Echo from the Void (Lunar Lives Book 2), page 23
Seevah smiled with her cruel, sensual, mirthless grin. “So, you’re the one who helped the traitor escape.”
“Name’s Presade. Glad to meet ya.” She put her hand to her bracer. “How do you wanna do this?”
Seevah smiled wider, showing her sharp teeth. “It would be customary in a duel to set aside our weapons and fight with only claws, teeth, and bone spurs, if you are willing. I have confidence in my skills.”
Presade unsnapped the bracer. “Suits me.”
Seevah set her flail-sling down, gently folding the straps as if she knew she would be retrieving it again soon. She flexed her elbows and her knees, where her bone spurs protruded menacingly.
Presade tied her hair back into a ponytail and tossed her bracer on the ground. They would fight with the weapons they resurrected with.
Seevah emitted a low growl and began circling the sanctum. The fur on her back stood up. Presade’s red fur also stood, her body taut with potential energy. Seevah stalked through the grass, stopping for a moment and then jumping toward her, claws out. Presade dove hard to her left, and Seevah landed where she had been. Presade sprang back at her with a snarl, but Seevah was ready, and Presade realized it had been a feint, intended to lure her in. Searing pain ripped through her forearm as Seevah bit her, yanking her toward the ground. Clever puckering devil!
Presade raked the other woman’s shoulder with her free claw before Seevah pulled her off-balance with a shake of her head. She landed in the grass on her chest, but managed to get her foot against the plant seat, which she pushed off of, slamming into Seevah’s stomach with enough force to make her release her bite. They circled again, blood pouring from Presade’s forearm.
Seevah smiled, blood all over her mouth. Sadistic birdy bitch loves this. Presade felt her disdain increase. She thought of her sister and harnessed the familiar rage welling up inside her. She took a step right, then sprang low. She caught Seevah, who had anticipated her coming in high, by surprise, and Presade ripped her elbow spur across Seevah’s thigh, cutting deep into the muscle. Seevah howled in pain before missing a swipe to Presade’s back.
“Do you even realize if you dismember Bexlan-Ansibe that the whole moon will come apart? You and all your followers will have true death, just like everyone else,” Presade said through heavy breaths. She realized the futility in talking to the woman, but she wanted to distract her before her next strike.
“The Sacrosanct will give us a new resurrection in his domain, which will stretch from Chancel to Echo, through the Void. We will be the only ones welcome in the new kingdom,” Seevah growled, circling again.
“And you believe that? How will he bring you back from true death?”
“Worshipers of the false gods are doomed to never understand. And doomed to true death. We will have a third life—void life,” Seevah said, springing forward again. She snagged Presade’s hip with two of her claws, tearing flesh and fur. Presade pushed through, seeing her chance for the kill. She dove toward her, mouth open and aimed at the side of Seevah’s neck. This is it! I got you! S’no void life I’m afraid—
Seevah ducked into a tight ball and Presade’s lower teeth scraped over the back of her neck, but that was it. She’d missed her shot. Seevah sprang upward, and with Presade overbalanced, she tumbled over her opponent’s shoulders, landing on her back. Before she could react, Seevah clamped her jaw on the side of Presade’s neck, bit, and tore. Blood sprayed in arterial bursts from her torn carotid artery. Seevah stood over her, howling in triumph. Presade put her claw to her neck, trying to stem the bleeding, but she knew she would bleed out in a few dozen waves. It was over. Seevah had won.
Presade lay in the grass, a thousand thoughts running through her head as she felt her blood leak out. She thought of her days in the brothel on Chancel, of hunting drosera in the early years of her lunar life, of the sound of tenor birds singing in the cloud forest, and of Esrit—the strange sad man going through the motions of lunar life who had come back to life, however briefly, in their adventure. She smiled a little bit, feeling lightheaded and then profoundly sad. She’d lost. The fanatics had won and would now destroy the moon she loved and the gods she worshiped.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Bexlan-Ansibe, hoping they heard her prayer.
She watched from the ground as Seevah reattached her flail-sling. She walked slowly, almost casually, toward Bexlan-Ansibe.
“I intend to slay you myself, false god, and the rest of the Holders will have the pleasure of smiting your remains with the holy lightning.”
