The Zombie Knight Saga 38 Xxxvi. | 'O, Restless Ones...'

"This car is stolen by the way," said Colt, eyes on the road. "We'll have to get a replacement soon. Maybe we can find you a new bike, too."

Hector frowned. "I'd, uh... I'd rather not steal anything..."

"Most thieves would probably say the same thing, y'know. And besides--you telling me that bike wasn't stolen?"

"It was a gift."

"Right."

They pa.s.sed through Reese, Norca, and stopped in Rizo for a day, briefly debating crossing the AtreyRendon border. Hector and Garovel demonstrated their resolve to stay in Atreya, and Colt and Bohwanox soon acquiesced. They headed toward Klein next, taking their time in Battonburg and Tulma. Colt was adamant about maintaining a full stock of supplies.

All the while, Hector and Colt held thrice daily training sessions--two for sparring, one for meditation, the latter of which Colt absolutely despised. Though in all honestly, Hector wasn't enjoying them as much as before, either. Any long period of silence left him unsettled. Whenever he tried to relax his mind, it became all too easy to remember everything that had happened. Nathan. Micah. Dad. It varied from day to day, which of those three hurt the most. Sometimes, it was difficult to remember if he had even been able to protect anyone at all.

Sleep became difficult, as well. Hector often stayed up with the reapers to watch the kids sleep, catch up on news, or just practice creating metal.

They found a vacant warehouse on the outskirts of Klein and, after exploring the place thoroughly, decided to squat in it for a while. Apart from being a steady drain on funds, motels were always a bit chancy with all the people around.

"Maybe we should get the cops to kill us," said Colt.

Everyone gave him a look.

"No, listen. We go down in a hail of bullets, let them confirm everything and bury us, and then you two resurrect us. If we do it right, then all this heat will completely die down, yeah?"

'What do we do with the kids while you're dead?' said Bohwanox.

"We can take turns." Colt looked at Hector. "I can trust you to take care of them for a few days, right?"

"Of course, but..."

"But what?"

'It might make a difference for you and Bohwanox,' said Garovel, 'but for Hector and me, it wouldn't really matter. It's not like we'd go live off the grid somewhere afterward.'

Colt gave a sideways nod. "Hmm."

'Even if we do your plan, Hector's just gonna end up drawing attention to himself again. The police would still come after us. They'd just be really confused about it. In fact, it'd probably draw even more attention to Hector. From truly dangerous people.'

"I see your point."

"And besides, uh... I, ah..."

"Mm?"

Hector scratched his brow. "I don't want my mom to believe I'm dead... unless, y'know... I actually am."

"Fair enough, I suppose."

'But if you two wanna do that, it's your call, of course. I'd ask you to wait until we're ready to part ways, though. Otherwise, we might accidentally ruin your cover by leading the police back to you.'

Bohwanox eyed them both. 'You are going to start fighting crime in Klein, now?'

'Of course. It's also a good way for Hector to train.'

'You will only alert the police to our location again.'

'Probably. Be ready to leave in a hurry when we get back.'

And despite Bohwanox's displeasure, Hector and Garovel soon ventured out into the city. Without a motorcycle, it was slow going. Hector remembered this feeling of having to run everywhere. He didn't mind it terribly, but he could have done without all the sweat.

It was a long night, but Garovel found him plenty to do. Klein's criminal element seemed no less active than Brighton's, but the highlight of the evening was when Garovel stumbled upon an imminent murder--made clear to the reaper by the aura of death surrounding the would-be victim.

Rather than simply coating the attacker in metal, Hector decided to try something more elaborate. First, he stomped down the door to the apartment and then forced himself between the two. He earned a hatchet in the chest for his trouble. His lack of concern for it, however, brought the altercation to an abrupt standstill, and he seized the opportunity.

Metal gathered around the attacker's torso, acc.u.mulating and crawling all over the man's skin like a million fleas before two cylinders took form, one for each arm, with iron rungs binding them together. Gray dust extended down his back and stomach, completing a kind of straitjacket.

