The holy man backed down the stairs. Slowly.
"Five years ago," Riddick said, "I took two people off that planet—a kid, Jack, who everyone else thought was a boy, and a holy man, searching for New Mecca."
Riddick saw Abu's eyes flick towards the second floor, knew the question the preacher didn't want to ask.
"Your wife…" he said, and watched Abu's breath still. "She's in the shower."
A soft exhale, slightly lowered shoulders. Relief. Riddick didn't give the other man a chance to process it. Better to play him like a yo-yo, drag his emotions across the scale and back again. Keep him off balance.
"I told one man where I might go," Riddick murmured, walking towards Imam. "I showed trust to one man."
Abu swallowed. The sound was loud in contrast with Riddick's soft tone. Riddick let a hint of a smile twist his lips.
"Did I make a mistake, Imam?"
"There is no simple answer—" Imam replied, talking too fast, too loud.
He was interrupted by Riddick's shiv. The blade didn't quite touch his throat. Imam kept calm—but then the holy man had always had a surprisingly cool head in a crisis. It was something Riddick had taken advantage of in the past. Something that kind of annoyed him now.
"Whatever was said," Imam continued, "was meant to give us a chance."
Riddick caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head back towards the stairs.
"A fighting chance. Were it not for the threat of invasion, I never would have betrayed you."
There was a girl crouched at the top of the stairs. Not her—way too young. Abu's girl, not his. Her hair was a mass of tight, frizzy ringlets. Her face was open and curious.
"I give you my word, Riddick."
The girl perked up. "Riddick?"
The wife walked into view, wearing a heavy robe, wrapping a towel around her wet hair. She saw him and froze. "Riddick?" Her tone was breathy, fearful. Not like the kid's.
"And a daughter…" Riddick said. He lowered the blade and moved towards the steps.
The girl stood, started walking down them, and the mother hurried to intercept her.
"…whose name would be?"
"If you have issue with me, let it be with me," Imam snapped. "You need not know their names."
"Ziza," the girl said, ignoring her father completely. "My name is Ziza."
"Ziza," Riddick repeated. He swung around so one hand was on the railing and the other was against the wall, and put a foot on the bottom step. He watched her for a moment. She blinked down at him. Gave a little annoyed twitch when her mother's fingers tightened on her shoulder.
He turned back to Abu. "Cute kid."
Abu just looked at him, brow furrowed. Of course. Last time Riddick had used those words, the holy man'd been out under the suns with his boys. Jack would have gotten it.
"Did you really kill monsters?" Ziza asked. "The ones that were going to hurt my father?"
Riddick raised an eyebrow.
Abu gave an uncomfortable little cough, looking resigned. "Such are our bedtime stories."
Bedtime stories? Riddick glanced at the girl again. She didn't look emotionally traumatized. Abu must have cleaned things up a bit. Maybe he'd started it as a way to remember his boys?
The wife shooed Ziza out of the room. Riddick looked down.
Maybe Jack had started it as a way to remember him?
He stopped that train of thought immediately. What did he care if they wanted to give the girl nightmares? There were much more important things to be considering.
"So now," he said slowly, "who do I have to kill to get this payday off my head?"
X
There were three of the bastards. Guv watched as they crept up on her, and hoped she would wake in time. He wondered what she'd been thinking, crashing here. She was usually better about finding safe places to sleep. It was a bit irritating, that she'd gotten careless right after he'd warned her there were inmates gunning for her.
He considered yelling another warning, waking her—maybe they would even scatter. But no. That would be helping. He'd be involved. She'd made her thoughts on that very clear. So he watched them close in on her and did nothing. One of them reached for her tit—
She rolled into a crouch, slashed the man's throat in a spray of blood. The momentum of her swing turned her to face the next—she ducked his punch and stabbed him in the gut. He folded around her knife, collapsed on top of her. He was a big guy—when he went down, he took her with him. There was a sharp crack as something hit stone that wasn't supposed to.
The last inmate dragged her out by her ankles, then flipped her. There was a dazed look on her face—for a second, she just stared up at her attacker.
A second was enough. He was on her, knees pinning her arms, hands around her throat.
Guv considered stepping in then. A knife in the back. She'd probably get pissy—he'd just tell her that a convict's—any convict's—life meant more than an inmate's. Or hell, he didn't have to kill the guy, just distract him enough to give her back the upper hand.
But no. She'd known what could happen when she'd decided she didn't want his help.
She snapped her head forward, managed to gouge the inmate's hand with—was that a razor between her teeth?
The inmate flinched. Not much, but for an instant he was off-balance, and she seized it. Suddenly she was on top, and then there was a blade in the man's chest.
Well, alright. Now he could come forward.
She stood slowly and put a hand against the wall to brace herself.
"You alright?" Guv asked.
She wiped her hand on her pants, then reached up to touch the back of her head. "There's blood in my hair."
"There's blood all over you."
It was true. It sliced across the elegant bones of her face, like spray-paint on a cathedral. There were flecks of it on her neck and collar, smears on her torso, and her right arm—the one against the wall—was drenched nearly to the elbow.
