Rebel: The Blades of the Rose (29 page)

“One of these is the totem,” she said, rising to her feet. She wobbled. The bones lay so thick, the actual floor was buried beneath. “Now we have to determine which.”

Catullus cleared his throat. “Perhaps, Lesperance, you can scent out the proper one. Like a hound.”

“This whole place is full of scent,” Nathan grunted. “Bear
and
human.”

For a few moments, they all waded through tense silence and the rattling piles of bones, trying to find one that stood out in some way.

“There,” said Catullus, breaking the silence. He pointed at a large, long claw that rested atop one of the piles of bones. It appeared nearly three times the size of an ordinary claw. A hole had been bored into it, and a leather thong threaded through, just as it had with the wolf totem. “Rather easy,” he murmured, mistrustful. “Sources never come so readily.”

Astrid stood closest to the totem, so she cautiously started to move toward it, but Nathan's voice stopped her.

“Stop. This totem might not want someone who isn't an Earth Spirit to claim it. I'll go.” He advanced toward the totem.

Nathan reached out to take it. The pile of bones upon which the totem rested began to shake and clatter. Men's harsh voices drifted into the cavern, dim at first, but growing steadily louder. The Heirs. Heading straight for them.

Nathan regained his footing even as the bones shook harder. Suddenly, they exploded upward with a hard rattle. The bones moved deliberately, shifting against each other, moving into place. Upward, they gathered, a construction from the ground up.

They assembled themselves. Into an enormous bear's skeleton—the massive, vacant-eyed skull with enormous, lethal teeth, the barrel-sized rib cage, empty of organs and life, the stark claws bereft of flesh but gleaming and deadly. The skeleton reared up, towering fifteen feet high, its skull nearly scraping the top of the cavern. With a hollow, unearthly roar that came from no lungs and no flesh, it struck out with a claw that held the totem. Astrid felt the roar deep within the marrow of her own bones.

She shouldered her rifle. She would use it on the skeleton or the Heirs. Or both.

As she did this, Nathan hunched over. Before his hands hit the ground, he changed. Within the mist, his body swelled, grew burly and tough, and suddenly, he transformed. Before, it had happened so quickly, she hadn't time to truly take in the metamorphosis. And now she saw Nathan reform into a bear—massive and powerful. His body was broad and brawny with muscle, covered with dark, thick fur tipped with silver. He opened his black, square muzzle to bellow his challenge, revealing teeth the size of daggers and more deadly. One swipe from Nathan's claws could kill a man.

Yet the skeleton was far greater in size. And undead. Whereas Nathan was very much alive. Nathan bellowed again at the bear skeleton, standing up on his hind legs, a terrible and wonderful sight.

“Will they fight?” Catullus called above the din.

“He had only to challenge the ice wolf,” she called back. “A show of dominance.”

“Let's pray it's the same here,” muttered Catullus.

No sooner had Catullus spoken, than the skeleton charged.

 

The sound was something between a clash of marble and a steam train. Both bears roared at each other. Nathan met the beast head-on and, each clutching the other, they grappled. Astrid and Catullus fell back as the two furious creatures battled, a collision of tooth and claw. But the skeleton had no flesh, giving it an advantage. Astrid hissed as its claws raked Nathan's side, staining his fur with thick blood.

Her rifle would be useless, and the chance of hitting Nathan too great. So she slung her rifle onto her shoulder and dove for her pack. When she brandished her ax, Catullus called out, “Astrid, no!”

She shook her head at him and darted toward the brawling creatures. She edged around the perimeter of the cavern, positioning herself behind the skeleton. When it lunged for Nathan, she launched herself forward.

Swinging the blade high, she brought it down on the skeleton's back leg bones, hacking, but not breaking through, the tibia and fibula. Splinters of bone flew up as the beast roared. Unbalanced, it swung around and charged toward her. She ducked, rolled away, but felt the burn of claws across her shoulder.

The opening gave Nathan the opportunity to pounce on the skeletal beast, gripping the bones of its throat with his teeth. The two bears crashed to the ground, sending other bones spinning into the air. Nathan and the beast rolled and tumbled. With desperate, furious claws, the skeleton gouged at Nathan, tearing his flesh, trying to dislodge him. But Nathan took the pain and used it to push himself harder.

“Lesperance,” Catullus shouted. “Hurry! They're nearly here!”

Above the sounds of the battling creatures, Astrid heard the Heirs shouting, their pounding footfalls. She glanced toward the opening from which she, Nathan, and Catullus had come. Firelight from torches and lanterns began to paint the walls as the Heirs neared.

