Renegade ch 8: Cute Ashen Curls

“You look lost.”

“This transportation system is insane.” Xlack’s forehead leaned against a glass map board in one of Vlavaran’s transit stations. The depicted tram routes resembled a giant knot, their color-coding lost to Xlack’s eyes.

Setting a datapad to search for tracers and following the radar were elementary skills. Catching a tram shouldn’t have been any harder, but after a night of riding the transports in circles and even falling asleep on one of them, Xlack was now further from his destination than when he had begun.

If I had walked in the first place, I’d be there by now.

“Aren’t tourists supposed to have guides?” the newcomer asked, then laughed.

Head still leaning on the map, Xlack glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “What’s so funny?”

“Just that I was about to ask if your guide got lost, then I realized how ironic that would be.”

Admittedly, that was funny but not enough to wipe evidence of his sour mood off Xlack’s face. Straightening, he gave the talkative stranger a skeptical look, complete with crooked squint. “Did that seem funnier in your head?”

“It’s not my fault if you don’t understand Knalcal humor. Few foreigners do.” He shrugged. “Are you going to ask me for directions?”

Xlack paused, scanning this gregarious stranger. His hair’s asymmetrical slant made it look like half his head was exploding. A scarf concealed his face from the nose down, one end left to wave in the wake of passing trams, the other tucked into his pale Adapt jacket. Like Twi, he had shimmering Knalcal birthmarks, though his dripped from a mask-like burn surrounding his eyes—shining scaled droplets unable to douse the portrait of flames.

“Is it your job to give people directions?”

“I’m trying to be helpful out of the goodness of my heart, and I’m beginning to think I should have chosen someone less difficult to help.”

Xlack pointed to the bottom-left corner of the map. “This is where I’m trying to go.”

The stranger’s eyes widened, and elated determination coursed through him. To Mind Talents, it roared like rallied soldiers.

A tiny frown weighted Xlack’s lips, one brow arching. “You know it, Oddly Friendly Stranger?”

“Call me Azin, and yes. The trams don’t go there anymore, though old tracks run near it. You could hijack one, but those meddlesome Adjuvants would show up.”

So, he wasn’t Adjuvant, though his life-signature claimed he was very Magni. What was the other group Rifo had mentioned, the underground gangsters?

“I’ll help you.” Azin’s eyes darted askance as he retreated. “Wait here.” He leapt onto the side of an escalator and was gone before Xlack could ask him why he would help or what he planned to do.

If he follows me around humming, I’ll knock him unconscious.

A boom rent the air, floor shaking, screams and sirens in its wake. Smoke slithered from a tram entrance tunnel, smelling of chemical fire, and Xlack started toward the chaos, an Aylata Protector to the core. This wasn’t his district, but the need to help those beset by disaster was deeply ingrained.

The stranger dropped in front of him, arms held out to herd Xlack in the opposite direction. “This way. Quick.”

“But—”

“I did that. They’ll be fine, and it’ll keep the Adjuvants distracted for a bit. Our ride’s waiting for us.” Azin glided down a row of stairs onto a loading platform, trusting Xlack’s curiosity to tow him along.

Face twisted in uncertainty, Xlack followed. His nose wrinkled as they approached the tram. Cold fog poured from its open doors, reeking of bile.

Azin stepped into the front car, and the cloud cleared around him. “Hold your breath a bit in here. I was in a hurry, so the seda-fog turned out a little strong.”

As Xlack boarded the tram, his Kinetics kept a bubble of untainted air around him. Stepping over comatose bodies strewn across the floor, he latched the pocket that held a sleeping Rell and trailed his guide through a crumbled wall into the pilot’s booth.

The fog was thickest here, Xlack’s barrier of clean air markedly apparent. With his scarf pulled loose, the helpful stranger gave him a grin of approval and leaned over a pilot slumped in his seat. No bubble protected Azin. Instead, his Kinetics constantly transformed a shallow breath’s worth of fog back into safe air—a difficult task.

If Azin had also created the fog, that sometimes made the process of turning it back easier. Reversing the steps was simpler than figuring out what parts needed swapped. Plus, things preferred to be what they once were. Pieces gave less resistance on the way back to their favored positions.

