For the Clan Page 3

  The burn of the energy rushed from his feet up to his head. The rhythm of his heart tripped over and over, unable to establish a single pattern. His mind slipped in and out of clarity.

  The images in his thoughts screeched to a halt. Shadows crept into his vision. His knees threatened to buckle. On the verge of losing consciousness, Roan's body and sanity teetered. Magic exhausted him, killing whatever was left of his soul, wherever it was hiding.

  One. More. Breath—

  Roan sucked in a quick mouthful of air and thrust his hands outwards, directing all the energy towards the soldiers. Tremors and shocks overtook him. He cried out, shaking violently as a dense cloud of amber light shot forth. The further the cloud rolled away from him, the larger it grew.

  "This has to stop," Roan whispered, snapping his fingers.

  The cloud burst into flame.

  Voices pierced the air, screaming for mercy. Dark forms attacked the flames. Some of the soldiers ran. Others dropped and rolled.

  Staggering back, Roan gasped. He couldn't breathe. Every bone in his ribcage felt wrong; tight, as if they bent inwards, crushing his lungs.

  Don't have time. For this. Have to run. Have to—

  "Roan!" a man screamed. The muddled voice sounded like Anaheim's.

  Roan fled as fast as his legs would go. Blinded by the cloudy grey images in his thoughts, he headed east—or at least what some small part of him remembered as east. Not only did it offer the thickest stand of trees, it wasn't the south or the west. Both would have put him closer to the university, a facility well protected by the military. He wasn't committing murder just to end up back in governtary chains.

  His heart beat in triple time, hitching every few beats. If he didn't know better, he would’ve believed his chest was collapsing.

  The outline of green leaves swaying in the warm summer breeze cut through his impaired sight. At his best guess, he was less than a few feet away.

  "Roan," a woman yelled from behind him.

  Shit, shit, shit. It's Kim. Roan continued forward, thankful as his vision cleared. He slapped the first tree trunk he encountered, then pushed off and ran further into the woods. Through evergreen boughs and maple limbs, he fought to keep going. On his short, pathetic list of wants and needs, falling down and sleeping for three days had suddenly claimed the top spot. His desperate act had called forth not just magic, but an insatiable fury fueled by years of terror.

  Kim pursuing him made a disgusting day worse.

  In truth, he hadn't wanted to kill her. Of the lot, she was perhaps the only one worth saving. Her compassion didn't deserve punishment. But he wasn't stupid enough to hang around and explain himself. She could drag him back just like any one of her comrades.

  Except he couldn't outrun her, either. The longer he ran, the slower he moved. He couldn't keep going without falling apart mid-stride.

  Crap. This isn't—damn it!

  Kim was on him before he could change directions. Her petite body tackled him, crushing his waist before she scrambled to pin him.

  "Just hold on a second, would you?" Kim struggled until she turned him over. Either she was surprisingly strong or he was weaker than he realized.

  Roan panted beneath her. Any moment, she'd pull out her taser and shock him with enough volts to kill a grizzly bear.

  Kim's ashen face peered at him from beneath her singed black helmet. "What the fuck was that?" She punched his shoulders. "I should damn well kill you."

  "Then do it," he shouted. "Put me out. Use the balls you've got and do it!"

  Roaring at him, Kim aimed her fist at his face.

  Her hand didn't touch him.

  Kim stood and ripped her helmet off. Her short black bangs clung to the sweat on her forehead. She pointed at her chin. "Go on, take a shot. Make it good. Then run like hell."

  Roan didn't move.

  "Don't be an idiot on me now," she mumbled. "Come on. Let's go. I have to radio this in. Gotta get back to the pilot. Can't help you if I'm caught." Kim thrust her hand at him. "Take my goddamn hand, would you?"

  "I don't—"

  She yanked hard on his hand, pulling him up. "Okay, now, this is easy." Kim offered her rifle to him. "Clock me and run. Go ahead. I can take it."

  "Why are you doing this?" Roan whispered.

