Chapter 2: All my friends are sharp as razors
"We're wasting away. Huddling in rubble. Eating scraps. Hoping for a ray of sunshine - but there won't be a sun. They're going to kill that too, soon enough."
"Stay."
"We can't. Not here. We have to move, Nor, don't you see? If we stay we're going to die."
"Erratz, don't. There's snipers-"
"We can't stay! We can't stay!"
"Erratz, no, don't-"
- Last recorded audiovisual feed salvaged from a Ghost named "Erratz". His Guardian's body was not identified in the Tower's remains.
A gunshot woke her up. Norovoi gasped and rolled off her bed, fists already clenched and raised in front of her face, her back hunching over to keep her stomach and softer vitals covered by her forearms and elbows. Her communicator buzzed on; she flicked the receiver online, then shoved herself in the corner where raised mattress met wall.
"-the hell was that?!" Gaelin yelled.
"Sounded like second deck, rearmost compartment," Grayris growled. "Near east habitation wing. Hold your position, lock your doors, don't let anyo-"
"It was me, it was me!" Klyfiks shouted through, voice tinged with static. "Apologies, all, but it was me! No gun, no fighting, no violence, no worries! Do not be concerned; it was only me!"
"Klyfiks? What was that?!" Grayris hissed, then added on another line of cursing demands in the Eliksni language, but Norovoi wasn't familiar with the tongue. It may as well have been indecipherable nonsense to her.
"Was portable generator," Klyfiks nervously explained. "Shorted out."
"Shorted out," Gaelin-4 echoed. "That loudly?"
"It... is broken now."
"What were you-"
"Fixing thrusters. They have power now!"
Silence - across the call. Then Grayris said, "But I have not yet fixed the powerlines."
"Eia," Klyfiks cheerfully confirmed. "I supplied the thrusters with reserve power, enough to last the Kalliks-Fel until you do."
Norovoi groaned and activated her communicator's mic. "I was sleeping," she complained. "Couldn't you have saved that for the morning?"
"But there is no mor-"
"Earth time! We're working off Earth time here!"
"It is a Riis-night too," Grayris grumbled. "Klyfiks - enough."
The engineer whined a muted apology.
"But... well done."
"Ah... thank you, Grayris-Mrelliks."
"Just let the humans sleep next time."
"Uh, eia, of course." Klyfiks logged off. Grayris too.
Gaelin muttered a quick, breathy "bastard" and followed them out. Norovoi paused, then did the same - cutting off the call, not the swearing. She scooped up the covers she'd kicked off in her startled haste to meet whatever threat was coming for her, sat back on her bed and... sighed. Norovoi laid down, rolled on her side to keep an eye on the door and tucked her head just over the beaten pillow. The room was warm enough, but... she needed the comfort, what with her racing heart and fired nerves. The security too - or whatever illusion of security being swaddled in a thin duvet permitted.
The dreams that took her next were frightful, prickly, and had her dipping in and out of sleep at random, resulting in an inevitable groan of frustration. Worst of all was the voice - bouncing around the recesses of her mind, echoing through her consciousness. It sang. It sang and sang and sang, calling to her, calling her name-that-wasn't-truly-her-name. It was her before-name; the name of her body's previous, mortal occupant.
"Fair lady, would you please-"
Norovoi snarled, pressed her palms against her brow, close to tears and anger and so much more. "Shut UP!"
The voice cut off. It sang no more - though the lingering taste of expectation remained, rippling in her subconscious. It made no effort to hide itself; the bloody thing wanted her to notice.
"Godsdamn dragons..."
Everyone was grumpy the next morning. Grayris in particular, who was running on a bare hour's sleep and still poring over the Ketch's damaged systems. They were able to fly again, though, so nobody outwardly cursed Klyfiks's ill-timed wake-up call. Just shot him dirty looks as all - or most - of them congregated near the observatory deck to sort through the rations and prep a hasty breakfast. The engineer floundered and cringed beneath it all; he was too conscious of other people's opinions, which played hell on his emotions if they were mad at him, being the sensitive soul he was.