Still, Xlack wouldn’t give up his bubble and try it.

Picking up the unconscious pilot’s fingers, Azin tapped buttons projected in the air in front of him, and the back of his hand caught Xlack’s eye. It was scarred with the same scaly, shiny texture as his birthmarks, though this was thicker, beveled, and choppy. Like the burns on his face, it was an artist’s rendition of a flame dancing in the wind.

He’s been both burned and cut deliberately.

The tram flew out of the station, fog retreating toward the back of the car as they gained speed. Vlavaran’s buildings whipped by less than an arm’s length from the windows, but Xlack’s eyes remained on Azin’s scar.

“You find my score interesting?”

“It indicates a number of points you’ve earned?”

“Not exactly. It means I’m much more Magni than Knalcal, so I’m considered true-talent. It was cut into me when I was little as a warning to those who might oppose me.”

Xlack sympathized with that. The ratio of Magni to non-Magni in a hybrid was important to Aylata, so much so they ranked these percentages. Xlack was genetically the most Magni thus far in his generation, so he was ranked first.

Yet, he wouldn’t ever cut a symbol of this into his skin. Not even Zalerits would do that.

“A Zalerit that is mostly Magni is called a lightcurver. You’re like a Knalcal version of that.”

Azin put on a facetious frown, and amusement sprinkled the area around him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Xlack’s frown was genuine. “A lightcurver is to be killed, no questions, no exceptions. That’s the law.”

“So serious.” Azin laughed, hip leaning against the back of the pilot’s seat. “Good thing I’m not a lightcurver then. Mine is actually a very honorable existence. Depending on whom you ask.” His hand flipped in a dismissive gesture.

Out the window, the landscape changed from a metropolis to a brambly forest. Their train hung from a band of light above the trees’ sparse canopy. The datapad’s beep grew ever more fervent, excited that Xlack headed in the right direction.

This rival Magni had actually helped him.

“You don’t seem like the maniacal lightcurvers of legend.”

Honestly, none of the Magni hybrids he had met here matched that description. They were different but also familiar. If he brought them home like K’alaqk wanted, would they easily don the mantle of Aylata or Sereh? Would they instead prove to be as monstrous as lightcurvers? Or was there a third niche waiting to be filled by these lost cousins?

Azin chuckled. “Too bad. Are those legends terribly entertaining?”

“They’re not supposed to be entertaining.” Xlack’s hands curled at his sides.

“Your signature claims you’re very Magni as well. I’ll dare to guess you’re also Napix. An Aylata?”

“You know of Aylata?”

Azin’s head wagged. “Not as much as I’d like to.”

That sounded like an invitation for Xlack to launch into a lecture, but even if he had been willing, there wasn’t time. The tram slowed to a stop as they reached a ravine. The delicate hands of dawn poked at the edges of the sky, Vlavaran’s glittering towers barely visible on the horizon, and the datapad’s beep mimicked a racing heart, signals close and coming from beneath Xlack’s feet.

“This is Vlavaran’s border and the end of the rail.” Azin waved at the tram doors, and they slid aside with a hiss. Fog spilled out over a rotting platform and into the forest. Spiky bushes sagged at its touch, and trees leaned away from the undulating, opaque gas.

Azin ignored nature’s response to his creation and let the fog spread where it willed, its task complete. It had earned him a tram uncontested, and the tram had brought him where he wanted. Both had served their purpose and were abandoned.

Xlack attempted to transform some of the fog back into clean air, but that was complicated, there was a lot of it, and his guide walked over the edge of the ravine. Xlack hurried after him and peered over the cliff. Azin walked down the side of the precipice.

Now he’s just showing off.

He thought about doing the same, but the slate gray walls of this barren ravine reminded him of Lakol District, where he had spent his teenage years. Like the cliffs there, this one was slippery to his Kinetics, containing a generous portion of sand. Sand was glass, and glass was annoying.

Xlack crawled down the cliff feet-first, Talent supplementing his grip, but he didn’t go through the trouble of making it look like he walked on level ground.

He caught up to Azin when the showoff stopped alongside a wide door set into the stone, knees gripping the vertical surface as he knelt.