  "Because no one should be treated this bad. Because it's stupid. Because you seem like a nice guy, all that crap back there notwithstanding. And I get it, what you did. It was only a matter of time. But you know what? You waste too much time. I'm letting you go. Isn't that enough? Just do it already!" Kim beckoned with both hands. "Let's go. Don't make me go all yo mama like Anaheim—"

  Roan hit her with the butt of the gun.

  Kim staggered back, one hand pressed to her jaw. "That'll do. Go!"

  He fled without looking back, clutching the rifle until his knuckles hurt. Grateful as he was, he still didn't understand Kim's decision to let him run. She barely knew him, and her loyalty was to the governtary. For her to help him was ridiculous. He didn't deserve it.

  The woods extended further than he anticipated, the trees growing through the cracked asphalt and fallen buildings as though the bricks and mortar were nothing. The area had been suburbs once, now reduced to roads hidden under layers of detritus and collapsed walls that provided decent shelter. His knowledge of the assaults in Old London was limited, but it was clear the city had taken more than a dozen hits from bombs no one should've possessed. While they may have not been atomic, the weapons had done more damage than he would've expected.

  Probably had help from a Ven. They could've easily ramped up the destruction, no radiation necessary.

  Roan stopped to catch his breath, leaning against a tree while he surveyed the area. The way the sun illuminated everything dragged up memories from his childhood. Never had he felt more at home, surrounded by everything that wasn't human. He could even forgive the destroyed houses, nothing now but opportunities for nests and dens.

  This was what he missed. The freedom. The chance to take an unrestrained breath. The chance to find peace.

  When he looked down, a grotesquely twisted plastic doll stared back at him through one drooping eye. The other eye was missing, leaving a dark, empty socket. Gnarled tree roots gripped her, holding her hostage as a black centipede crawled out of her mouth.

  He backed away. Maybe it wasn't as serene as he wished it were.

  Something hard rammed into his back.

  "Go on," a man's smooth voice said. "Keep moving. Forward, but not too fast, and hands behind your back."

  "This isn't—" Roan started.

  "Shut it," a second, huskier voice commanded. The man stepped into Roan's sight. Dressed in dark green cargo pants and a plain white t-shirt, he was broad-shouldered with cropped red hair and dark freckles marking his cheeks. Without hesitation, he grabbed Roan's pistol from its holster and slipped it into the waist of his pants. "I'll take this for now. And this, too." The man slipped Kim's rifle over his shoulder.

  "Look, I'm not here to cause trouble." Roan grunted as the man behind him jammed the gun into his back again. "Just passing through."

  "Not on Clan Teach territory, you're not." The redhead snorted and grabbed Roan's wrist. "Now let's get you—" The man stopped, gawking at Roan's fingers. "Well, damn." He glanced at the man behind Roan. "Not a lick of fingerprints. Alim, he's a Ven."

  "What? That's not right," Alim answered, spinning Roan around. Alim's shaggy hair was dark brown like his eyes and unblemished skin. "Baret, tie him up. Now."

  "Yup." Baret quickly tied Roan's wrists with a thin cord.

  "This isn't necessary," Roan argued. "I know Teach. I'll go with you on my own."

  Alim laughed. "Yeah, that'd be something to see. A governtary spy following along willingly."

  Roan struggled in Baret's grasp. "I'm not a spy."

  "Right. That's why you're dressed like them, huh?" Alim gestured to Roan's glasses. "Standard issue, I bet. They look real pretty on you. Bet it drives
the girls in the metro nuts." He nodded at Baret. "Let's take him back. Jace will be thrilled."

  Roan froze. He couldn't breathe. "Wait. No. Not like this. Not like—"

  The rest of the words were lost in the rag they used to gag him.

  He wished they would've just killed him.

  02

  Once again, she'd rearranged the tent. And once again, she'd hidden what he was searching for.

  "Cayra," Jace complained, drawing his fingers through his dark hair. "Where'd you put that godforsaken box?"

  Cayra turned from the fresh laundry she was stuffing into the steel chest on the floor. "What? The last I saw, there wasn't any godforsaken box—just a bunch of things you like to keep, you compulsive hoarding packrat." She brushed her dark titian hair aside and grinned, the corners of her pale green eyes crinkling.