"But I think this is mine. Cracked my head when that fucker landed on me."
"Yeah," he said. "I heard it. You went fishin' for 'em. Pretendin' to sleep."
"Yep," she said, still fingering her head. "And they took the bait."
"That was a dumbass thing to do, Moloch."
"Ooh, my last name," she mocked. "I'm in trouble now. You gonna give me detention, make me skip recess?"
She looked like some ancient goddess of war. She sounded like a bratty teenager. Damn strange mix. He wondered where she was from. If she had family. If they had loved her. What kind of people produced this girl-killer? How did a pretty teen learn to use her own body as bait and hook?
"Who were you?" he asked. "Out there?"
She shot him a confused glance. "What?"
"Who were you?" he repeated. "Before they sent you here."
"I was Kyra." She frowned. "I was Kyra Moloch. Same as now."
The point of the question had gone straight over her head. He didn't bother trying to explain.
X
"It is said the comet always precedes them—these world-enders," said the Holy Man, staring out the window. The words were soft. Maybe this was his story time voice. "The Colsack planets are gone. Eight million settlers missing."
And? Riddick wondered. He wouldn't have cared about any of those people on their own, why should it be any different with all of them put together? He glanced toward the hall, saw Ziza hiding behind the screen.
"The entire Aquilan System is gone too," Abu continued. "Helion Prime shares its sunlight with all worlds nearby. If we fall, they fall."
Good to know. Gotta make sure I run far enough.
"And after that—my God, how do I save my family?"
Riddick watched the girl. Had she heard that? She was young enough she probably didn't know her daddy couldn't save the world. Young enough she probably shouldn't be hearing him sound all scared.
Abu turned. "Have you heard anything I've said?" he bit out.
Riddick looked at him. "You said it's all circling the drain, the whole universe, right?"
Holy Man's shoulders slumped a bit, and he nodded. "That's right."
Riddick glanced at the screen again. Little girl stuck her finger through one of the holes, wiggled it at him. He closed the door, and turned back to Abu.
"Had to end sometime."
X
"And whose throat is this?"
Aereon was impressed, though she shouldn't have been. It'd been too long since she'd seen a Furyan, talked to one. She remembered their reflexes, their strength, their intuition. But, like any people, their whole was more than the sum of their parts. She'd forgotten the intensity of the whole.
Nevertheless, her voice was perfectly level as she replied, "If you cut my throat, I'll not be able to rescind the offer that brought you here, nor tell you why it's so vital that you did come."
"The blade comes off when the bounty comes off," he told her.
"This is Aereon," said Imam al-Walid. There was urgency in his voice. "An envoy from the Elemental race. She means you no harm."
Imam put a hand on Riddick's shoulder, and Aereon used the split-second distraction to spin away from the blade.
Interesting, that the Imam had willingly touched Riddick, though she knew the preacher had felt both guilt over his actions and fear of vengeance. More interesting, that Riddick had not displayed an adverse reaction to the touch, though it was clear he knew of the betrayal. Imam had never been truly forthcoming about how, exactly, he was connected to Riddick, but clearly the bonds between the two men cut deep and held fast.
She stopped behind them. "There are very few of us who have met a Necromonger and
lived to speak of it." Imam spun to face her; Riddick did not. "So when I choose to speak of it, you should choose to listen."
The Furyan turned, deceptively slow, to face her. "Necromonger."
"It is the name that will convert or kill every last human life, unless the universe can rebalance itself."
His brow furrowed. "Maybe you should pretend like you're talkin' to someone educated in the penal system," he told her. "In fact, don't pretend."
A request for clarification, albeit given in a hostile tone. Not a bad sign.
"Balance is everything to Elementals," she said. "Water to fire. Earth to air. We have thirty-three different words for it. But now we have only time to speak of the balance of opposites."
"There is a story, Riddick," Imam cut in. "Of young male Furyans, strangled at birth—strangled with their own cords. When Aereon told this story to the Helion leaders, I told her of you."
She remembered the spark of recognition in Imam's eye. It had been the first hint of hope she had received on Helion. Then Imam had spoken, hesitantly, guiltily, and hope had blossomed.
Riddick turned away.
"What do you know of your early years?" asked one of the Helion officials.
"Do you remember your home world?" added Imam, coming far closer to the killer than the other men dared. "Do you remember where it was?"
Riddick didn't move.
"Have you met any others?"
"Others like yourself," Aereon added.
Finally, a reaction—he turned to look at her.
"Sister, they don't know what to do with just one of me."
There was a sudden pounding from below. A man's voice: "Open up in there!"
Something was wrong. Aereon faded into the air.
X
"I will send them away," Abu said quickly. "But wait one minute, please. Will you wait one minute, to save worlds?"
Riddick looked at the other man, standing there with his palms pressed together in something that looked absurdly like prayer, and felt disgust well up. He'd always walked soft with the Holy Man—for Jack's sake, just maybe for Abu's own sake. And anyway, it'd been an advantage for a preacher to think he was a friend. But this—maybe he'd been too soft. He was no world-saver, he was no knight. He only defended what was his—the rest got ignored, if it was lucky.