Flashes of lightning and the boom of incinerated masonry echoed in the chamber as the Holders outside made the hole larger, the first of the riders on the mounts pushing their way into the chamber. Seevah limped toward the throne as she pulled one of the switches, letting the flail roll into the sling. Bexlan-Ansibe made no motion to move, their faces not fearful, but instead mournful.
The first rays of morning light illuminated the motes of dust from the blasted-open hole in the wall. Presade admired the flash of light across the flock of floating particles. Then she heard a crackling, electrical sound, louder, stranger, and more diffuse than the lightning, followed by a collective gasp.
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“Holder of Lightning,” came a male voice, making Esrit nearly fall off his mount.
“May we hold eternal,” Esrit whispered back the appropriate response, trying to sound calm.
A figure materialized from behind a wind-twisted boulder. His flail-sling was at his side. “The operation was a success? You have overthrown the false god?”
Esrit’s mind roved. “Sadly no, Holder. Seevah has requested that every Holder report to battle right away.”
The Forbearant figure looked at him, confused. “But we are the Eight! We never leave the grounds around the lair save to take our rest or meal!”
So, the Eight stayed behind. Esrit felt despondent. How would he overcome eight armed guards, seven of which were still well hidden, and then overcome the Galvanizer himself?
“This is our moment, Holder! We are dethroning a false god in the service of the true god, the Sacrosanct. We are following the instructions of the Galvanizer! Do you possess so little faith?” Esrit said with a haughty sneer.
“Never, Holder! How could you suggest such?” the Forbearant said, obviously hurt. “And who are you to speak to one of the Eight this way, Holder? I feel your lightning, but you should know your place.”
Esrit treaded carefully. He had overplayed his hand a bit, breaching the etiquette of the Eight’s place in the hierarchy.
“My apologies, Holder; I am rattled from the battle. The false gods have recruited a large force, and I barely escaped. Not only do we need all hands at the battle, I have a message from Seevah I can only communicate to the Galvanizer directly.”
“You are forgiven, Holder. These are stressful times.”
“I’ve seen other Holders fall, and it has taken its toll,” Esrit said, looking at his hands.
“Holder of Lightning,” came another male voice.
“May we hold eternal,” Esrit and the first Forbearant said in unison.
A stocky male Forbearant walked through the prairie grass, his hand on his flail-sling.
Esrit spun his yarn on him, but he was harder to persuade.
“We are the Eight,” he said simply. “We never leave our posts.”
Esrit prodded with another tactic. “Time is of the essence! If you don’t believe me, one of you come with me to inform the Galvanizer, and the other speak to the other members of the Eight and start on your way toward the battle!”
The second Forbearant pondered this for a moment. “We shall both accompany you, Holder. And once you have spoken to the Galvanizer, we will all come out together and discuss this with the remaining members of the Eight. You must understand our hesitancy. I know you are a Holder, but these are tense moments.”
Esrit decide to accept his two-against-one odds as better than eight against one. “I completely understand, Holder. Let us make haste to the Galvanizer!”
They walked toward the entrance to the lair at the base of the butte, the first Forbearant, whom Esrit thought of as “Pinky” because of the pink hue of his bald head, leading the way. Esrit walked in the middle with the second Forbearant, whom he thought of as “Stubby” because of his short, stout stature even by the standards of Forbearants in lunar life, walking behind him. Pinky pushed his hand into the same nondescript recess in the butte Seevah had and the pebbly sand next to the arch began to shift.
The glow of torches at the bottom of the stairs looked hazy and dim through the settling dust in the air. Esrit felt excitement at the closeness of his mission, but also paralyzing fear. The last time he was here, the Galvanizer had almost killed him by imbuing him with the lightning. How could he hope to defeat a creature with such power?
Pinky started downstairs and Esrit followed, trying not to display the hesitancy he felt. Stubby followed at his back. Pinky stopped when they reached the cramped landing at the bottom of the stairs, and Esrit suddenly felt the points of a flail press against the back of his head. “We are not fools, Holder. We know you are a traitor.”
Esrit’s heart sank. He wondered if he had underestimated them because he presumed they were fools, or if he’d simply wanted to believe they were buying his story.