  Jace tilted his head. "Cute. Wait, why did I marry you again?"

  "Because I'm brilliant. And I can find anything." Cayra crossed through the tent to the wall behind Jace. Bending down, she pulled a wrapped bundle out of a dull metal canister nestled between two black canvas bags. She presented the bundle in one hand, the end of the cloth folded back to reveal a dark wood box. "Here."

  "Thanks," Jace muttered, taking the box. Inside, the notes from his father lay folded, untouched by the elements. They were irreplaceable; as precious as water. Would there come a day when he wouldn't refer to them for an answer? As leader of Clan Teach, he needed to stand on his own; make his own decisions.

  And yet, he couldn't help but fall back on searching for the answers in his father's scribbled words.

  "Feeling sentimental today?" Cayra asked, moving without making noise except for the swishing of the lightweight fabric in her grasp.

  "Something like that." Jace closed the lid, examining the Sanskrit etched into the smoothed brown surface. The words flowed with the ridges and grains of the wood. "I don't like what I've been hearing."

  Cayra paused, her back rigid, her gaze fixed on the beige wall of the tent. "What? Just tell me."

  Jace chose his next words carefully. She'd hate them either way. "Governtary's playing around near here. Shooting their guns off at some rogue militia, or so the sentries were saying. They've gone off to check on what's going on."

  "Should we be worried? They don't come down to Old London, not ever. There's nothing here for them. Not anymore." Cayra cast him a pained glance. "Think they're trying to rebuild? Push us out? Should I go get everyone? Tell them to pack just a little and—"

  "Cayra," Jace said softly, tossing the box onto their bed, hidden under a heap of blankets waiting to be folded. All of it could wait. "Don't do this." He rubbed her shoulders. "If they wanted us, they'd have landed closer and raided by now."

  "Or maybe they landed further away so they wouldn't be touched by their foul weapons—"

  "Or maybe they're really just after someone else who's actually causing trouble. They're not always trying to run us off."

  "Just most of the time," Cayra mumbled, looking away.

  "Come here." Jace held her close, swaying gently. No number of years could make her memories dissipate. She would never stop seeing the blood of her family staining the ground, oozing from every lesion and crevice created by collapsing cells. Nothing he did could make it end. Every time the governtary did something, it fed the greedy creature that was her fear.

  "I don't want to leave here," she whispered, gripping his black t-shirt. "We've only been here a couple years. I don't want to move again."

  "I know. Neither do I. And we won't. I really don't think they're here for us."

  Cayra pulled away, and Jace swept her thick bangs out of her eyes. "You're ever the optimist. Isn't that my job?"

  "Only when you take a vacation, like right now. Someone's gotta fill the job."

  "Vacation. Ha. You're funny. Still holding on to the old days, are we?"

  "What?" Jace asked. "I think it's nice, people going away and doing fun things—different things—just because they could."

  "Right, before everything went to crap. There's a reason that society's long gone, cariño. Look where all that leisure ended up: half of us are living off scraps while the other is barely keeping their heads above water. Or, rather, what's left of it." Cayra sighed and folded one of her long skirts. "The war didn't exactly help—polluting the very water they were fighting over. Terribly bright. Probably the same people who loved their little vacations. I'd like to see them try to go to the beach now." She cocked her head to the side and smirked. "Probably'd end up on spikes or growing a second head or something."

  Blinking back the few responses he was tempted to give, Jace licked his lips. Only his wife could go from frightened and requiring affection to critical and macabre in less than a minute. If anyone asked, he'd admit it was one of the things he loved about her. Cayra made the truth that much more amusing. Sometimes he considered it a crime she was the wife of a clan leader and not a member of the governtary. She'd give them all the honesty they needed, then force them to take care of the people.

  But then he'd have to give her up.

  That wasn't ever going to happen. He'd have to die first.

  Jace slid his arms around her waist. "Do you know how much I love you?" he murmured, his lips grazing the edge of her ear. Playful and light, the tip of his tongue took in the taste of her sensitive, lavender-scented skin.

  Cayra shivered, dropping the skirt in her hand. "More or less than yesterday?"

  "Like you have to ask."