It wasn't the most impressive thing in the world, he supposed, but it was certainly one of the more intricate things he had created. And though not altogether intentional, he had added little protrusions from the neck down. They served no function, and for a moment, he wondered why he even put them there. Then he realized that he had unconsciously mimicked a straitjacket's b.u.t.tons.

After the a.s.saulted woman called the police, Hector turned to leave, but Garovel made him wait around a bit longer.

'Just being diligent,' the reaper said. 'We don't actually know why this guy attacked her.'

'Does it matter?'

Garovel shrugged. 'We're uninformed intruders in this situation. For all we know, she could suddenly decide to kill him after we're gone.'

'You think so?'
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'No. But that's not the point. We're making a.s.sumptions about the situation which are PROBABLY correct, but let's at least wait until we hear sirens before leaving, eh? Better safe than sorry, y'know.'

'Hmm. Alright.'

Sirens soon arrived as expected, however, and Hector took his leave.

His mind returned to those unintended b.u.t.tons again. They'd seemed like a minor thing, just a collective error on his part. But as he thought about it, he began to understand; they were not an error. If anything they were the opposite. They were extra. He'd created something which had more to it than expected.

And that had never happened before.

Hector's creations had always been underachieved approximations. Unless he stopped and concentrated hard for several minutes, he could never make anything more than a crude outline of what was in his head. But this was evidence of a change, evidence that his power had grown stronger than perhaps he thought. A frightening thought, in a way... but honestly, he found it more exciting than anything, as if his iron was now stronger than he was. And if that were true, then he only need catch up to it.

He wanted to try again. More elaborate still. Once they'd returned to the warehouse, he set to work. The rear sandlot provided ample s.p.a.ce for just about anything he wanted to try, and the tall fences, weathered as they were, would ensure privacy.

His imagination ran wild with the possibilities. "What should I try to make?"

'I'm not even sure how powerful you've become,' said Garovel. 'Why not try for something really outrageous? Something you don't even think you can do, that is. Establish an upper limit, then work backwards to find where your ability caps out.'

"Hmm... uhh... Oh, how about a catapult? You think?"

'I was gonna suggest an orbital satellite, but whatever.'

He took a deep breath. He imagined a catapult in his head--or at least something that seemed like a catapult--and then pressed his gloves to the sand.

A slew of metal pillars shot up together. They clanged together, trying to connect with one another and failing, and then fell over in a noisy heap.

'Huh. Well, that was underwhelming.'

"I don't... think that was my power's fault..."

'Hmm?'

"I just... umm... I thought it was simple, but... I don't really know how a catapult works, to be honest..."

Garovel stared at him a moment. And then burst out laughing. 'Great! Real smart, Hector!'

He flushed with embarra.s.sment but couldn't help smiling a little. "I thought if I just imagined a catapult-shaped... thing, then it'd just kind of appear, but--agh, stop laughing!"

'I understand what you were thinking,' said Garovel. 'But no, that's not the way it works. If you wanna create a machine--or any complex structure for that matter--then you have to know all the parts of it, as well as where they go. Essentially, a blueprint in your head.'

"d.a.m.n..."

'And you should probably know how each piece functions as part of the whole.'

"Yeah, okay..."

'Also, a basic understanding of how the f.u.c.king thing works in the first place might be helpful.'

"I get it, geez..."

'I can tell you all about catapults, actually. You've got the ballista and the springald and mangonel, but those all need rope or twine to operate. Maybe you could figure a creative solution around that, but you're probably better off going for a trebuchet. Then again, a really good trebuchet would use a sling AND a counterweight, which could be problematic, but hey, if this is just for practice, then what does it matter, right?'

"Uh. Th-that's nice, but I don't, um..."

'Yeah. Not very helpful without diagrams to look at. We can go find a library tomorrow, if you like. I'm sure they'd have plenty of useful reference books, catapults or no.'

"Guess I should..."

'In the meantime, though, why don't you try to make something that you actually have a proper idea about?'