“Think there’s something fun inside?”

“In such a conveniently placed entrance? There must be.” Xlack glanced at his datapad. The signals pinged from far below this spot but definitely somewhere within the cliff side.

He dug in his pocket for the Adjuvant emblem Rifo had given him. Also occupying the pocket, Rell swatted at his intrusive fingers and fell back asleep, purring softly. Xlack held the chain, pendant dangling, as he scanned for a reader or proper spot to use it.

Azin placed a palm flat on the door, and it peeled open with a soft groan.

“Aren’t you afraid of setting off an alarm that way?”

Azin shrugged. “This is an old, abandoned place.”

Xlack doubted it was still unoccupied. The tracers worn by the Isike’s crew were somewhere in there. But no sirens heralded their arrival, and no one appeared in the dark chamber the door guarded.

Azin slipped inside, and the tile where he stood illuminated. As he stepped to another, light followed him, and the previous tile dimmed, soon glossy black like its comrades.

The floor responded likewise to Xlack’s weight. The air reeked of antiseptic. Silence was held at bay by the whoosh of a ventilation system and the datapad, its soft beep on rapid repeat.

Azin shivered. “I hate it when they put up so many conflicting fields my ’netics can’t see anything. It’s like being in a blizzard. That thing going to guide the way?” He pointed at the chirping datapad.

Xlack nodded and took the lead.

Not the eeriest place I’ve ever been, but it ranks up there.

“The signals are still beneath us, so look for some stairs or—”

A thud and a muffled cry sounded behind Xlack, and he whirled.

Azin was gone, a tile’s light fading.

Xlack retreated, squinting into the space’s dark recesses. His heart pounded. “Azin?”

Nothing. Not even a life-signature, though like the sound of a paper dropping in the middle of a symphony, that could easily be drowned out by all the other magnetic fields here. He felt half-blind.

Definitely ranking high on the creepy list.

Impaired though they were, his Kinetic senses found stairs along the room’s opposite wall. They spiraled further than he could feel.

Calm down, Xlack. You’ll be a legend, right? Darkness isn’t scary. Oddly helpful strangers who disappear are admittedly worrisome. But I am not leaving this building without those I came here to rescue.

Another thud. Xlack tore across the room and raced down the winding stairs.

In another spacious hallway like the one above, illumination provided by burdened tiles, Twi awaited him. Sweat glistened on her brow. A few of her looped plaits hung lower than the others, and several rips in her Adapt pant leg were already patching themselves. Ice could not compare with the chill of her presence, her steely stare just as cold, stopping him on the last step.

“What is an Aylata?”

Did these people think he was a dictionary? Declining to answer, Xlack continued on as if she weren’t there. His datapad screamed that the Isike’s crew was just beyond the door at the back of the room.

Twi stood in front of that door, stance stiffening. “Do not take another step forward.”

Adding authority to her soft voice, a weapon leapt into her hand and opened with a sound like metal slamming into a wall.

Before Xlack realized it, his Ier occupied his hand, banishing shadows to the oddly angled corners of this large corridor. He couldn’t see the exact shape of Twi’s weapon and couldn’t perceive its light. Instead, he caught rippling, ghostly glimpses along its length, like heat waves blurring the distance. It hummed in front of his chest like contained thunder.

Like his Ier, it had the basic tendrilled-staff structure of an Aqkashi, a relic of the Magni. Hers was closer to that ancient design than Xlack’s Ier, though he thought they were supposed to have glowed.

Twi’s gaze remained on him, wary but steady like her stance.

He met her stare, snatching at that wariness as he suggested, “Move.”

Her emotion slid from his grasp before the suggestion could properly trace it, and the inserted thought landed awkwardly in her mind, instantly crushed. Wincing, Xlack blinked.

“If you release the people in the room behind me, you will put them in even greater danger,” Twi warned.

“I can protect them.”

“To what point? This is an Aberrant base.”

“An abandoned base, and the Aberrant might not be as bad as Rifo thinks. The one I met was just as nice as you were.”

Twi shook her head. “They’re only nice when they want something. The people you intend to rescue, can you alone protect them from an entire hrausq?”