"Not my fight," he growled, and turned to the window.
"So, you will leave us to our fate," said Abu, with disgust of his own. "Just like you did her."
Riddick froze. Bastard might as well have clipped a collar around his fucking neck, because now he couldn't move.
Her?
X
Sleep. Real sleep this time. Real dreams.
They were going to play poker. They didn't play it often, because Lynn didn't like it. Was extremely bad at it, in fact.
Speak of the devil, Lynn was seated to Kyra's right. The bird that should have been flat and still on her back was perched on her shoulder, crying silver tears into her blonde curls. She was trying to look everywhere at once, apparently bursting with energy.
To Kyra's left was a skeleton, dressed all in black. He was, for the most part, still and serene. When he did stir, his movements were sharp and efficient. There was a weapon leaning against the back of his chair. It was a beautiful weapon, with a long wooden handle, stained dark, and a gleaming, curved blade. Kyra wanted it so bad her hands ached. How must it feel, to swing that blade…
"Envy is a sin," whispered a voice behind her. She didn't turn to look. Sin had stopped worrying her a while ago now.
Directly across from Kyra was an old woman, dressed all in white. Her smile was loving and mocking, like a grandmother looking at a slow, silly kid.
"Are you going to deal?" she asked.
Kyra blinked down at the table, at the deck that was suddenly in front of her. She picked it up and shuffled quickly, then dealt for five card draw, because Lynn would refuse to play anything more complicated.
"I don't have any money," she said as she picked up her cards.
"We never play for money," said the old woman. They all took a moment to study their hands.
The skeleton found a handful of sand somewhere, and poured it in the center of the table. The woman in white set a spool of thread beside it. Lynn put a hand up to the bird. It rested its head there for a moment, and where tears touched skin, they hardened. Lynn dropped them on the table.
"Diamonds?" Kyra asked. "For dirt and thread? You really think this is fair?"
"My sister's spinning is priceless," the woman across from her said.
"Trust me, Kyra," whispered Lynn.
"Fine," Kyra said shortly. "So what do I put in?"
The old woman's smile grew. "Depends, my dear—are we playing Kyra or Moloch?"
"Kyra," Lynn cut in. Then she glanced at the woman in question. "Please say Kyra."
Kyra looked at her, shrugged. "Kyra."
The old woman smiled. "Put in your light."
Kyra frowned. "My—"
A noise. Kyra's eyes snapped open. Time to move.
X
From above, the sounds of death. Abu had hoped to never hear sounds like that again.
There was a soldier in front of him, one hand holding a knife, the other clutching Abu's vest. Just a boy, really, playing with sharp toys. Abu was willing to bet the child had never heard anything like this before.
The sounds stopped, and the boy's hands started shaking. Riddick appeared on the landing, sans goggles. The convict turned that cold silver gaze on the boy. Barely a second passed before he was backing away, dropping the blade. When he was gone, those eyes turned on Abu.
Abu didn't shake. He'd done this before.
"You mentioned her," Riddick said.
Abu nodded. "She, uhh—" he swallowed back a lump in his throat that had nothing to do with fear. "She went looking for you. People died. She went to prison." Ridiculously oversimplified. But he couldn't bring himself to explain any better to the man who hadn't been there. "I—I don't remember where." Hadn't let himself remember. Had worked very hard to forget. "But it was a world… so hot, you could not survive on the surface."
"Crematoria," Riddick said softly.
Something about the speed with which Riddick recognized it, the ease with which he said the name, made Abu furious. This wasn't some stranger they were talking about, not like before, this was no faceless mass, this was—
"Young Jack," he bit out, nearly choking on the words. He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked about her like this, like a real person instead of the hero of some fantasy. He wondered if Riddick had said her name at all in the past five years.
Abu's fists clenched. He realized that he wanted Riddick to pay. Because Jack had gone looking for him, and he hadn't been there to find, and in Abu's eyes, that was the worst crime this man had ever committed.
"She thought of you as her older brother," he said, because words were the only weapons he knew how to use. "She worshiped you."
"You were supposed to watch her," Riddick snapped, walking down the stairs.
"She never forgave you," Abu snarled, and watched with satisfaction as Riddick faltered. "For leaving. Just when she needed you most."
"She needed to stay away from me," Riddick said softly. Then, harder, "You all do."
The convict headed out the door.
Ziza broke out of her mother's hold. "Riddick!"
Riddick paused, turned to look at her.
"Are you gonna stop the new monsters now?"
Abu closed his eyes. Her tone was so innocent. So trusting. A sudden flash of memory—Jack's exuberant voice as that stone rolled back to reveal their savior. He should never have told Ziza Riddick's name, should never have brought him here. Should have learned from Jack, and from those long ago words—
"How much faith do you have left, Father?"
He should have done something, anything, other than set Riddick up to disappoint another child Abu loved.
