Lindsay Buroker - Dark Currents

“J ust keep the hose from getting tangled,” Books told Basilard after showing him how to operate the air pumps.

With the fire snuffed and the fog shrouding the lake, Books could not see Basilard for signs, but he sensed the man’s concern. Or maybe that was a reflection of his own concern.

“And watch out for glowing-eyed animals,” Books added, all too aware that Basilard would be the only one up there while he and Akstyr descended. “And the man with the white orb.”

The newcomer-the shaman responsible for all this, Akstyr said-had gone into the dam. Books wished he knew a way to pass him and warn the others, but the artifact had to take priority. It was fortuitous the shaman had gone inside instead of investigating around the lake. That’s what he told himself anyway.

“A lot for one man to watch out for.” Akstyr fiddled with his diving suit. The large helmet lay in the fog at his feet. “Didn’t Amaranthe say to wait for her?”

“That was before our shaman showed up.” Books placed the helmet over his head and fiddled with the clasps that fastened it to the suit for a watertight fit. Though the clear spring sky brought cold air, the heavy gear was stifling. In addition to the suit, he wore lead weights to counteract the buoyancy of the rest of the outfit. It would probably feel good to immerse himself in the water.

A branch snapped, and footsteps pounded toward them. Books unfastened the helmet and searched for his rifle. Basilard faced the sounds, his own weapon poised.

“Akstyr?” Maldynado called, then added in a lower voice, “Cursed fog. Where’s the slagging beach?”

“We’re here, by the lake.” Books grabbed a couple of lanterns and turned them up. He shoved the logs back together in the fire ring.

A few flames burst to life in time to show Maldynado racing into camp. Sicarius came on his heels and…

The helmet dropped from Books’s fingers. Amaranthe, soaked in blood and bandaged all about her torso, hung limp in Sicarius’s arms. She was not moving. Books was not sure she was even breathing.

Sicarius’s face was as hard and cold as a marble statue. “Akstyr,” he barked.

Akstyr gaped, eyes shifting from Sicarius to Amaranthe and back.

Maldynado ran for the gear pile, yanked out a bedroll, and spread the blanket by the fire. Sicarius laid Amaranthe on it. Books stepped forward, then stopped. He wanted to help but did not know how.

“Akstyr,” Sicarius said again. “Get over here.”

Mouth drooping open, Akstyr shook his head.

Books wrenched his gaze from Amaranthe. “You have to try, Akstyr.”

“I can’t-is she even…”

“She won’t be for long if you can’t do anything for her,” Maldynado said.

“I don’t know how to… I’ve just done cuts and I’ve barely started learning to-”

In an eye blink, Sicarius lunged around the fire, grabbed Akstyr by the collar of his diving suit, and yanked him close. Though Sicarius’s hard eyes were not directed at him, Books found himself stepping back.

“Heal her.” Sicarius forced Akstyr to his knees at Amaranthe’s side. Sicarius did not say “or else.” He did not have to. The threat hung in the air, as dense as the fog.

Akstyr did not speak again. He knelt, rested his hands on Amaranthe’s bandages, and closed his eyes.

“Do you think,” Maldynado murmured, uncertain eyes turned toward Sicarius, “he knows enough to…”

Sicarius shook his head once, slowly.

A lump swelled in Books’s throat. Without Amaranthe, there’d be nobody to hold the team together, nobody to give them purpose, nobody to care about them. About him.

Sicarius lifted a hand to his face, clenched it into a first, then dropped it and stalked to the edge of camp. He put his back against a tree, putatively on watch, but his eyes remained focused on Akstyr and Amaranthe.

A realization came to Books in that moment, one that shook his beliefs even more than when he had learned magic existed: Sicarius cared.

Books was not sure what deal kept Sicarius working with the team when he so obviously did not need their help to accomplish missions or evade bounty hunters, but he had never doubted there was a practical motivation. It had never occurred to him the man might be sticking around, at least in part, out of loyalty-or more.

“It was awful, Books,” Maldynado muttered, stirring him from his musings. None of that mattered now anyway. “I was hooking them and throwing ‘em, just like our plan. Got rid of the first three, but the other three got inside and…they got past Sicarius and went for her, tore her up. He got over to her and stood above her with that knife of his. I’ve never seen someone move that fast. Just a blur, you know? He cut ‘em up, hurt them more with that knife than we could with our rifles, and he kept ‘em off. While they were distracted, I pulled the chain inside and got the hook around their necks and yanked ‘em out one at a time. They didn’t even notice. They were so fixed on…” He scrubbed his hands through his hair, then turned them over and stared, seemingly surprised to find them stained with blood. “I wish there was something we could do.”

“There is.” Books lifted his chin. “We can finish the mission.” He picked up his helmet. “That’s what she would want us to do. We have to destroy that thing at the bottom of the lake.”

“You’re going now?” Maldynado asked. “Don’t you need…” He pointed to Akstyr.

“He’s busy.”

The idea of walking down a hundred feet beneath the surface already intimidated him. Doing it alone sounded more daunting, but if he could not take Akstyr, then who?

Basilard, though he cast concerned glances Amaranthe’s direction, remained at his guard post. He would still be a good man to have up top, monitoring the air supply and the hose-and the woods. If Books took Maldynado down, it would be based on needing strength. It might be better to have someone with knowledge of magic. Sicarius knew as much, if not more, about the mental sciences as Akstyr. That made him the logical choice. Unfortunately, he appeared unapproachable at the moment.

Books cleared his throat. “Ah, Sicarius? Will you take the other suit and go down with me?”

“No.” He did not lift his head, did not even consider it.

“We don’t have much time,” Books said. “The shaman is in the dam. He’ll soon figure out we’re over here.”

Sicarius’s gaze ratcheted onto Books. “The shaman is here?”

“Akstyr said it was our man. He had a magic globe for a light source.”

Sicarius stepped away from the tree. “I’ll find him.”

“Er, but we don’t want to find him, do we? We want to disable his device before he figures out that’s our intent.”

Sicarius was not listening to him. He pointed at Maldynado. “You watch her.” Though unspoken, the threat was there again.

He disappeared into the woods before Books could protest further. Maybe Sicarius thought the shaman capable of healing Amaranthe. Capable and coercible were different matters, though, and Books wondered if even Sicarius could force the person powerful enough to make these devices into helping.

Though…the shaman might prove less obstinate if his goods were destroyed and his plans thwarted.

Yes, Books had to do this. He nodded and grabbed a tool pouch. After a moment of debate, he strapped his sword belt around his waist. A foolish choice perhaps-with his luck, he could cut his own air hose-but he was not positive nothing inimical lurked in the depths.

“Maldynado, want to help me down there?” Books asked.

“I’m not going against his orders.” Maldynado jerked a thumb in the direction Sicarius had gone.

“Akstyr is with Amaranthe, and Basilard can keep an eye on everything else.”