“Unless you intend to help, get out of my way.” He slammed his Ier into the invisible strands of her Aqkashi.

“Or two hrausqs?” One foot retreated to strengthen her balance.

As he passed, she ducked and kicked at the back of his knees. Xlack jumped, barely high enough in this elevated Tala gravity, and again swung his Ier at the Aqkashi. Disarmed, she would be less bold and annoying.

Still low, she spun under his swing. His wrist twisted, angling his Ier so its other end dipped toward her. She leapt over it, and her vertical staff thrust down. The Aqkashi’s tightly woven strands speared through the looser tendrils of the Ier and entwined them together.

Gripping the Ier with both hands, Xlack whirled and flung her. Their weapons slipped apart with a horrendous snap. Twi hit the wall feet first and sprung, diving to harpoon the Ier again. With a step to the right and another turn of his wrist, Xlack avoided such, and the two weapons bounced off one another with the cold, hollow sound of rushing wind.

As she landed lightly and pulled her weapon close, the edge of one strand scraped his elbow.

Arm and pride stinging, he leapt back, fear a gelid weight. His left hand covered the wound. It was a superficial scratch—nothing of any consequence except that an Ier-like weapon caused it. Ier not only slit through flesh, muscle, or bone, they confused nerves and sent infectious messages to the brain.

Insanity and death had found victims with lesser scratches than Xlack now had.

But Twi’s weapon was only Ier-like, and Aqkashi did not have such mad effects. He probed his mind. Would he feel the craziness slipping in? How long would it take?

He had to finish this before then.

Ier slammed into Aqkashi, two powerful blows in succession jarring Twi’s weapon loose. A third sliced through the staff’s fragile handle at its center—the only part of it he could see—and rendered it useless. She dropped the piece that remained before its melted edges could burn her.

Her shock echoed through him, sieved through his Mental defenses as a distant, academic thing. Despair at the weapon’s loss followed similarly.

She has to let me pass now. She’ll run.

Xlack stepped toward the door, and Twi launched at him. Her foot crashed into his chest, accompanied by a forcefield—a clear, distorting cloud made more visible by white veins of energy. It added strength to her blow. As she pushed off him and soared into an untucked backflip, he stumbled a retreat toward the stairs.

Now he knew why K’alaqk tested him with the idea of Topeca learning her Talents. Twi was not defenseless, relying on escorts. She had been taught to fight and to use some form of Kinetics.

As she vaulted again, she cupped a thumb-sized, chrome ovoid in each palm. Another wispy wave of charged air snapped into existence, and he sent one back. The ovoids shot toward him, already on his side of the forcefield, but stopping them wasn’t its purpose. It shoved Twi at the ceiling. Her hands touched first, the fulcrum of a tight flip, feet tucking against the solid surface.

She dove.

The ovoids veered to pass on either side of him, and Xlack realized what they were. At her command, they would grow a link between them and encircle him. But they were closer to him than to her.

He stole influence over them and shoved the ovoids away as their connection activated. Their link, a jagged, smoke-like shadow, crashed into Twi’s left bicep, and a virtual cord tied multiple loops around her arm.

Her reversal was immediate as the ovoids bored into the metal ceiling, too far apart. They were meant to come together once they captured a prize, but Xlack had pushed them at different angles. As they fought to reunite, their link constricted.

Twi deactivated the restraint, dropped, and crumpled on the ground, left arm limp, right hand clutching her wound. Slashes marred her Adapt sleeve, and chrysolite-sheened blood seeped through the rips. Her pain screamed.

Xlack turned to the door, stomping down sympathy. She was not anyone he should care about. An obstacle. An enemy.

“Prove it! Prove you have what it takes to overcome anything that stands in your way, because as soon as you free those prisoners, the Aberrant will pounce.”

Xlack halted. Twi stood, gaze as sharp as an Ier slicing into his back.

“How can you protect them if you can’t even stop one Adjuvant?” She moved like a river, graceful and daunting, as she planted herself between him and the door. Her left shoulder was crooked, dislocated, and swelling, but discounting that, her fighting stance was solid and flawless. Her right hand extended toward him. Determination and tenacity burned in her eyes.

Xlack grabbed these along with her raucous pain and twisted them into another suggestion. “Sleep.”