  "Well, maybe I just have to be reminded. I have a terrible memory and—"

  Jace turned her in his arms and kissed her before she could manage another word. Cayra ran one hand through his short hair, tugging gently. Her other hand slipped under his shirt, her calloused fingertips creeping up his abs. Pressed against him, her curvaceous body grinding against his, her intentions were clear.

  Until she pushed him away. "Let's just leave it as a preview, shall we?"

  "Tease," Jace said, reaching for her.

  "Jace!" Dali hollered from outside. "Where you at? Get over here!"

  Jace groaned. The sentries were back with something. Alongside Cayra, he joined Dali at the tent entrance.

  "Good. Where I thought you were," Dali said, falling into step with Jace on their way towards the middle of the camp. He tugged on the tattered linen strip holding his black ponytail back. "They've got a gift for you."

  "Awesome," Jace grumbled. "A dead body."

  "No, this one's still kicking."

  Jace stopped. "Wait, what? A prisoner? Since when?"

  Dali shrugged. "Since now."

  Jace hurried through the camp, holding Cayra's hand. Loud voices filled the air, carrying over shrill whistles and the squeals of children. Bodies hustled around the tents and fire pits, eager to see what the sentries had brought back and why they yelled Jace's name.

  "Move it," Cayra commanded as they approached the growing crowd, pushing clan members aside with a deft hand. "Leader and spouse coming through." After a path formed, she pulled hard on Jace's arm.

  "Cayra! Seriously, honey, I need my arm. We'll get there. Just give me—"

  They stopped on the other side of the gathering. Jace almost crashed into Cayra. "Didn't realize a prisoner would get you so hot and bothered," he said, leaning down to keep the others from hearing.

  "If it means I get to kick some military asshole where it hurts most, I'll get so hot and bothered, you won't be able to get out of bed for three days." Cayra pointed at the sentries waiting several feet away. "Now do your business."

  "Yes, ma'am." Jace straightened and approached the four men. The tallest of the sentries, Hart and Seth, pointed rifles at the soldier dressed in black, his dirty blond hair a flattened mess except for the few places where it stood on end. Alim and Baret wore their rifles over their shoulders as they held the soldier's arms to keep him from escaping. The soldier's hands were tied behind his back.

  One glimpse at the soldier pissed Jace off.
The dark sunglasses were unnerving. Jace hated not seeing the enemy's eyes. There was no dignity in it. What kind of coward was this man?

  One who kills people he's supposed to protect, that's what.

  "We've brought you a gift," Alim announced, grinning. "Courtesy of the Toronto governtary." He pushed the soldier down to his knees. "Get down, you twisted little blood fairy. Welcome to your judgment."

  "Wait, what?" Jace looked to each of sentries. If this wasn't a regular soldier, they could be in for more trouble than he was worth. They weren't completely equipped to go up against the normal military much less someone who used magic. "Wait a sec. Hold on."

  "Yeah, I know. The glasses." Hart nodded, his long brown bangs falling into his green eyes. In swift movements, he ripped away the soldier's sunglasses. "You don't need these." Giggling, he jumped back and waved the shades.

  "You asshole," the soldier yelled, pulling on Alim and Baret's hold. "Stop acting like a freaking girl. Hand 'em over. Don't make me kick your—"

  Baret yanked the soldier back in warning.

  "Do you really want to go there?" Seth struck the soldier in the head then kicked him in the stomach. "Really think it's worth getting into it over a stupid pair of glasses? Do you honestly think you're in any position to get what you want?"

  "Seth!" Jace yelled. This wasn't how he wanted to do things. This wasn't how he'd been taught—this was the governtary's way. They had to be better than that.

  Seth spun around, flipping his greying black dreadlocks over his shoulder. The oldest of the sentries, he towered over the soldier, his ebony-coloured skin a stark contrast to the white shirt clinging tightly his broad build. "What? I'm just subduing—"

  "Yeah, I know. I can see. And I'm telling you to quit it." Jace motioned at Hart. "Give him back the goddamn glasses. If they mean that much, there's no point in taunting him. Stop being a jerk. We can still get what we need without acting like kids."