And when the ever-diplomatic, thoughtful and considerate Vynriis of all people muttered dark things under her breath? Klyfiks - and everyone else - knew then he'd stepped over a line.
"You have no idea how hard it is to get back to sleep when you have a spooked warbeast in your bed," a glowering Gaelin muttered over a thin bowl of gruel (he hadn't wanted much, considering he didn't exactly need food. Only enough to keep his human subconscious under the illusion that yes, I am alive, don't worry, please don't worry, this body isn't dead, it's still working). "Castus kicks when he's frightened."
Norovoi winced; the hound had claws fit to gut a man. "Ouch."
"Yeah."
"Clip fix you up?"
"I had to," the Ghost groaned, appearing next to his Guardian's head. "Before Castus realized what he'd done. That pup..."
Perhaps realizing they'd been speaking about him, Castus glanced up from the haunch of thawed venison he'd been gnawing on and tilted his head.
"Yes, you," Clip confirmed, floating down to the hound, glaring fondly at the beast. "You're a menace."
Castus softly barked - something like a growl mixed with a snort.
Gaelin affectionately rubbed the warbeast's neck, just behind the head. "Exactly. Good boy." He turned to Klyfiks. "You aren't."
Klyfiks lowered his head, sinking down between the upper elbows propped up on the steel table. "I did not anticipate the generator malfunctioning. I am sorry."
Grayris swatted the young engineer about the shoulder - lightly, though, being as aware of her own strength as she was. "One must balance ambition with consideration. You have only ever known the life of homes with foundations; living aboard a Ketch is quite another experience entirely. These are your kin now, everyone you see before you. Do not aggravate your kin."
"Kin might decide cousin Klyfiks can live in the cargo hold," Nivviks quietly threatened. His shuttered outer eyes betrayed his good humour; the old eliko had probably slept through it all.
The door behind them opened. Therin entered, dragging his feet, and tiredly sat down beside Klyfiks. Vynriis wordlessly pushed a bowl of porridge-and-churned-iiarsk. The last part was some sort of Riisan fruit, but that was all Norovoi knew on the matter. Besides maybe that it tasted bland, with a hint of tart sweetness three months gone off. There wasn't any honey or milk either, to make the meal at least palatable. Just water - and bland, boring filtered water too. Not the fresh stuff. No, what the miner picked up on Hi'iaka was being cleaned of radiation and worse even as they spoke, slowly being fed into the Ketch's filtration system.
At the least the showers were going to be operational. Each stormy cloud had at least a single slivered silver lining.
"Yeck," Therin said as he raised up a spoon of unholy broth, making a face. "We have better stuff than this."
"Preserveds," Grayris told him, scoldingly. "We need to keep them sealed."
"Yeah, but... this is disgusting."
Grayris growled to herself. "Lightbearers," she grumbled softly.
The door opened again. Ueru'uxo trudged in, grunting something in Ulurant, and Grayris responded in kind. She pushed two bowls his way. The Uluru snagged then, turned about and left. Just like that.
"I take it the Senator won't be joining us," Therin quietly quipped.
Grayris grunted. "She has taken a cabin on the primary deck. As far from the holding cells as she can. You... put the-"
"Dragon there, yeah."
The Baroness growled softly. "This is lunacy."
"It's desperation, Gray. Don't give me that look; I'm not all that fond of this either, but dragons have power. The unorthodox kind. We need that."
"We have unorthodox power enough."
Therin grimaced. "Too loud."
Grayris paused, then bowed her head begrudgingly. "Too loud," she echoed.
"Can't risk them catching our scent."
A crushing, suffocating silence fell over the impromptu canteen. With an irritated sigh, Norovoi stood up and brought her bowl over to the... well, it vaguely reminded her of a dishwasher, just Eliksni-built. Maybe. She wasn't sure. It didn't matter; the bowl went in and she left the others behind.