A savage snarl, and with a deafening crunch, Nathan crushed the bones of the skeleton's neck. The beast shuddered, then went still. Another clatter, and the bones that composed its form lost cohesion, collapsing onto the other bones like so much lifeless matter. The totem gleamed, ready to be seized.

Astrid was at Nathan's side before he finished transforming back into a human. When he did, she cursed, seeing his lean body viciously cut and bleeding. She held him up as he sagged on unsteady legs, his hair and skin damp with sweat.

“The totem,” he rasped.

“Here,” she said, grasping it and handing it to him. She helped him tie the strip of leather around his neck, so the claw hung between his pectorals. Parallel gashes from the skeleton's claws cut across the smooth muscle. It would take all of his healing ability to recover and, if he did, he would be forever marked.

“You?” he breathed. He reached up to gently touch the tears in her coat, the slashes limned in her blood. Fury darkened his features.

“Nothing at all,” she said quickly. There was no time to spend on fretting over her minor injuries. “Can you walk?” She smoothed her fingertips over his face, tracing the beloved, hard planes, and careful to avoid the scrapes.

He nodded, but exhaustedly.

“Good,” Catullus said, his voice clipped. He hurried toward them, brandishing his own rifle. At that moment, the Heirs, led by Staunton, appeared at the entrance of the cavern. “Because we'll need to run.”

Cover was absent. Nowhere in the cavern offered shelter from the Heirs, as they gathered at the cave's entrance with guns at the ready. Even though Astrid had known she would see Staunton again, she still shook with rage to glimpse his face, alive and eager for power, while Michael's face existed only in memory. Keeping herself from launching across the cavern to wrap her hands around his throat took every fiber of her self-control.

Nathan. Catullus. The totems. She used them all to ground herself when fury threatened to devour her.

“Stop making this tiresome, Mrs. Bramfield,” Staunton called. His voice echoed off stone walls, hollow and ringing. “Or you prefer us to kill Graves and your red-skinned companion like we did your gangly friend.”

A hot, jagged stab of guilt pierced her. Quinn died because the Heirs wanted
her.
She'd be destroyed if anything happened to Nathan or Catullus. Would it be better if she surrendered herself?

Nathan, bleary as he was, holding on to her shoulder to stay upright, caught her eye. “They're trying to tunnel into your mind,” he growled. “Fight back.”

“Yes,” she said. Nathan showed her the way back from darkness. Heirs picked their enemies apart ruthlessly, even from the inside. She wouldn't allow them to control her.

She, Nathan, and Catullus had to keep moving. Astrid took advantage of the fact that the Heirs wanted her alive. As she and Nathan struggled toward the cave's exit, she fired her pistol at the Heirs. Her aim was wild, distracted as she was, and the shot went wide, but it kept the bastards back. They all ducked as the bullet ricocheted, then lodged into stone.

With the Heirs positioned at the cave's entrance, Astrid clambered up to the cavern's exit, and, with Catullus's shove from behind, pulled Nathan up beside her. A rifle being cocked across the cave drew her attention. She cursed to see John Milbourne, the Heirs' master marksman, take up position. Even if Astrid draped herself like a rug over Catullus and Nathan, Milbourne could pick them off easily, all without so much as scratching Astrid.

“I've something to hold them off,” Catullus muttered. He took up his own short-barreled shotgun and fired at the entrance to the cavern. Something wet exploded across the rocks lining the entrance.

The Heirs and their mercenaries ducked, then looked up with puzzlement. Nothing had happened, not even a corrosive liquid burning their skin.

Both Astrid and Nathan glanced at Catullus. “Don't think that worked,” Nathan rumbled.

Milbourne took up his position again, readying to shoot.

“Patience,” said Catullus, pulling his revolver. “Cover your eyes.”

At least Astrid and Nathan knew not to argue. They both complied, though Astrid couldn't resist peeking through her fingers.

Catullus fired his revolver at the now wet cavern entrance, creating a flare of sparks with the strike of the bullet. The sparks landed on the wet patches of rock. Suddenly, the rocks surrounding the cave's entrance burst into flame. Astrid did shield her eyes then, and heard the Heirs and their mercenaries shouting in panic and anger.

Opening her eyes again, she saw the entrance to the cave now curtained in blue and white chemical flames. Behind the curtain stood the Heirs, cringing away from the blaze, unable to pass through it. They could only watch as Astrid, Nathan, and Catullus hurried away through the exit and down a tunnel. Nathan had regained enough strength to move on his own, though Astrid stayed close. Catullus lit the way with one of the brass illuminating devices, turning their retreat into a glowing green underworld.

“How?” she asked Catullus. The sounds of fire and chaos dimmed behind as she and her companions ran deeper into the mountain.

