38
TERMINUS
The metal dragonfly flew with less grace than the real thing. It spun its wings rather than flapped them; three propellers pinned around the craft like points on a triangle, angled at 45 degrees. Its skin was dark metal, crusted with oxidization, gleaming with rain. The craft seemed lopsided somehow, held together by excess solder and sheer bloody-mindedness rather than engineering prowess. Two glass domes shielding the cockpit gave the impression of eyes. Its engines spat a clanking growl, like a wolf with a mouthful of iron bolts.
The propellers
Yukiko was slumped against an outcropping, barely conscious, her face black and blue. She’d watched Ilyitch cut the young arashitora from throat to belly, begin peeling the skin back from his flesh, so much blood she could taste metal as she breathed. She’d pushed feebly into Buruu’s mind the entire time, but Ilyitch’s lightning- thrower had knocked him into a slumber deeper than blacksleep could ever manage. Smooth, reptilian shapes pulsed in the water around them, but unless they could grow legs, the dragons wouldn’t be of any help. She could sense the female thunder tiger circling overhead, like a carrion bird above a battlefield.
Head splitting, blood pouring from her nose, she reached out to the arashitora above.
A mental blink.
Yukiko closed her eyes, maintained the link despite the volume and pain.
With a bitter curse, Yukiko broke contact, pushed the female away with all her strength. She flexed her fists, trying to slip her hands free of her bonds. Her eye was swollen shut, bloody drool slicked on her chin. But the Kenning still roared inside her amidst the agony of her beating, so far beyond hurt it ceased to have meaning at all.
She could kill Ilyitch. She knew that now. She could feel it surging in her, stronger than it had been when she and her father lay Yoritomo low. But what about the rest of them? Could she kill them all?
If they touched Buruu, she’d sure as hells try …
The metal dragonfly’s belly split open, a hatchway disgorging half a dozen gaijin in red jackets, dark furs and bronze insignia. Danyk walked in the lead, still wearing her katana at his belt. A furious-looking Piotr stepped out behind him, a bloodstained bandage around his head. He scowled as soon as he spotted Yukiko, limping across the island toward her.
Danyk and the other gaijin gathered around Ilyitch, amazement on their faces. The boy flourished his knife, covered head to foot in blood, motioned to the butchered arashitora at his feet. Several younger gaijin clapped him on the back, all grins and laughter, as if he’d done something extraordinary rather than commit an atrocity. Even Danyk managed a grudging smile, extending a hand which Ilyitch shook with great enthusiasm.
Piotr knelt beside her, looked her over. Yukiko’s head was splitting; she could see three of the dark-haired gaijin swimming in the air before her. The ache grew blinding, the song of sledgehammers ringing in her skull.
“Not move.” His voice came from underwater. “Head. Head.”
Something thick and soft was being wrapped around her brow. She tried to reach up with bound hands, wrists rubbed raw, blisters on her palms torn and bleeding. She forced her eyes open, stared at the gaijin as the storm howled all around them.
“Stupid girl.” He shook his head. “Stupid.”
“Go to the hells,” Yukiko spat.
He reached toward her face and she flinched away, lashed out with her feet.
“You touch me I’ll turn your brain to soup, round-eye.”
“Eh?” A raised eyebrow. “Help. I help.”
“Help? You wanted to rape me, you bastard! Get the hells away from me!”
Piotr stared at her, aghast. “Rape? Trying to
He glanced over his shoulder to the gaijin near Ilyitch’s prize, lowered his voice to a furious whisper.
“Stupid! I warn! I say! Tell for you to come with me. Using for the body!” The gaijin pointed to the arashitora laid out upon the stone, ran his hands down his shoulders, over his chest. “Using you. Gryfon body! Gryfon!”
“Arashitora…”
“Da! Arashitora body.”
“You…” Yukiko’s voice caught in her throat. “You were trying to warn me…”
“Now too late.” He shook his head. “Too late. Wear for the body. Great strength. Much prize for Ilyitch. Much prize.”
“Why would you warn me?” She narrowed her eyes. “Why help me?”
“Promise friend.”
“What friend?”
“Piotr!”
Danyk’s voice startled the scarred gaijin. He looked over his shoulder, made a questioning sound. The round-eye leader barked an order, beckoned with one broad hand.
Piotr helped Yukiko to her feet, the world slipping away underneath her, Ilyitch’s kicking still ringing like a thousand iron bells in her skull. He guided her over to the others, standing in a pool of watery blood around Buruu, speaking in a babble of gruff voices. The smell from Skraai’s corpse was nauseating; a rancid mix of blood and guts and excrement, bile and copper on her tongue. She looked at these men with hatred swelling in her chest, a bitter loathing threatening to steal the very breath from her lungs. Eight of them.
She looked down at her friend’s body on the stone, groped for him in the darkness.
The gaijin seemed to be debating about Buruu’s wings. Two of the younger ones were prodding the crumpled machinery running down his spine, the torn harness affixing the contraption to his pinions. Danyk spoke to Piotr in his rumbling baritone, waving at the arashitora. Lightning arced across black skies, the downpour growing heavy again; so thick it was almost blinding. The sound of the rain upon the ocean was a constant, rolling hiss.
“Danyk ask what wrong with this one.” Piotr’s voice was harsh, but there was pity in that single blue eye. “Is cripple?” He pointed to his leg, the metal brace around it. “Cripple?”
“What if he is?” she said.
“Will not wear for the cripple body.” The gaijin shook his head. “No strength. No prize.”