"Right." He decided to go for something he'd practiced before. He held his gloved hands up in front of himself and concentrated. The metal gathered quickly and took form--the exact form, this time--and to his surprise, the gauntlets were completed in a fraction of the previous time.

'Wow,' said Garovel. 'That used to take you fifteen minutes, but just now--that couldn't have been more than thirty seconds.'

Hector waved his arms to see if the metal plates stayed linked together. They did. He added pointed fingertips, stubby metal claws. He grinned.

'I am sufficiently impressed. But also curious. C'mon. What else can you do?'

Hector spent the rest of the night and morning practicing--or perhaps, playing--with metal. He made a sphere without any trouble, growing it into a wrecking ball. He hollowed it out, rendering it a mere wireframe, and climbed inside, wondering if he could push it around like some kind of giant hamster ball. The frame was not structurally sound, however, and collapsed on top of him.

He also made a dome over the entire sandlot, which seemed to impress Garovel, especially when Hector demonstrated that he could empower it with his soul so that the reaper couldn't phase through.

After a while, though, he moved on to weapons. He reforged the same sword and shield that he had used against Geoffrey, same jagged edges and spikes. They were so much heavier than he remembered. Garovel helped him out with enhanced strength.

The sword and shield were both very crude, of course. He wondered how he might be able to rework them. The sword's jagged edges seemed somewhat useful, but they gave it more tearing power than cutting. He smoothed the blade out and detached it from his gauntlet. It fell tip-first into the sand. He gave it a metal hilt and picked it back up.

'Hmm. You don't have any training with a blade, do you?'

"Uh, n-no..."

'Want a few pointers?'

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Stoker tried to keep his gaze nonchalant as he looked around the room another time. Karkash and Hoyohté were right there next to him. He eyed Nize again. 'You've gotta stop talking like this,' he told her in Vaelish. 'If Karkash hears you...'

'I know,' she said privately, also in Stoker's native tongue. 'But I can't take this anymore. Everything I've done--made my servants do--in the name of the Void. Purposeless brutality. Three hundred years, blindly doing whatever--'

'I get it,' said Stoker 'You're having a crisis of faith. But it will pa.s.s if you just relax and follow our orders.'

She stared at him. 'Such promises are a fool's comfort.'

Stoker tried to ignore her remarks, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. She held his life in her hands, after all. If she truly ended up defecting from Abolish, he would have no choice but to follow her, lest she release him and find someone else--not that it would make much difference, if he had to fight Karkash. That was one thing he wanted to avoid at all costs.

Karkash was busy with their guest--a local reporter who had been badmouthing the government's sudden, unexplained increases in military expenditures. Stoker and Karkash had invited the man here to show him precisely where the money was going.

The bunker's old storage facility was a maze of ceiling-high shelves and crates, all containing decommissioned equipment that had been quietly imported from various foreign powers. It was still a work-in-progress by their Morgunov comrades, but Stoker was impressed nonetheless. He'd browsed the wares earlier and spotted a few RPGs and so forth, but the most appealing sight had been the pair of anti-aircraft batteries tucked away in the corner. Of course, such equipment was not strictly needed, given his and Karkash's abilities, but he quite appreciated the extra firepower. And from what he heard, more were on the way, which had not pleased Nize, of course.

To Stoker, Nize and the other reapers were large, hulking dragons--though, in truth, they looked like snakes, but given their propensity for flight, he had come to think of them more as dragons.

"I was surprised when I received your invitation," said the reporter. He gave a curt laugh, though it retained a nervous hint. "I'm still rather curious as to why you've showed me all of this. Are you two trying to blow the whistle on your bosses or...?"

"Not quite," said Stoker. "You are free to write whatever you like about what you see in this place, but we were hoping that you would change your views after this visit."

"I'm sorry, but why would I do that?" said the reporter. "Not to be too blunt, but if anything, this visit has confirmed all of my worst suspicions."

"A moment," said Karkash. He left the room, then soon returned. With the reporter's son.

Slowly, the man's expression became wary.