“The shotgun shell held viscous chemicals that adhered to the rocks,” Catullus answered, panting. The light from the illuminating device, combined with fighting the injury to his head, leeched color from his face and made him ashen. “Sparks from the pistol ignited the chemicals. Burns for a long while.” He sent a wry glance toward Nathan, though it skittered away at the sight of Nathan's undress. “Not as sensational as turning into a wolf or bear, but it worked.”

Nathan's smile was brief but honest. “Next time,
you
can have a magical bear skeleton tear at your chest.”

“Must I? Hate to ruin this beautiful waistcoat. It's Italian.”

Astrid felt her lips twitch. They were all of them giddy with heightened nerves and present danger. Not for a moment did any of them forget Quinn, or the reasons that propelled them onward through the cave.

“Gentlemen, if I may interrupt your stirring discourse,” she said as she sprinted, “where the hell are we going?”

Everyone stopped their run to contemplate this. Nathan took advantage of the brief pause to throw on clothing—mostly for Catullus's comfort. Certainly not for his own, because Nathan couldn't suppress his winces as the fabric contacted his wounds. Astrid promised herself she would see to Nathan's injuries as soon as time allowed. A shift of her rifle strap across her shoulder sent flaming pain through her, reminding her of her own wound. Yet she had suffered much worse in her time, and so gave it no more thought.

“There must be another way out of this mountain,” Catullus murmured.

“There is.” Nathan's voice held authority, the natural confidence so much a part of him. “I can scent it—fresh air ahead of us. Just keep going.”

Neither Catullus nor Astrid felt any impulse to question or contradict. Nathan
knew
and that was that.

So, in silent agreement, the three of them moved on. Nathan in the lead, followed by Astrid and, lastly, Catullus, who remained alert for the sounds of pursuit, pistol drawn. At some point, Catullus must have retrieved a spare pair of spectacles to replace the ones that had broken, for the green light turned the glass into a subterranean creature's glowing gaze.

Cold air pierced the tears in Astrid's clothing. Her feet slipped on the stone floor. Looking down, she saw the rocks were slick with ice. The whole of the tunnel gleamed as frost grew thicker, the air growing colder until their breath came in puffs. Dark stone gave way to glossy white, becoming aquatic as ancient ice glistened in the green light.

The tunnel steepened. Even sure-footed Nathan slipped on the sudden decline. The ground quickly dropped and, despite all their efforts, everyone stumbled, fell, then found themselves shooting downward in a mad slide. There wasn't even time to shout in surprise. One moment, Astrid balanced on precarious feet, Nathan ahead, Catullus behind. And the next—she careened down an icy chute.

“Bugger!” Catullus shouted, sliding behind her.

They slid in a tumble of flailing limbs through the ice-slick tunnel, knocking against each other, fighting to get upright. But it was a losing battle. Faster and faster they slid, rocks and ice passing in a blur. Cold wind pushed at their faces. The tunnel twisted and curved, sending everyone skidding up the walls as they banked.

When a large boulder appeared ahead, right in the middle of the chute, everybody twisted to keep from slamming into it, but that didn't stop Astrid from bumping her leg hard against the rock, nor Catullus from almost snapping his neck. Only Nathan could direct his slide, moving feet first as he plummeted down.

“Link up,” Nathan called back. “We can control our slide better.”

Fighting to reach out to each other, they finally caught hold. Catullus wrapped his legs around Astrid's middle, and she did the same with Nathan.

“We lean together to turn,” Nathan yelled. “Hard left,
now.
”

As one, Astrid, Nathan, and Catullus leaned, and narrowly avoided colliding with another boulder.

“Now right,” Nathan shouted.

They slid past a yawning gap on the left side of the tunnel that would have sent them hurtling into dark oblivion.

A sudden memory of sledding with her father, the wild ride down snow-covered hills as her mother stood at the bottom, peering between her gloved fingers. Mother lived in fear of those sledding sessions, but Astrid and her father took to the hills anyway. No self-respecting Swede could keep their child from playing in the snow. Here she was, an adult, roaring down an icy chute as part of a human toboggan.

The wind tugged a smile from her as she, Nathan, and Catullus hurtled through the tunnel, gaining speed. Oh, her bottom was going to be quite sore once the chill wore off. Yet she couldn't mind it now.

A blinding blue-white light lay dead ahead.

“Daylight!” Astrid cried.

And, like a cork popping from a bottle, they burst out into the day. For weightless moments, they soared as they lost hold of each other. Their toboggan broke into three parts: Catullus, Astrid, and Nathan. From so long inside the mountain, Astrid couldn't see, but was engulfed in white radiance, dazzling her, while clean, open air surrounded her.

