“If that was true I wouldn’t be here.” Silverpin’s face became suddenly sombre, sad almost. “You saved me, Clay. Kept this part of me inside you. Looks like we’re stuck with each other for a very long time.”
“I don’t want you any more!” he repeated, teeth clenched as he willed truth into the words. In response another crack appeared in the ground between them, broader than the others and emitting a deep orange glow. Clay looked down to see lava bubbling in the bottom of the newly created chasm. It was darker than the molten lake he had seen beneath the mountain, the fiery soup shot through with streaks of blood red.
Guess that’s what rage looks like, he thought, raising his gaze to Silverpin. “I . . . don’t . . . want . . . you . . . anymore!” he told her in a harsh, grating whisper and had the satisfaction of watching the surety fade from her face.
“Without me what are you?” she demanded, tone edged in desperation. “You’re like a child lost in the jungle, fumbling around, trying to find a way to defeat something you can’t even understand. The White remembers and it doesn’t forgive. When it comes for you . . .”
Her words died as Clay shattered the ground beneath her feet, sending her tumbling into the depths of the chasm. She screamed as she fell, all the way down to the molten river where she screamed some more until falling blessedly silent.
“End the trance,” Clay said, taking hold of Kriz’s face, shaking it gently to bring some life into her eyes.
“Father . . .” she whispered, a glimmer of focus returning to her gaze. She angled her head, once again summoning the shimmering human shape.
“Forget him!” Clay told her. The trance was crumbling around them as the last few drops of Blue faded. They had only seconds before waking. “None of this is real,” he told her in a gentle murmur. “Just a bad dream and it’s time to wake up . . .”
? ? ?
Clay staggered as the trance vanished, finding himself staring into Loriabeth’s concerned face. He realised he was drenched in sweat, his heart hammering in his chest. “Started to think you’d stay in there forever, cuz,” she said in a voice laden with relief.
A harsh guttural moan drew his gaze to where Kriz lay, body jerking as it had in the trance, albeit without the blood pouring from her mouth. He crouched to embrace her, holding her until the spasms ceased. “It’s alright,” he said softly, watching her eyelids flutter. “We’re out. Y’gotta wake up now.”
She gave a plaintive groan, like a child reluctantly roused from sleep, opening her eyes to regard him with a fearful gaze. “Who was that?” she asked in near-perfect Mandinorian.
“Somebody best forgotten.”
A loud grinding rumble filled the chamber and Clay looked up to see a thin line had appeared in the egg’s surface. As he watched the line widened into a gap, the grinding growing louder as the four segments that comprised the egg slid apart, unleashing a brief torrent of pale, greyish liquid. Clay helped Kriz to her feet and the four of them backed away. The light emanating from the crystal had altered, becoming more intense whilst also taking on a pronounced flicker. Beneath it the four segments ground to a halt, revealing something small and hunched. The crystal flared even brighter for a second then faded into a soft glow.
“Father!” Kriz said in her own language, starting forward.
“Wait.” Clay tried to catch hold of her arm but she was too quick, rushing towards the huddled form on the dais, then drawing up short at the sight that greeted her.
The hunched figure shuddered and as it did so the damp scales on its back glittered in the light from the crystal.
“Seer-damn Spoiled!” Loriabeth cursed, pushing Kriz aside and levelling a pistol at the huddled figure.
“Don’t!” Clay warned, though he had his revolver drawn as he approached the huddled and shivering Spoiled. “Guess this was something else that wasn’t s’posed to happen, huh?” he asked Kriz.
She said nothing, continuing to stare at the naked Spoiled in dumb shock. Finally she swallowed, blinked tears and said, “Father?”
The Spoiled’s shudders ceased, freezing in what might have been terror. Or he’s getting ready to spring, Clay thought, half-raising his revolver.
“Father,” Kriz repeated. “It’s me. It’s Krizelle.”
The Spoiled issued a low groan and shifted in response, arms unfolding to reveal two long-nailed hands that were more like claws. It raised its hairless, spined head and blinked yellow eyes up at Krizelle. Even by the standards of the Spoiled, Clay had never seen a more deformed face. The once-human features had been completely submerged beneath a thick covering of leathery scales, the brows ridged with gnarled protrusions and a line of twisted, needle-like spines traced back from the forehead to the base of the neck. He could recognise nothing of the man he had seen in Kriz’s memories, but apparently she could.
“Father . . .” she breathed, sinking to her knees and extending a hand.
“Best you don’t get too close, hon,” Loriabeth cautioned.
Kriz ignored the warning, reaching out to touch her fingertips to the Spoiled’s forehead. “I know . . . your eyes,” she said, choking out the words as tears slipped freely down her cheeks.
Zembi recoiled from her, shaking his spiny head in warning as he shrank back. It was then that Clay saw he had something on a chain around his neck. Something long, shiny and very sharp.
“Back!” Clay lunged for Krizelle just as Zembi surged upright, the long sharp object clutched in his claws. His deformed features were set in a raging mask and a roar of animalistic fury erupted from his throat. He was fast, the shiny spike in his claw blurring as he stabbed towards Kriz’s chest, but Loriabeth was faster.
The pistols thundered in her hands, muzzles flaming as she emptied all twelve chambers, displaying a speed and accuracy Clay doubted even the late Miss Foxbine could have matched. Zembi spun as the bullets struck home, blasting holes in his glittering hide and sending spirals of blood across the dais. Kriz screamed as the guns fell silent and he collapsed, spasming on the stones in a spreading pool of blood.
Kriz rushed to kneel at his side, hands fluttering over his wounds. “How?” she sobbed. “We were supposed to wake . . . to a better world . . .”