Again nothing, like a pebble tossed into an ocean.

Twi would not relent. As she had said, he must prove himself a worthy savior. To pass, he would have to kill her.

Rell mewled, no longer asleep. His glossy eyes peeked out from under the safety of the pocket flap.

Twi sprung, kick blocked, hand catching Xlack’s wrist. He twisted, flipping her onto her back as he tore free. Her feet found the ground first, trapped beneath her, right hand touching down a moment later, and everything stopped.

The Ier’s endpoints hovered above her clavicle.

She looked up at him, silvery gaze wide with pain and disbelief. Xlack fought not to look away as his Ier slid lower, devouring the distance between its sharp tendrils and her heart.

And stilled.

Knocked away by another defending Aqkashi. Rifo stood at the other end, stony stare set in a shocked expression.

A projectile flew at Xlack from behind, and he whirled, Ier chopping the small disc in half. With a hand on Twi’s uninjured shoulder, Rifo dragged her back a few more paces—just far enough to buy a smidgen of hope, not to reach genuine safety.

Backing to gain a view of both the disc-throwing Stevalok and Aqkashi-wielding Rifo, Xlack stated the obvious. “She’s hurt.”

“And what are ya doing here?” Distrust and disdain saturated Rifo’s every syllable. His Aqkashi was also invisible, though, as with Twi’s, Xlack felt it, every strand in clarity as it pulsed alongside Rifo’s life-signature. It matched him, like an Ier matched only the Aylata for whom it was made.

“I have a good reason for being here, but I don’t see yours.”

“Like I don’t have a good reason! Would ya really have killed Twi had I not been here?”

“It was necessary.”

“Add a syllable to that: It’s unnecessary!”

How was he supposed to get out of this now—two against one with a third already injured but glaring at him like she considered rejoining this fight?

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Xlack advised, unsure if he warned them or himself.

“That’s what we’re asking of you,” Twi replied through gritted teeth.

Xlack jumped back, Ier piercing the closed door that stood between him and the captive crew of the Isike. Stevalok and Rifo appeared on either side of him. Extricating his Ier from the door, Xlack blocked Rifo’s advancing Aqkashi.

He pulled Stevalok into a headlock, but the Lettaplexal had his own invisible staff, and together with Rifo’s, they knocked Xlack’s Ier from his grasp. Both Xlack’s and Stevalok’s weapons flew away from the trio. Though they deactivated when they hit the floor, they destroyed the light-tiles where they landed.

Stevalok hauled Xlack into a somersault. Using his own momentum against him, Xlack flipped Stevalok in turn, threw him into the wall, and scrambled to recover his Ier.

Rell hissed in complaint of the wild ride. Every one of his twenty-two claws stabbed Xlack’s leg.

Stevalok did not get up.

Ier in hand and reactivated, Xlack swept the weapon toward Rifo. The Adjuvant reacted with precise timing as if he knew his foe’s next move. All swings from either side were blocked. They circled one another like a pair of predators, tiles lighting under their feet.

“Rifo,” Twi called, standing now but shaky, “back off. He’ll hurt you. Let him open the stupid door if he wants.”

“Yes, let him do whatever he wants, even if it is imbecilic,” another voice chimed.

Emerging from shadows above, the speaker leapt over the stair rail and landed between the three of them. Her bulky, ochre cloak fluttered as if she could walk on the air, feet concealed in large, off-white boots. The shade of her hood did little to hide the creases webbing from her eyes and around her mouth, entwined with the slashes of her birthmarks.

Xlack was surprised a woman of her years could make such a move without breaking a hip.

“What a spectacular show.” She giggled, umber lips twisted in a teasing grin. “I’m disappointed to have missed the beginning, but I had to deal with the Aberrant welcoming party.”

“You expect us to believe you fought off a whole group of Talented gangsters alone, Old Woman?” Incredulity flattened Xlack’s statement.

“How quaint.” She chuckled. “Cute Ashen Curls here thinks there was only one group.”

Xlack flinched. It had been at least a decade since anyone besides his mother had referred to any part of him as cute within his hearing. Yet, here stood this crone making grandiose claims, her stance unflinching despite her empty hands. This last was subject to change, though. Anything could have hidden in her voluminous cloak.

