offered. The Sajal was trembling, but uncowed. “Her Imperial Majesty has already given me a death sentence should she follow through on her threat to force my union with Nu’n Huyng. I wonder what the unfortunate Nu’n has done to earn her disfavor?”
Papantzin struck quickly. Flavius jumped in surprise. Anacaona lay on the floor, bleeding from a nasty gash running from her cheekbone up to her scalp. Flavius eyed Papantzin warily. The handmaiden had moved so fast he hadn’t seen the blow land. The notion crept into his mind that she might be somewhat more than a mere handmaiden.
“Hoo! Nae need to be getting rough on my account,” Flavius said, easing on his kilt. Not an easy task, unwilling as he was to unbuckle his swordbelt to do so. “Why dinnae we sit down and discuss this over a pint?”
“An interesting suggestion, friend Flavius, although I don’t believe the Sajal will be joining us,” Empress Malinche said, rubbing Flavius’ bare shoulder with her over-jointed fingers. He pulled on his shirt then, using it as an excuse to slip from her grasp. “She has overstepped herself by a wide margin, and needs time alone to contemplate her transgression.”
“She means I get a knife in the back and a toss over the side of the palace walls,” Anacaona said, wiping her bloody cheek. “She can’t stand it that I bedded you out from under her.”
Papantzin hit her again, a lightning strike to the opposite side of Anacaona’s face. Anacaona cried out.
“Hey!” Flavius shouted, and lunged to interpose himself between the two. In an instant, he found Papantzin’s hand at his throat, holding him with more force than he’d thought possible.
“Flavius, take me with you,” Anacaona pleaded as she used the bed to push herself to her feet. Blood streamed down both cheeks now. “She won’t kill me in front of you, because she still wants you in her bed. But I’m dead the moment we separate. Please, let me travel otherwhere with you.”
“Friend Flavius, do you really take us to be so barbaric?” Empress Malinche said.
Flavius managed a strangled wheeze in response.
“Oh, yes. Papantzin, let him go.”
Papantzin released her grip, and Flavius took a staggered step back, rubbing his throat.
“Her venomous attacks on my person must not go unanswered, but all justice is even-handed and well-considered. Papantzin will escort the Sajal back to her suite while you come with me to the Imperial wing. I’ll show you we really are a genteel and loving people.”
“She’s jealous and selfish and loathsome,” Anacaona said. “It’s not enough that she had you to herself for four days last time, she has to possess you again this time as well.”
Papantzin moved to strike Anacaona again, but this time Flavius was ready. In an instant, Memory came unsheathed, its gleaming edge interposed itself between the women.
“There now,” Flavius said. “Nae need to punctuate everything with fisticuffs, eh? As I was saying before-- Wait, did ya say four days?”
“Do not--” began Empress Malinche.
“Four days. Give or take,” Anacaona said, matter of factly. “Then they tossed your body over the wall.”
“That’s nae how I heard it,” Flavius muttered.
“I’ve tried to be tolerant, but your insolence...” fumed Empress Malinche. “You should not have bedded Flavius.”
“It’s not like you left me many alternatives, Your Imperial Majesty,” Anacaona shot back. “You’re the one who had all the peq castrated, after all.”
“Whoa there! I dinnae need to hear that.”
Empress Malinche closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Just so,” she said softly. “Papantzin, kill the Sajal.”