Ecko Rising

“Gone.” Triq shrugged. Blood seeped from the narrow slice in her neck. “I took what I could from the panniers. The mare’ll go home – she’ll take the rest of them with her.” She slipped the dice into a pouch. “We’re stuck.”

“See? I knew horses were bad idea,” Ecko said.

One of Redlock’s muscled hands clamped around the front of Ecko’s cloak, lifted him almost clean off his feet. Ecko inhaled, cursed his empty flamethrower. His eyes flashed red and he bared his teeth.

“Gotta problem?”

Redlock snarled. “What. The rhez. Are. You?”

“Your unavoidable destiny. Now put me the fuck down before I break your face.”

For a moment, confrontation clamoured loud.

“You were in The Wanderer,” Triq said. She put hand on Redlock’s arm, a caution. “On the bar – I remember. You’re a friend of the Bard?”

“I’m his...” The words caught as he said them, but he said them anyway – spitting them at the sky, at Triqueta, at Redlock, at Eliza. “I’m his Eternal Champion or some such shit – I’m here to save your ass. Now move your fucking hand.”

Redlock let him go.

But Triqueta was staring at him, her jaw dropped, her dice forgotten.

“If the next words out of your mouth are about coming from another world...”

Ecko grinned. “Whaddaya know, he gave you my resume.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The axeman snorted scorn.

Ecko gave a jaunty, what-the-hell shrug and stood back, untangled his cloak, flickering his optical scans.

“Toldja you wouldn’t believe me.”

Redlock said, ‘What are you, Kartian? Another alchemical monster?”

Ecko cackled. “The Bard’s nightmare vision? The Bogeyman? You tell me.”

“Enough!” And Tarvi was there in the moonlight, the Monument’s nacreous glow making her shimmer. She looked oddly ethereal – the taste of her still tingled on his lips. Viciously, Ecko crushed the feeling, binned it with an addict’s determination – she was a trained soldier for chrissakes, not some winsome heroine that needed a protector.

Fuck that noise. He wasn’t going to babysit her, or any of these guys. He was just...

Just...

What was he doing?

His fingers were fidgeting with Lugan’s lighter, clicking the lid open and shut, open and shut. Somewhere in the back of his head he could hear Eliza laughing.

Ah, Ecko. You know just what you’re doing. Don’t you.

Yeah, he did. He was proving that the Bard was wrong. Proving that he could do this. Proving that he was a champion. He wanted to be, needed to be, it was just...

On the heels of his admission came a realisation, an understanding of something...

The fractal repeats itself! Of course it does! And that means this world is mine – all of it, it was made for me.

Why else would the goldie girl come back?

But that means...

For a moment, Ecko’s thoughts were poised on the edge of explosion, torn between impossible, opposing poles. He wanted, need to be a hero, a fighter, a champion. He needed the purpose, the validation. But at the same time, he likewise needed to be free, to achieve his success his own way, to escape with his mind intact.

But if the pattern repeated itself, then he had no freedom – every choice he made would just land him in the same place.

Was that the point? Was that the choice he had to make, the lesson he had to learn? His therapy? If he wanted to win, then he must toe the psychological line and be “normal”...?

His snarl was almost aloud: I’m not playing your damned game!

“We should go,” Tarvi said. She was watching the horizon, all round them. “I don’t like this – we should move away from the corpses.”

“Wait,” Redlock said. “We’re not going anywhere until we get a name and –” he blinked “– explanation out of this character.”

I said “another world”. You want me to prove it?

The acerbic reaction never made it past his teeth.

“Down!” Tarvi’s soft cry had them all flat in the grass.

“Where?” Instantly businesslike, Redlock was fast, axes in hands. He looked ready to hook the rest of that henge thing and drag it into the dirt, pyrotechnics and all.

Beside him, Triq was arrow nocked and silent, watching the rear. Her voice was low.

“I can’t see –”

“I got ’em.” Ecko’s telescopics spun and locked. “Beasties. Over a klick, south-west. Whatever they are, they’re heading away. They’ve come out behind us, for chrissakes.”

“They? What the rhez is a ‘click’?”

“Easy, tiger – they’re there.” Ecko’s mottle-dark arm pointed, and there were creatures, a dull red glow of motion, heading fast away from the Monument.

Great blurs of wildflower hampered his ability to focus. For chrissakes! He batted at them – then a rift in the clouds bathed the prairie in yellow-white madness and his tele-focus hit: they were right up close and personal. Ember-glow eyes, grey and broken faces, pitted stone muscle limned in fire. They were misshapen and twisted, worn like old rock...

“Jeez, they’re on vacation from the local fuckin’ cemetery.”

“Will you be specific?” The only thing from the cemetery was Redlock’s sense of humour. Ecko scowled him to silence and they watched.

He counted ten of them, twenty, more. They lurched unevenly as they ran in ranks, extended file. The grass flashed into ash and smoke tails as they passed.

He didn’t need his heatseeker to tell him how hot they burned: steam flashed from their stone skin, the night air shimmered over them.

They were unaware of their audience, their surroundings, their attention was pointed straight forwards. One-track fucking program.

Triq said, without turning round, “South-west? They’re heading for Roviarath.” In her half crouch, she backed to where they’d gathered, heads low. Her voice was urgent. “I have to go back – Jade has to know.”

“They’re goin’ like greased shit off a chrome shovel.” Ecko borrowed one of Lugan’s favourite phrases. “Too big for a recon force. Without backup, too small to hit a city... Fuck me.”

“What?” Three voices spoke together.

Spinning his focus, he turned his black-slash grin on the rest of the little group, huddled in the grass shadow in fear of the Monument’s light.

“They’re leavin’ a trail of fuckin’ destruction a blind tourist could follow – with or without a guide-chip. Someone’s gettin’ way too cocky.”

“Then they think they’ll win?” Triqueta’s urgency sounded like panic. “I have to go back!”

“They’re fast and light – they’re vanguard.” The axeman watched their reddish gleam across the tops of the grass. The rip in his shoulder was leaking darkness, he paid it no attention. “I’m guessing they should’ve come out under storm cover... If they’re leaving a trail, it’s not by accident – something else is coming.”

“We can find where it started, where they got out.” Tarvi was biting her lower lip, her resolve set though she’d never been so scared in her life. “I’m not giving this up, not now.”

Ecko’s hand twitched towards her. He sternly told it to fuck off.

“You’re not hearing me!” Triq’s tone was fierce, but she didn’t take her eyes off the rearguard. “The Fayre’s