“Seevah warned us about you before she gathered her forces and left. You are in luck that the Galvanizer gave us instructions to bring you to him. But you are going to have to take that weapon off your arm. If you don’t, the Galvanizer never said I couldn’t hobble you,” Stubby said.
“If you try anything, I’ll have to kill you. You may be a Holder, but we have a right to defend ourselves. The Galvanizer is wise and would understand,” Pinky added quietly.
Esrit’s thoughts sprinted around his mind. Pinky stood in front of him with his flail-sling aimed, too. He thought maybe he could sneakily loose a bolt at one, but there was no way he would be able to fight both of them before being struck by a flail at point-blank range.
He sighed, feeling defeated and lost. Slowly, he unstrapped the bracer weapon from his arm and handed it backward. Stubby snatched it from his hand, muttering about the craftsmanship and promising to reverse engineer the design for the Eight.
Esrit walked with slumped shoulders into the cavern. The recessed torches cast dancing shadows against the walls. He saw the collections of mineral columns at the back of the chamber. The hand-percussion voice of the Galvanizer spoke, and Esrit felt his mind fall back into interpreting it without a second thought.
“Enter the inner chamber, Fallen One, so we may speak.”
Stubby pushed him in the back with his flail-sling, urging him forward. Esrit yelped and rubbed the space at his back. His claws found small drops of blood where the spines had broken skin.
He walked toward the collection of pillars, remembering when he had been galvanized himself. It felt like long ago, but in the course of his long lunar life accounted for only a fraction of a wave. But the moment had been epochal, and now he would confront the one who’d given him a power he’d never wanted. He had only claws, teeth, spurs, and wits. He hoped it would be enough.
Esrit ducked his head as he entered the smaller chamber. The same pole stood in the center of the room with its burning wick encased in glass atop its small well of oil. The Galvanizer stood in the shadows, his countless hands grasping nooks and recesses in the cave wall to allow him to stand upright. The rest of the hands that covered his long body raised up and began the clapping, snapping, clicking, and tapping that comprised his voice.
“You betrayed me. You betrayed the Sacrosanct. You betrayed our cause.”
Esrit said nothing, focusing his eyes on the Galvanizer for some sign of how he was going to react. At the peripherals of his vision, he tried to assess anything in the room that might help him when it came to violent confrontation.
“I have never had someone survive the final step and yet turn their back on the cause. You were an agent of the false god the whole time, weren’t you?”
As much as Esrit could understand through his strange voice, the Galvanizer sounded genuinely aggrieved. Before he could respond, the Galvanizer began climbing up the wall, his two rows of battered hands that functioned like legs grasping holes and crevices. The hands on his long, centipede-like torso flicked and jerked in agitation, their clapping and snapping getting louder and echoing.
“How did you penetrate our circle? Did Bexlan-Ansibe train you? Are there other traitors among the Holders?”
The hands not involved in making sound or climbing yanked, clenched, and waved in wild patterns across his body. Esrit took a small step back. The Galvanizer hung from the ceiling of the small chamber now, climbing toward him. His sounds were loud, hurried, furious.
“Give them up! Give up your co-conspirators! Tell me how Bexlan-Ansibe trained you! You were even willing to kill your own brother to destroy our cause! Tell me now, or I’ll fill you with lightning that will cook you alive!”
The Galvanizer crawled directly over the torch pole, and the light illuminated his hands. Esrit saw bruised palms and bloody fingernails in between the vicious, pounding motions. Esrit winced at the volume the hands created—it sounded like a thousand people banging their hands together in the small chamber. The Galvanizer’s frenzy sent thin, crackling strands of rogue lightning across the ceiling. Esrit’s fur raised, and he ducked when a snaking bolt passed over his head.
“Say something! Now!”
The Galvanizer sprang at him from the ceiling, purple electricity dancing across the palms of his many hands. Esrit dove to the side, landing on his injured shoulder, which shot bolts of pain down his arm, but it seemed a small price to pay to avoid electrocution. He’d seen the Galvanizer escalating in paranoia and whipping himself into a furor, and he’d realized the futility in trying to manipulate him with words. This would simply have to be brute force.