Then, landing. She flew into snow and rolled. Astrid pulled her arms close, holding her rifle, knowing she could only wait out the tumble or risk breaking a limb. Over and over she rolled through powdery snow. Faintly, over the crystal crunching of snow filling her ears, Astrid heard Nathan and Catullus in their own tumbles. All she could do was hope they didn't start an avalanche or smash into any rocks or trees.

Her roll halted. She heard Nathan and Catullus slide to their own stops nearby. The world continued to spin, so she turned onto her back and stared up at the spotless blue sky, willing the sun to stop its dizzying twirl.

Finally, she sat up. The earth tilted, then righted itself. Astrid saw that she, Nathan, and Catullus were halfway down the mountain. She realized that they had passed through the mountain, the cavern entrance all the way on the other side of the huge peak. Surely it had to have been miles they'd traveled through solid rock. Hills and forest lapped against the base of the mountain, more unknown territory.

“Everyone all right?” Astrid asked.

“Limbs still attached,” said Nathan.

Catullus muttered, “Stop the carousel, Mother.”

Nathan regained his feet before Catullus did. Glittering with snow that clung to his hair, his eyelashes, his clothing, Nathan stood on legs that wobbled only slightly and went straight to her. She took hold of his outstretched hands and felt herself soar up, into his arms. Despite the snow, he radiated warmth, and she felt herself wonderfully surrounded.

“Shall we go again?” he asked, eyes aglow.

“Yes, please,” Astrid answered at the same time Catullus groaned, “God, no.”

 

Level heads and seriousness overtook them. As each gained their feet, the shimmer of shared excitement faded to be replaced by the cooler gleam of gravity and purpose. Max Quinn lay dead at the mouth of the cave, having surrendered his life to ensure the Blades' success. They could not tarry, should the Heirs follow. And they would follow. It was never in doubt. The only question was how long it would take the Heirs to catch up.

The bear totem still hung from Nathan's neck, and the wolf totem was secured within a rucksack. Possessing two totems, two powerful Sources, was enough to draw the enemy. And, no one forgot, Astrid was the Heirs' target.

What remained of the gear was loaded up onto backs. No one—not Catullus with his bruised head, Astrid with her torn shoulder, or Nathan, rife with bite and claw wounds—was spared from bearing the weight. Personal discomfort mattered not at all, and nobody complained.

In a line, they descended the mountain. Astrid glanced at the obvious trail they left in the snow. Three sets of footprints across a pristine white expanse.

“No more stratagem,” she murmured. “We've a race, now.”

“They know where to find us,” said Catullus. “And the Sources. That Native woman guides the Heirs.”

“She can take them to the last totem.” Nathan rubbed his hand on the clean lines of his jaw, where claw marks from the skeletal bear already began to heal.

“They are too opportunistic to waste a chance to get another Source,” Astrid agreed. She stepped gingerly over where the snow ended and the bare earth began. A good, hot fire to dry her clothes was a distant and lovely dream. And a cup of tea. Oh, now
that
was a beckoning paradise. “Especially now that they have the Primal Source.”

“Which is why they abducted you, Lesperance,” Catullus said. “They want all Source magic and magical beings under their control. No prospect squandered.”

“And I won't give up a chance to rip those bastards' throats out,” growled Nathan.

That was a plan Astrid could support.

Down, farther, they went, putting behind them the snowcapped mountain, until they were well within the welcoming shelter of an evergreen forest. The treetops held the gold of the sun as it journeyed toward the horizon. Soon, camp would have to be made. All of them swayed on their feet with exhaustion and hunger. No matter what losses they had faced this day, their bodies had the temerity to continue to function and make demands. Astrid knew this from experience.

At a small creek, the packs were lowered and injuries tended. A fresh bandage was wrapped around Catullus's head, which made him cantankerous. “I look like a damned drumstick,” he muttered.

After Astrid had cleaned the healing cuts covering Nathan, he saw to her shoulder. She sucked in a breath as she peeled off her coat and shirt, while Catullus suddenly became enrapt with adjusting and cleaning his spectacles. For a man whom she knew had experience around unclothed women, her old friend was circumspect in her partially clad presence.

Nathan, meanwhile, focused only on her. He frowned over the slashes along her skin, dabbing carefully with a dampened cloth. When she hissed at the touch, he rumbled, “An ax. You attack a giant magical bear skeleton with a goddamn ax.”

She was turned away and couldn't see his face, but heard the commingled anger and admiration in his voice at her risk. “Bullets are too unpredictable,” she said. “I could not risk hitting you.”