He glanced at the others for a cue. Rifo was stuck between surprise, anger, and a need to stand at attention and salute. Respect emanated from Twi, tinted by bated wariness. If Xlack attacked the woman, Twi would offer herself as a shield.

Deciding to ignore the cute moniker for now, he crossed his arms. “You’re not making your story any more believable.”

“Twi might have helped a trifle.” The old woman’s hand emerged from her wide sleeve to offer a bright, blotched scarf. “This belonged to your Aberrant friend. You’re welcome to try to return it to him, but he might not want it, seeing how much it’s stained with his bodily fluids.”

Assaulted by the briny stench of sweat, blood, and charred meat and hair, Xlack’s nose wrinkled. Why would she keep this thing in her sleeve? Spoils of a conquest? He hoped she didn’t plan to wear it. He didn’t want to touch it, not even with his Talents.

“Is the former owner of that scarf dead?”

She made a grandly dismissive gesture, and the scarf disappeared somewhere along the way. “Oh, no, Cute Curls. Adjuvants do not kill unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then you should properly introduce yourself.” A smile spread across her face, her hood’s shadow sharpening its edges. There was no friendliness in it, no grandmotherly affection as Xlack was accustomed to from elderly ladies. This was the grin of an elitbeast who had cornered her prey.

He didn’t want her to know his name.

“He told me he’s called Ekymé,” Rifo divulged, and the woman’s smile grew, gaze steady on Xlack.

“I am very honored and all that to meet you, Ekymé. I am called Mystis after the tree that burns and never dies.”

“Great, we’re all friends. Can I go rescue my people from behind the door now?”

“You’re welcome to open the door, but no one’s there.” She turned, and Rifo stepped aside to avoid her outstretched arm. “Well, there are a few unconscious Aberrant, but it’s not a pretty sight.”

Xlack held his Ier higher, feet shifting into a more offensive stance. “Where did you move the Isike’s crew?”

“I’m known for accomplishing impossible things, but moving people who were never here is beyond even me.” Her candid eyes, glittering kaleidoscopes of several shades, slid to Twi. “This was a trap, one I was investigating, but it wasn’t until Twi found me and said the Aberrant searched for an Aylata with adorable hair that it made any sense.”

Had Twi really called his hair adorable? Judging by the unamused twitch in her eye, she hadn’t. Why did he feel disappointed?

Fingers brushing his bangs out of his face, Xlack cleared his throat. “Why would the Aberrant set a trap for me?”

“Answer this first: How did you plan to transport the Isike’s numerous crew?”

Disquiet dripped down Xlack’s spine, a blizzard raging in his toes.

“You hadn’t thought that far ahead?” Mock surprise polished Mystis’ smirk. “Life lesson, little Aylata: You cannot fly through life so as to leave no footprints. Your actions leave marks, and if you are unable or unwilling to look where they lead, do not invite others along to share your fate.”

Xlack frowned. “Do I have to solve riddles to get an answer out of you?”

“Life is a riddle.” Mystis laughed. “Here is my second tip: Nothing can be accomplished alone. Accept help, even if its form is nothing like you expected.”

“Are you saying you’ll help me?”

“If you want my help, follow.”

She turned and glided up the stairs. Xlack trailed her, sheathing his Ier. He also called the ovoids out of the ceiling and directed them into a pocket.

Twi crouched alongside Stevalok. The Lettaplexal was limp and motionless, his arm like a rag as she lifted it, but his life-signature pulsed strong, even from across the room. He was unconscious but alive.

The scratch on Xlack’s arm itched more than stung now, a thin scab that would disappear in a few hours. He didn’t feel insane.

Rell whimpered, and Xlack patted him, already halfway up the stairs. He wanted to apologize for the fear and resentment emanating from Rifo, for Stevalok’s comatose state, for the weeping wound on Twi’s arm and the tears in her eyes. He couldn’t take any of it back. What good would his regret do? It would just tie him down in guilt.

He mumbled it anyway, a breath at the top of the stairs. “Sorry.”

Continued in Chapter 9: Stunted by Impatience

Thank you for reading!