The Galvanizer snaked across the floor on his scabby, calloused walking-hands, the headless front of his body a collection of hands moving in a menacing dance as electricity flowed through them. Esrit scanned the room desperately for a stone, but found nothing. He jumped back as the hands snatched the air where he’d just been and the air sizzled and popped. He tripped over the lantern and the pole snapped, bringing the lantern head down with a crash followed by the shattering of glass. Burning oil leaked out over the cave floor and caught fire. The fur of Esrit’s right arm lit with flames, which he batted at with his other hand. The Galvanizer continued at him, unconcerned.
The fire belched noxious smoke and Esrit’s eyes began to water. He sprang back from the blurry figure, hearing electricity where he had just been. He’d mostly extinguished his flaming fur and on instinct he grabbed the broken lantern by the splintered pole and thrust it blindly at the Galvanizer. The jagged broken glass of the lantern penetrated the Galvanizer’s body, cutting through the hands. The other hands rasped their fingernails together hard enough to split and tear in a simulation of a scream. The sound sent pain through Esrit’s ears and into his teeth. He yanked the broken lantern out and jabbed again, the strike opening the Galvanizer’s bloodless flesh. The smoke eddied away momentarily, and Esrit saw a network of sinews inside the body, pulling and vibrating like piano strings. The Galvanizer retreated back slightly, stumbling over some injured hands that dragged on the ground. Other hands slapped at flames on the being’s back.
“Galvanizer! We are here!” Stubby said before coughing into the crook of his arm. Pinky had his flail-sling ready, but the smoke obscured his view. The fire had spread over most of the floor and the Galvanizer skittered away from it, screeching with its terrible fingernail-scraping sound.
Esrit squinted at the figure near the entrance to the Galvanizer’s area. He launched the lantern like a javelin, and it buried itself in Pinky’s stomach. The Forbearant fell, his flail dribbling out of the sling and onto the floor as he pawed at the lantern sticking out of his stomach with hands weak with shock.
Stubby loaded a flail in his sling, still coughing and sputtering. He swung it in the general direction of Esrit, but it missed and simply scuffed the cave wall.
As he scrambled to escape the burning inner chamber, the Galvanizer slammed into Stubby’s legs and sent the Holder stumbling toward Esrit. Without thinking, Esrit grabbed him and launched him into the conflagration. He rolled in the fire, screeching in agony as the flaming oil covered his body. The Galvanizer disappeared into the larger cavern. Esrit’s throat felt like he had swallowed fire, and he could barely see through the smoke and tears. The unbearable heat singed his fur simply by proximity and he knew he had to escape before he lost consciousness.
He sprinted after the Galvanizer, less in pursuit and more in simple escape from the fire. He tripped over something at the threshold to the outer cavern and fell hard, his teeth snapping together. He looked down and saw Pinky, pale and petrified, mewling with eyes closed. Esrit yanked the lantern from his stomach, and he yelped in surprise and pain.
Esrit’s shoulder ached from falling on it once again, and his arm hung limply at his side. He shuffled into the larger cavern, bloody and battered, with the broken lantern in his good hand. He sucked in great draughts of the cleaner air, which felt strangely painful, like it was forcefully cleansing his lungs from the poisonous smoke he’d been breathing.
The Galvanizer ran in its centipede-like gait toward the stairs, listing hard to the right where he’d been stabbed, several of his walking-hands dragging along the ground.
Esrit felt so tired, tired enough to lay down and sleep in the middle of all the madness. But the fire crept closer to the outer cavern and the Galvanizer continued to scuttle farther away, so Esrit gathered up all his strength and sprinted toward him. He loosed a cathartic war cry as he brought the lantern down on the center of the Galvanizer’s body, tearing through hands, flesh, and the strange sinews inside, pinning him to the ground. The Galvanizer screamed for one ear-splitting wave, and then many of the hands seemed to lose power. The electricity flashed across the body of hands and then ceased, other than a few errant sparks. Esrit’s muscles burned from exhaustion and a lack of oxygen, but he pulled the lantern out for another strike. The Galvanizer slid weakly across the floor, only a few of his walking-hands working now, and most of the other hands hanging like dead fish from his body. Esrit squinted at the strange thing he saw between the rent flesh of the Galvanizer, something that was a putrid yellowish-green color amidst the otherwise gray skin.
