The Apocalypse Ocean by Tobias S. Buckell, Pablo Defendini Page B
Authors: Tobias S. Buckell, Pablo Defendini
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loose.
She picked up the empty canteen, slung it over her shoulder, and began to carefully climb.
Her arms and fingers were tired from the digging and threatened to give out. She forced them to grip handholds. Several times she paused, resting on her legs as best she could, catching her breath and crying quietly.
At the lip of the canyon she pulled herself slowly over the edge, terrified of knocking something loose, then rolled onto the flat ground.
The stars were falling again. Streaking far overhead and burning up, dancing and flickering.
If those were the Lord’s enemies, Kay hoped they fell all the way down onto the Lordhouse.
Something scratched the ground nearby. Kay slowly crawled along, keeping low. The tall neck of a Lord stretched over a scraggly set of bushes. It was Kestreyya, Kay realized, patrolling the lip of the canyon with a rifle in her handwings.
Kay froze for a long second. She’d been hoping to hide around the Lordhouse. She’d need food and water, and would have to sneak it out from the huts.
But she couldn’t get away from the lip without Kestreyya seeing her.
From a young age she’d been taught dispassion. The necessity of doing hard things that needed done. The Fist. Controlling the people of the Lordhouse with firmness. Her mothers and fathers had always beaten into her the need to be made of iron and think fast, read a situation.
They were bred and trained to be rulers.
Everything had just changed. But she still had that training.
Kay wiped tears from the sides of her eyes and took a deep breath. What did she have?
The canteen.
She looked down at it. It was strong, but not enough to hurt a Lord. But it did have a strap.
It wouldn’t break free of the canteen, but Kay slipped both wrists through and twisted them so that the canteen and strap were intertwined.
Then she quickly padded up toward the Lord.
Those quill feathers, she thought. Avoid the quills.
Kestreyya turned around at the last second, her wide eyes larger and more startled than even usual. For a second, Kay realized she was looking right at a Lady and her knees buckled.
“No!” Kestreyya hissed in the Lord’s language as she started to pull the rifle up.
That fueled Kay into moving faster. She slammed into the Lady hard, ignoring the pain of the quills shoving into her shoulder. The rifle clattered free and Kay slipped her arms around the Lady’s neck.
It was such a long, slender neck.
Kay yanked the canteen and strap tight. She pulled them hard and yanked Kestreyya down to the ground. The Lords were so light, Kestreyya weighed no more than Kay.
On the ground Kestreyya flapped her handwings, battering Kay’s crouched back and legs with the quill-feathers. Every slap burned and drew blood, but Kay didn’t budge.
You didn’t budge when an Ox-man threw himself forward at you.
Didn’t flinch when a Runner screamed and spat.
You controlled the situation.
You did what had to be done.
No matter the screaming. The pain. The torment.
This was a Lady. But it was no different once the mind was focused, Kay realized. She’d helped her mothers put down an unruly Runner once. Couldn’t let that spread, she’d been told.
This was the same thing.
Eventually Kestreyya stopped squirming. The faint fluttering ceased, and the Lady lay still on the desert ground.
Kay tightened the strap some more and dragged the body over to a nearby rock sticking out of the ground.
She grabbed the Lady’s head in her hands, and lifted it up, then cracked it over the sharp edge of the rock again and again until brain and blood saturated the ground.
Just to make sure.
When that was done to her satisfaction, she untangled the empty canteen from Kestreyya’s neck and slung it over her own bloody shoulder.
Kestreyya had nothing on her worth taking. The rifle wouldn’t work in Kay’s hands, she knew. It was just like a Fist, it would only work to the person a Lord assigned it.
Which reminded her. She slipped her Fist off
She picked up the empty canteen, slung it over her shoulder, and began to carefully climb.
Her arms and fingers were tired from the digging and threatened to give out. She forced them to grip handholds. Several times she paused, resting on her legs as best she could, catching her breath and crying quietly.
At the lip of the canyon she pulled herself slowly over the edge, terrified of knocking something loose, then rolled onto the flat ground.
The stars were falling again. Streaking far overhead and burning up, dancing and flickering.
If those were the Lord’s enemies, Kay hoped they fell all the way down onto the Lordhouse.
Something scratched the ground nearby. Kay slowly crawled along, keeping low. The tall neck of a Lord stretched over a scraggly set of bushes. It was Kestreyya, Kay realized, patrolling the lip of the canyon with a rifle in her handwings.
Kay froze for a long second. She’d been hoping to hide around the Lordhouse. She’d need food and water, and would have to sneak it out from the huts.
But she couldn’t get away from the lip without Kestreyya seeing her.
From a young age she’d been taught dispassion. The necessity of doing hard things that needed done. The Fist. Controlling the people of the Lordhouse with firmness. Her mothers and fathers had always beaten into her the need to be made of iron and think fast, read a situation.
They were bred and trained to be rulers.
Everything had just changed. But she still had that training.
Kay wiped tears from the sides of her eyes and took a deep breath. What did she have?
The canteen.
She looked down at it. It was strong, but not enough to hurt a Lord. But it did have a strap.
It wouldn’t break free of the canteen, but Kay slipped both wrists through and twisted them so that the canteen and strap were intertwined.
Then she quickly padded up toward the Lord.
Those quill feathers, she thought. Avoid the quills.
Kestreyya turned around at the last second, her wide eyes larger and more startled than even usual. For a second, Kay realized she was looking right at a Lady and her knees buckled.
“No!” Kestreyya hissed in the Lord’s language as she started to pull the rifle up.
That fueled Kay into moving faster. She slammed into the Lady hard, ignoring the pain of the quills shoving into her shoulder. The rifle clattered free and Kay slipped her arms around the Lady’s neck.
It was such a long, slender neck.
Kay yanked the canteen and strap tight. She pulled them hard and yanked Kestreyya down to the ground. The Lords were so light, Kestreyya weighed no more than Kay.
On the ground Kestreyya flapped her handwings, battering Kay’s crouched back and legs with the quill-feathers. Every slap burned and drew blood, but Kay didn’t budge.
You didn’t budge when an Ox-man threw himself forward at you.
Didn’t flinch when a Runner screamed and spat.
You controlled the situation.
You did what had to be done.
No matter the screaming. The pain. The torment.
This was a Lady. But it was no different once the mind was focused, Kay realized. She’d helped her mothers put down an unruly Runner once. Couldn’t let that spread, she’d been told.
This was the same thing.
Eventually Kestreyya stopped squirming. The faint fluttering ceased, and the Lady lay still on the desert ground.
Kay tightened the strap some more and dragged the body over to a nearby rock sticking out of the ground.
She grabbed the Lady’s head in her hands, and lifted it up, then cracked it over the sharp edge of the rock again and again until brain and blood saturated the ground.
Just to make sure.
When that was done to her satisfaction, she untangled the empty canteen from Kestreyya’s neck and slung it over her own bloody shoulder.
Kestreyya had nothing on her worth taking. The rifle wouldn’t work in Kay’s hands, she knew. It was just like a Fist, it would only work to the person a Lord assigned it.
Which reminded her. She slipped her Fist off
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