Lindsay Buroker - Forged in Blood II

Amaranthe wasn’t dead. At least, she didn’t think so. Dead people probably didn’t hurt all over. The flying lifeboat had insulated them from the crash somehow, though her head had connected with a couple more walls before the craft stopped bouncing.

“Books?” she asked into the darkness. “Akstyr? I hope one of you is alive, because I have no idea how to open that door and get out of this thing.”

A deep, pained sigh came from underneath her-she’d tumbled back on top of the men again during the landing. Amaranthe crawled to the side, though there wasn’t much open space in the cramped cabin.

“One of you?” Books repeated. “You have no preference as to whom your survivor is, nor a belief that one of us would be more equal to the task of opening a door secured by ancient unfathomable technology, or of deciphering instructions written in an inscrutable alien tongue?”

He must not be wounded horribly if he could utter all that.

“You saw instructions?” Amaranthe asked.

“Well, no, but it was hard to get a good look in the dark. And while we were being shot at.”

“We still have the darkness problem,” Amaranthe pointed out. The viewport that had appeared while they were in flight had disappeared before the crash, leaving the inside of their lifeboat utterly black. “Akstyr?” Amaranthe patted about, finding his back, then following it up to his neck so she could check his pulse. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d hurled himself into the craft, dodging the incendiary beams of those indestructible cubes.

He mumbled something at her touch on his neck.

“What?” Amaranthe breathed a sigh of relief. They might be a thousand miles from the capital, but at least they were all alive.

“Wanna rest,” he slurred. He lay facedown, his mouth pressed into the floor. “But some muddy’s knee is up my buss.”

“I think he’s referring to your body part,” Amaranthe told Books mildly, fairly certain she wasn’t sitting on anyone anymore. Though she couldn’t be sure what a “buss” was.

“Ah.” Books shifted. “I’d wondered why that section of the floor was so bony.”

“Ma buss not bony,” Akstyr slurred.

Maybe more than his positioning accounted for the mangled words. Amaranthe prodded his scalp and found a lump. He must have hit his head, among other things. He’d also been wearier than a long-distance runner after a race when he’d stumbled into the lifeboat. Out of curiosity, Amaranthe investigated her own scalp. She snorted when she found three lumps. Maybe her words were coming out slurred too.

Books groaned as he stood up. “I’ll see if I can find the-”

The door slid up, the material disappearing into the hull. Starlight, freezing air, and the scent of snow-covered pine trees entered. The cold air slithered through Amaranthe’s leggings, and she tugged her dress down as far as it would go. A chunk of blonde hair tumbled into her eyes. She shoved it behind her ear and wished for a beaver fur hat. She had a feeling her Suan costume wasn’t going to be suitable for this next adventure. Not to mention that ridiculous underwear she’d let Maldynado pick out. One slip down an icy slope, and she’d have snow all the way up her-

She sighed. At least the fur boots were practical.

“Good work, Books.” Amaranthe patted around, finding two of their rifles. The cartridge ammunition littered the floor, and she scooped up as much as she could. Who knew what they’d face out there? The craft could have plopped them down into grimbal or makarovi territory.

“Uhm, yes. Except I didn’t do anything. Perhaps it sensed that we’ve landed and is ready to spew us forth into the world of its own accord.”

“That’s fine,” Amaranthe said. “I’m ready to be spewed.”

“Think I was already spewed,” Akstyr muttered and curled his legs up to his chest. “It’s cold. I wanna stay here and sleep. Be warm.”

“If the door closes again,” Books said, “you may be stuck inside forever, because I don’t know how to open it.”

Akstyr lurched to his feet and stumbled out into the snow. “Never mind. I’m ready.”

He barely made it through the threshold before slumping against the hull.

“Why don’t you stay here,” Amaranthe suggested, “and try to make a fire? Books and I will figure out where we are.”

When she stepped outside, shivering at the wind scouring the mountainside, her optimism floundered. A few pines, the bases half buried by drifts, dotted the slope below them. They’d landed above the tree line and, she feared, far from any towns. Not good. They weren’t prepared for winter wilderness survival conditions.

Books stepped out beside her and surveyed their dark surroundings. “Hm.”

“Does that mean you don’t know where we are either?” Amaranthe wished she had an idea of how far they’d flown and in which direction. Were they fifty miles from the capital? Or five hundred? Though she’d been out of Stumps more times in the last year than in her entire life prior to meeting Sicarius and the others, she didn’t exactly qualify as a world explorer yet.

“That may be a pass over there,” Books mused. “And those four peaks in a row remind me of the Scarlet Sisters, though there are arrangements like that in other mountain ranges, too, I’m certain. We don’t seem to have left the climate zone, albeit we’re at a higher and, ah, chillier altitude. The stars are familiar.”

“That was a yes, right? You don’t know where we are?”

Books grumped something that might have been agreement.

“I hear a train,” Akstyr said from where he still leaned against the lifeboat hull, his eyes closed, his arms wrapped tightly about himself and the rumpled guard uniform he’d acquired on the way down to the Behemoth .

Amaranthe perked up. He was right. She caught the distant chuffing of an engine working hard to pull its load up an incline.

“Oh!” Books said. “Those are the Scarlet Sisters then. That’ll be the East-West Line, and that train is either traveling to or from Stumps.”

Given the chaos the Behemoth’s appearance must have caused-Amaranthe had no idea if it’d sunken back down into the lake or taken off for some distant destination, but people would have witnessed it either way-she thought traveling from was the more likely scenario. Or fleeing from perhaps. Still… “Let’s see if we can get to the rails before it’s gone. If it’s going to the city-”

“It could be our ride home,” Books finished.

“Does this mean no fire?” Akstyr asked.

“Sorry.” Amaranthe grabbed his arm. They’d have to hurry to have any chance of scrambling down the mountain in time.

“You can sleep on the way back to the city,” Books said. “We’re over one hundred and fifty miles from Stumps.”

Amaranthe’s mind boggled at the idea that they’d traveled that far in a couple of minutes, but she was more concerned about getting back now. She handed Books the other rifle and led the way down the mountainside, plowing through snow that enveloped her legs up to her knees with every step. It didn’t take long for sweat to break out on her brow and weariness to slow her limbs. Her newly acquired bruises and lumps further protested this unasked-for workout, and she wasn’t altogether upset when Akstyr announced he was too tired to go on. They stopped to rest, huddling beneath the boughs of a tree for protection from the wind. The chugs of the train faded from hearing.

“I believe that one was heading away from the capital,” Books said.

Amaranthe doubted he could tell-with the mountain walls, canyons, and crevasses distorting sound, she couldn’t-but she could understand the desire for optimism. Especially when her toes were freezing in her boots. Once again, she was glad she’d ignored Maldynado’s suggestion to wear sandals to the yacht club.