"You are free to write whatever you like," Stoker repeated. "But your opinion holds weight with the public. We would appreciate it if your next article spoke fondly of what you have seen here today."

"This--this is--! You can't do this!"

Karkash held up the boy's hand. "Do what?"

The kid looked terrified.

"W-whoa," said the father. "Just--okay. Please don't hurt my son. I'll do as you ask."

"We ask nothing," said Karkash. "You do as you like. We do as we like."

The man nodded shakily. "I understand. Please."

'He says he understands,' said Hoyohté, 'but that is doubtful. Break the boy's finger.'

Karkash did so.

The boy shrieked in pain.

"I said I would cooperate!" the man yelled.

'There was no need for that!' said Nize.

Karkash ignored her. "I am clumsy." He released the boy into his father's arms. "In future, I will be more careful. As should you. Leaving city, for instance. Trying to hide. That would be clumsy."

The man stood in front of his crying son. "I understand," he said again. "I do. Believe me."

A brief silence took hold until Stoker broke it. "We are not keeping you here. You may leave whenever you wish."

They scurried away. After they were gone, however, the quiet returned, stronger than before while Hoyohté eyed Nize.

'You are displeased again,' Hoyohté said in Vaelish. She floated around Karkash. 'It seems we have a fundamental disagreement. Perhaps it is time we worked it out.'

Stoker looked at Nize. 'Don't.'

'Your methods are needlessly cruel,' said Nize for all to hear.

Stoker's posture stiffened.

"I barely hurt the child," said Karkash, much more fluent now in Vaelish. "And what difference does it make? Why do you think we came to this country?"

'Please,' said Stoker. 'If you want to leave Abolish, then fine, we'll do that. But not like this. We have to be smarter.'

Nize let his words sink in. She looked at the others. 'I suppose you are right,' she told them.

Hoyohté's gaze lingered, however. 'You have no complaints, then?'

Nize glanced at Stoker. 'The extra violence didn't sit well with me, but then, they are all going to die, anyway.'

"Your reluctance has not gone unnoticed," said Karkash. "Are you truly prepared to act as the Void wills us?"

"Of course we are," said Stoker.

"She demonstrated no such hesitation before. So why does she now?"

"She doesn't. She understands perfectly."

'Yes,' said Nize. 'I was mistaken to speak so unthinkingly.'

It took a bit more silence, followed by more rea.s.surances, but Hoyohté and Karkash finally dropped the matter, and at length, the four of them exited the bunker together. Atreyan soldiers paid them frequent stares, no doubt because Stoker's and Karkash's sherwani coats stood out so prominently from all the blue-and-white uniforms.

'We will flee at the soonest opportunity,' Nize said to him.

He nearly sighed. 'What prompted this change of heart, anyway? We've been together for almost two years now, and you didn't start acting this way until a couple months ago.'

'It was Germal's doing,' she said.

'Germal? That guy with the horn in his head? Seriously?'

'He made me doubt the Void--doubt that I can truly feel its presence. And now, I... I'm certain that I can't. It's all been a lie. I used to believe it so strongly, but that was only because I wanted to hear it, to know its grandeur. I was pretending--so much so that I even fooled myself. But the Void isn't real. It's a mad dream.'

'Wow. Good thing I never bought into that s.h.i.t in the first place, then.'

'What? You didn't? But you said you did. You took all the oaths and swore your allegiances to me and Abolish.'

'Of course,' said Stoker. 'I wanted to live. I'd have said whatever you wanted me to say.'

'What?' said Nize. 'But... but the oaths...'

'Yeah. Um. You're incredibly gullible, by the way. Not sure if you knew that about yourself.'

'I am not!'

'Uh-huh. Anyway, you do realize what running means, right?'

'They will hunt us down, yes. But certain groups among the Vanguard might be willing to shelter us. a.s.suming we can find them.'

'Don't get your hopes up. I think we should just go find a place to lie low.'

'First, we need an opening to escape. It won't do to have seven servants chasing after us right from the start.'

'Yeah, I'd prefer to avoid that, too.'