She wandered through the long, winding corridors of the quiet Ketch. Norovoi only knew vaguely how some decks were laid, and others not at all, having mostly kept her activity confined to the east habitation wing, the engineering deck, the hangar and the bridge. Beyond that, the rest of the frigate was unexplored territory.
Norovoi decided to explore. Anything to keep the dragon and worse out of her mind.
The Ketch had, overall, nine separate decks - three for habitation, one for a cargo hold and a hangar complete with vehicle maintenance dock-points, one for the inbuilt cathedral dedicated to Servitors and housing the clerical-castes, as well as the lair for the now-dead Prime Servitor, one deck for the Kell's own quarters, the chambers for the rest of upper nobility and the atrium - where the denizens of the Ketch gathered to hear the proclamations and announcements passed by their leaders, and sometimes to be treated with a feast of ether by the Prime Servitor. That left three other decks with functions unknown - and that wasn't even taking into account the different myriad compartments within even the known decks.
Ketches were over a kilometer-and-a-half in length, from aft to prow, but they seemed so much larger on the inside. Like confined cities, nations even, tearing through the cosmos at the behest of their scorch cannon-bearing royalty. It was almost too big, what with all the daunting ground to cover - but it equally wasn't big enough.
She could still hear the whispers. Sometimes from both of them.
Norovoi took an elevator up to the Kellsdeck, located just below the bridge and with another level between it and the observatory deck (which shared its space with two habitation wings), and cautiously stepped inside. The walls bore tattered, limp banners - all woven from deep navy colours, most patterned with unfamiliar runes, but the most common she saw were easy to translate: Wolf. An extinct house, long dead. No longer relevant.
Norovoi missed when things had been simple; when foes were easy to cut out from friends, when enemies were causal or bordering on it and she had a wall to put her back against.
Now those past foes were presently friends.
She lived with them, ate with them, and, if misfortune struck, fought alongside them.
It didn't feel like a huge improvement, honestly. Nothing of their present predicament did.
Larger tapestries, longer and more vividly detailed, hung farther in, motionless and haunting. Some displayed four-armed figures in battle or raising blades into the air beneath a great pale orb, while others displayed more docile scenes - like harvesting from Riisan ether-rivers, or bearing tribute to a waiting Servitor, or writing fantastical epics at the behest of towering Archons. Some hung over doorways, likely explaining the purposes of each chamber in Eliksni fashion, with runes and pictures.
One room bore the depiction of a delicate Captain surrounded by bright-eyed hatchlings, and then a ring of oval shapes - eggs.
Norovoi avoided that room. Grayris had warned her against it the moment she'd stepped aboard.
The corridor diverted into two streams after a few hundred metres, hallways forking down two separate directions - but at the apex of their divide a chamber lay open, doors ajar. The lights within were brighter, marginally, and Norovoi could clearly make out what rested inside. A short platform sat at the end, with a series of small steps covered over in a rich, navy rug leading up to it. A single massive throne rested in the centre of the platform, facing out at the rest of the room. It was carved from Eliksni scrapwork, with runic figures scrawled into the metal and two deactivated Arc spears crossing behind the back of the oversized chair. One of the armrests had what looked like an inbuilt radio and other a holo-projector that lacked power.
The entire thing stood tilted, half-torn out of the floor. What small powerlines led up into it had been cut through, salvaged for some other purpose. Grayris had likely ripped through the room; what little other furniture was within had been tossed about, and a number of overly large cargo-crates laid scattered throughout the room.
A sensation prickled at the back of Norovoi's mind. She turned around. Nivviks stood at the entrance, toolbox tucked under a secondary arm and work-helmet pulled low over his face. The elder Vandal stood in place for all of a second, giving Norovoi an unreadable look, then marched towards where the throne sat at an angle and with one savage motion pulled out more floor paneling.
"Whose room was this?" Norovoi heard herself ask.
Nivviks muttered and chirped, "You never asked before?"
"I wasn't in... in a state to ask. My mind was on... other things."
