Danie Ware - Ecko Rising

Then he stopped, really sick now, quivering. The low lights of the tunnel were sparking in his vision. He mustn’t black out... mustn’t fucking black out....

The Bogeyman’s luck was with him: he kept his feet – and his stomach.

Triq was shouting – what did they think they were doing? Tarvi was crying out at a sudden shock of pain in her back.

She’d hit the corner of the stone support, the axeman’s weight on top of her. Deal with that, you fucking...

Redlock straightened up, fighting for breath. Ecko wondered what he’d broken. Not much. In the darkness, the white gleam of the axeman’s eyes was utterly unholy.

“You traitorous little bastard. I knew I couldn’t trust you. I’m going to –”

“What?” Ecko savaged back. He was shaking, trying to hide it, struggling to find his anger in the midst of his vision spinning like he’d been dropping monkeydust all night. “You’ll do what ? I’m faster than you, stronger than you, more than human, built to be a fucking hero. Mom made like this because I wanted her to. I asked for the fucking pain.” Was he telling himself or Redlock? Or was he telling Eliza? “You bring that axe near me, fuckwit, you’re getting a steel enema.”

“Try me.” On foot, Redlock had killed the centaur stallion. He came forwards, the axes spun, edges dancing with the dark light.

Ecko thought, Yah, fuck it.

Kicked his boosting.

It failed.

No fucking way.

They were so intent on each other, on the edge of the platform, that Triq’s movement startled them. She was a swift, gold streak, down two steps, past Redlock’s back and lunging, swearing, through the lintel doorway.

“Men!” she said. One hand in her collar, she hauled the fleeing Tarvi back on to the platform. “And where do you think you’re going, sunshine?”

Redlock started to cough. Sagging with relief, Ecko was almost on his knees.

“Fat lot of use you two are,” Triq said. “All that macho posing. Look at you both!” She shook the captured Tarvi like a squealing esphen. “Spill it, girlie, or I’ll show you what the Banned do to people who betray their friends. What are you?”

Redlock was trying to speak, but the cough was making him shudder. Blood flecked the inside of his palm. He grimaced, wiped it on his breeches.

“Is everyone damned crazed?” he said at last.

“No more than usual.” Ecko watched him, wary. “You ready to listen now? Or d’you wanna play some mo– ?”

Tarvi raised her gaze, met his black-on-black oculars. Help me, Ecko. She’ll hurt me. Help me.

Like electrodes to his temples, his brain exploded.

Images detonated, an expanding writhe of top-quality late-night porn. She was under him, over him, round him, on her knees before him – not just Tarvi, but her real self, her immortal and impossible self. Figment. No lover – be she flesh, fantasy, flatscreen creation, body sculpt or brainrig – no lover, even in his dreams, could fulfil him like this.

Let me , she said, her eyes still on his. Let me show you.

In the basher, after the death of Pareus and his patrol. Only this time, his breath was lethal – he exhaled and she burned.

Oh fucking hell.

She burned for him, with him. The ultimate forbidden fantasy, the fire lived in her flesh and he took her anyway. She loved him, saved him, wrapped herself around him and they burned together, the ultimate consummation and release.

They were consumed, a pyre. They burned away.

Ash, blowing forever across the decaying grass.

Let me show you.

Ecko found himself on his knees. The desire to take hold of her, to rip her from Triqueta’s grasp and bury himself in her, was overwhelming. Black teeth clenched, he forced himself to stand.

Aren’t there enough goddamn people in my head already? Damn suck-u-bitch, get out!

Dimly, he was aware of the axeman, still coughing. Redlock spat shards of his past through scarlet-flecked teeth.

“Shynane, please... You’re not... my wife any more...” He was doubled over from the pain in his chest. His vision was his own, and he was locked within it.

Tormented. But fighting.

Tarvi’s eyes narrowed.

Then she turned her hell-gaze on Triqueta.

Weapons forgotten, the horsewoman didn’t hesitate. Her hands grabbed the front of Tarvi’s shirt, pushed her back into the rock wall. Triq was desert blooded, she lived in the moment and had no thought of resistance – she kissed the creature with a passion that wrapped Tarvi’s hands and thighs round her, embracing her eagerly in return.

Redlock hauled himself upright, cried, “Triq!”

For a moment, Ecko thought he was doing the schoolboy-fantasy thing, then he realised something horrifying.

Triqueta was darkening.

In the blackness, lit only by the deep-purple throb and spark of the wall, she was caught in the embrace of a monster – and she shrivelled.

For a moment, all of Ecko’s ocular sensitivity couldn’t explain what he saw – but as the axeman surged forwards, coughing still, he realised what the creature was taking.

Time.

The gemstones flickered and flared – but the skin around them shrank, became lined and weather-beaten. In the space of a heartbeat, a silent scream, Triq went from thirty to forty, forty to forty-five –

The back of Redlock’s axe clipped Tarvi smartly round the side of the skull. She dropped the horsewoman to the platform, turned on him and hissed through her teeth. She was crouching now, her skin dark, her eyes as white as bone, her nails curved into hooks. Fingers splayed, seeking.

Triqueta hit the stone and lay like a dead thing.

Oh, fuck.

“Please,” Tarvi said. Her voice was a throaty mockery of her earlier innocence. “You wouldn’t hurt me, would you? Think what I can do.”

“Yeah, right.” Ecko laughed at her. “I got one more fantasy that’s all yours.”

“Oh don’t I know it.” She flicked her eyebrows at him, igniting fires in his belly.

“Why did Maugrim send you?” Even as they circled, shifting on the tiny platform, seeking advantage, Redlock was pure business.

She moved, trying to keep both of them in sight, keep their backs to the edge of the lake.

C’mon , Ecko told his endocrine system, c’mon let’s not wait ’til fucking Thanksgiving, shall we?

The axeman lunged, double slash. But she moved like a dancer – fluid, impossibly graceful.

“Maugrim?” she said.

As he pressed the advantage, pure focused aggression, she opened his face with one lightning claw-slash.

She was laughing. Ecko hadn’t even seen her move.

Holy shit. Okay, unholy shit.

“Fool boys, you have no idea.” She teased them, sucked blood from her fingertip.

Ecko, targeters wavering, snapped his foot sideways, a strike to break her elbow.

He missed. By about half a klick. She seemed to evaporate, recoalesce.

“Why do you fight?” she said. She flicked her claws at him. He snatched his head sideways. “It’s not Maugrim I’m answering to.”

“That’s helpful.” Low and wary, Redlock spluttered a cough.

The axeman lunged again, one blade, two. The platform was too small for this shit. He was trying to drive her back into Ecko, but she spun from between them.

“Maugrim is detailed to take Roviarath. I’m here to make sure he does.”

“I’m not playin’ twenty fucking questions here.” Ecko turned to keep her in sight. Where were his adrenals? A second kick, a snap of his foot at her shoulder – his targeters were off.