"You boarded an unknown ship at the behest of a distant acquaintance? Foolish. What if we had been pirates?"
Norovoi didn't rise to the bait. "Whose throne? Virixas' or Skolas'?"
Nivviks shot her a surprised look. "You know Eliksni history?"
"It's not history if you lived it."
Nivviks snorted. "That is true."
"So?"
"Skolaskel. This was his flagship."
"A Wolfship," Norovoi murmured, slowly looking around the room. "This thing has seen some action."
"Built on Riis," Nivviks whispered.
"Old."
"That is mean," Nivviks said softly, chuckling to himself. Norovoi looked at him with an eyebrow raised.
"You're Riisborn?"
"Eia. Our gloried Baroness as well."
"Oh, I know about her. Precious few who don't." Norovoi crouched down beside him. "Was... it as bad as this?"
"What?" Nivviks asked, distracted by the power-couplers and the Arc sizzling through it all.
"The Fall of Riis. Was it anything like this?"
Nivviks tensed. His head swiveled to the side to glare at her. "No," Nivviks bit out. "This is worse."
"Why's that?"
"We still had true kin to hold close."
Something like pain tore through Norovoi's centre. She stiffly nodded and straightened up. "'Spose so."
"Ask another; I have no patience for this."
"Noted."
Therin collapsed beside her, on the bench by the starboard viewport, and said, "We need to talk."
Norovoi said nothing. She was a rebel; if he said they needed to talk, then silence it was.
"Nor."
"The hell do you want?"
Therin kept a straight face, but given how his fingers tightened on nothing, she knew it was all a façade. "We're probably the last Awoken left - you and I."
Norovoi looked at him so quickly she knew she'd come just inches away from snapping her own neck. Quietly, lowly, she said, "Finish that train of thought and I'll eviscerate you."
Therin's eyes narrowed - then widened. "I... I wasn't-"
"Whatever you're going to say next, pick your words carefully."
"-not what I meant!"
"I hope that's true," Norovoi darkly informed him, "because if not, we'll be down another Lightbearer."
Therin shot her a long-suffering look. "What, you'll kill me?"
"Think I can't?"
"You're not one of us. Not anymore."
Norovoi hummed. "When did that ever matter?"
"... Look, I didn't mean that. I... we're the last, maybe, possibly, most likely. I thought... we could consolidate what we know, keep our culture alive for as long as possible."
"You mean the Reef?"
"Awoken," Therin corrected. "Awoken culture."
"Awoken culture is Reef culture. Anything else is just a parody of what the baseline humans did."
"That's not-"
"Exactly. What do you even know about us?"
Therin paused and frowned at her. "Everything the Warlocks reported, I read."
"You're Earthborn."
"So are you."
"But I tried to find my way home," Norovoi retorted. "I know you, Therin. You and your friends, your dogs-"
"Coyotes," he hissed through gritted teeth.
"Never showed any interest in the Reef before - not even your Nadiya."
"Stop."
"I don't care about your-"
"You don't care about anything." Therin stood up, abruptly. Solar shone in his eyes, scarlet embers burning amidst the glowing blue.
"Particularly about being your friend," Norovoi told him, voice level and clear; she didn't want her point to be misunderstood. "We're not friends."
"Oh, I see that now."
"Then stop trying."
Therin opened his mouth to deliver an assumedly scathing response, but something in her words must have struck a chord in him, because he closed it, scowled and left.
There was something left in his wake. A chime, like an echoing wail resounding throughout a prismatic glass prison, threatening to break through its crystalline confines. Norovoi felt it rather than heard - and she scowled in kind. The Hunter had probably been unaware of it; he wasn't taking the necessary precautions.
They were all going to die if he kept that up.
All of them.
Because a Hunter saw something shiny and rare and grabbed it without a second rational thought.
Norovoi tried to divert her attention back to the stars outside the viewport... but it was a losing battle.
"Bloody dragons," she quietly swore.
The holding cells were near the Ketch's belly, approaching the prow. Far from the engineering deck and still some distance from the hangar. It was secure; there were automated cameras, designed with a simple AI in mind, and activated the moment they detected any motion, heat or sound. Ingenious, truly - but overall they were rather lackluster when faced with something as unorthodox as a dragon.
An Arc barrier buzzed in place, cordoning off the thing's pen from the rest of the brig. The dragon knelt within, still in the form of the Awoken Corsair, and slowly stood up as she approached. "Fair lady-"
"Shut up," Norovoi ordered. She held up a shard of broken glass and angled it so she could see the dragon's reflection. The jagged sides grazed the skill of her bared hand, droplets of red blooming in her tight grip. "There."
"My lady?"
"Now - what the hell do you want?" She drew her cannon with her free hand; a hefty thing of Reef-make, with three gilded circles on either side of the purple barrel. Norovoi clicked the hammer back and aligned the barrel with the Ahamkara's head. The Arc barrier wouldn't be an issue, she told herself. Not with the rounds she was using.
"To help," the dragon reasoned. Its reflection shimmered, but did not break. A half-truth.
"Don't lie to me," Norovoi growled.
It's smile faded. "And to survive."
No shimmer there.
"Are you going to kill us?"
"No."
No change.
"Are you going to make us suffer?"
"No."
Same thing.
"Are we going to regret this?"
The Corsair walked to the barrier, almost touching it. "No."
Still nothing.
Norovoi found herself irrationally frustrated. "Then what?"
"I can deliver you from this place." The Corsair smiled again, softly, reassuringly. It put her on edge. "You need only wish it and I will guide this ship away from war."
"War's a clingy mistress," Norovoi tiredly replied. "She won't give us up so easily." Oh, she was so exhausted with it all! Conflict, tricks, secrets - she only wanted to survive, only wanted to get away with Erra-
But that wasn't happening.
Not any time soon.
Or ever.
"She... will have no choice," the Ahamkara whispered. "I can ferry you out of her eye."
"Impossible."
"Why so?"
"War is everywhere."
"War is reality," the Corsair said, nodding solemnly. "But reality is the finest flesh, is it not, o visitor mine?"
Norovoi scowled. "You're testing my patience."
"The aid I offer is genuine. You know this. You see this."
"That's why I don't believe it."
"Some rules cannot be broken," the Ahamkara told her. "You know this. I know this. I have not broken them. I cannot."
"You're a leech."
"All predators need prey. I am only more considerate of what I dine upon than most."
Norovoi blinked. She could smell incense of some sort, like... cinnamon. Carried on light smoke, drifting through the Arc barrier as if it wasn't there. That was some perfume. She blinked, shook her head and glared at the drake. "Stop that."
"As you wish."
Bastard. Beast. Killer.
Killer? That thought wasn't hers, whose-
"I mean you no harm," the Ahamkara murmured, feigning heartfelt honesty - and its reflection tried its best to emphasize that point, that it wasn't deceiving her. "You will find me a reliable navigator."
"What do you get out of this?"
"Life," the dragon answered. It gave her a sly grin. "And life."
"You're giving us riddles, then?"
"Do you wish me to stop?"
"Oh, you're desperate, aren't you?" Norovoi scoffed. She paused. "What's your name, lizard?"
"Names are powerfu-"
"So says every Warlock, every Witch, every alien sorcerer. Idiots, the lot of them."
"Azirim," the dragon whispered. "I am Azirim. And I am at your service, fair lady."
Norovoi gave the dragon a scrutinizing look, then sighed and holstered her cannon. "You try anything sneaky, you die," she told the beast.
The Corsair nodded deeply. "As you say."
"Fine."
"Must I remain here? I can only be of use of you if-"
"Shut up." Norovoi turned about, marched on and left the dragon behind. She needed to talk to Gaelin, get a couple of mirrors set up around the drake's cell. Then and only then was she willing to even humour Therin's radical idea.
Radical was shaping up to be their only option left.
War was everywhere.
AN: Huge thanks to Nomad Blue for proofreading and editing!
