Robinson Crusoe 2244 (28 page)

“Yes,” he answered.

“Then may the Goddess give you a death worthy of life.”

She stood, the iron glowing in her hand. When it struck his flesh, it took every ounce of his being not to wince or cry out in pain. His skin popped and crackled, and the smell that followed made his stomach turn, but he never flinched or grit his teeth.

When the job was done, Friday swooned and Robinson caught her. She was shivering again and he quickly covered her and lowered her to the ground. Afterward, he used the water to cool the iron and put out the fire.

“Cru-soe,” Friday whispered. “Now my love and duty are one. Tomorrow, we leave the city?”

He nodded. “With no looking back.”

Her mouth curled delicately and then she fell asleep.

It was still dark when Robinson woke. The drums had been silenced, but the noise was replaced by something even more frightening—the sound of Friday’s raspy breathing. She was wracked with fever and shivering terribly. When he tried to rouse her, she moaned with delirium.

“Friday, can you hear me? I have to leave to fetch you medicine, but I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

She shook her head and tried to speak but convulsed with coughs.

“I have to go. If we don’t ease your fever, I’m afraid of what will happen.”

“The G-goddess—” she managed.

“Can wait. We cannot. I’ve left water just there and the barley bread from the flyer. Get it moist before you eat it and stay covered, no matter how hot you feel.”

She shook her head and mumbled lightly. He kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand.

“Of course I’ll come back. I’ll always come for you.”

He kissed her again and left.

Outside, the dawn smelled of smoke and burning flesh, but to Robinson’s surprise, the Bone Flayers’ ship was gone. The full moon was still two days away. He had no idea what to make of it.

Equally troubling was the number of render corpses strewn over the arcade. They were everywhere. Last night had been no ordinary sacrifice. This had been a call to slaughter. The burning of their home was meant to convey one thing: the leader of the Bone Flayers had not forgotten Friday. The chief’s desire for revenge fueled his rage to the exclusion of all else. When he couldn’t find her, the city had bore his fury.

If they didn’t leave that day, they never would. But Friday was in no condition to travel. Even if Robinson could find the herbs to reduce her fever, she would still need time to recover.

Thin ropes of smoke still curled from the back of the memorial. Although the structure itself was mostly marble and limestone, the savages had used the gasoline Robinson had refined to torch the interior of the sanctuary. The barricade had been torn away and the murals had been sullied by fire. The savages had even scaled the marble statue of the seated man and attempted to hew his head from his shoulders. There were hack marks at the neck, face, and legs, but the bronze figure had persevered. Like most men, his aura only loomed more powerful bearing those scars.

He would have made a fine Aserra.

The rear of the memorial was worse than he’d feared. The waterwheel had been torn into pieces and cast into the water. The garden was destroyed and the Bone Flayers had somehow rent open a hole in the back wall.

Inside, the room was a smoldering mess. All their possessions were gone and all of Robinson’s inventions had been destroyed. Even the stores of meat they had spent so long accumulating had been left to burn. The savages had spared nothing.

Robinson walked slowly through the rubble, searching for Resi’s body. He hoped he wouldn’t find it. He imagined several scenarios in which he had somehow managed to escape during the chaotic attack. He was a clever dog. He had survived worse things. But, it was not to be.

Huddled in the corner where Robinson and Friday had kept their bedding was a darkened, curled form. It appeared almost to be sleeping.

Robinson wanted to weep, but he knew Resi wouldn’t approve.

Nearby, he found a charred blanket and draped it over Resi’s body. He saw a glint of gold at his feet. It was Resi’s tag. He pulled it from his charred collar and stuck it in his pocket.

Had Robinson known anything of religion or had he a Goddess of his own, he would have said a prayer. The dog had been a good friend, even if he hadn’t always liked his human companion. He decided to save his mourning for later.

Robinson walked to the collection of pipes and stuck his arm deep inside. There, he pulled out a tin can, blackened but intact. Inside were the herbs he needed to help Friday heal. Also inside was his mother’s locket. He had been without it too long. After slipping it over his head and tucking in inside his shirt, he left his second sanctuary behind forever.

Looking back, Robinson wished he had buried Resi in the garden where he’d have a view of the water each morning and could see the river fowl that flew past at dusk. But the dog had given his life protecting their home, in the same way that the Seated Man had given his. If anyone in this terrible, new world deserved a place by the man’s side, it was Resi. It would be a comfort to know they rested together.

The trip back to the library passed in a blur. When Robinson heaved through the front door and ran up the stairs, he was already mixing the tonic in his mind. But as he reached the third floor and crossed toward the back wall, he froze in his steps.

The stairwell door was open.

“No,” he said breathlessly.

But he already knew what he’d find inside.

He rushed into the stairwell, his feet flying over the steps until he reached the bottom floor.

Friday was gone.

“No! No!”

Robinson ran back up the steps, bellowing Friday’s name. But as he spilled out of the door he saw a figure standing just a few feet away. Robinson halted in his tracks.

He wore the same tattered rags and bore the same heavy glower. And yet he looked infinitely older than the last time Robinson had seen him.

“Where is she?” he asked in the man’s tongue.

The Old Man sighed wearily, but only answered, “I am sorry.”

“Tell me where she is!” Robinson screamed. His tomahawk found its way into his hand. But the Old Man never flinched or prepared a defense. He simply turned toward the window. Robinson’s heart lurched.

He crossed and looked out.

Down on the street, two savages held Friday with a noose tied to the end of a stick. Blood ran from her nose, but her captors looked worse. Behind her stood Savage Chief, eyeing Robinson with the haughty sneer that only a victor knew. Then he turned and called someone from the shadows and everything spun askew.

Vardan and Jaras Saah stepped out from under the awning of a building. They were surrounded by half a dozen Iron Fists, all fully armed with ancient weapons.

In an instant, Robinson’s world collapsed around him.

Jaras wore his usual smug smile, marred only by two purple rings under his eyes. For his part, Vardan didn’t care to gloat. He wanted this over as quickly as possible. He signaled Robinson to come down.

Robinson turned to face the Old Man, asking him only one question. “Why?”

If the Old Man was surprised that Robinson could speak his language, he didn’t show it. His eyes stayed at his feet.

“Eight years I lived here in hiding. Eight years of shame. And then one day you appeared and reminded me what it meant to be a man. The morning you left, I went to challenge the chief, but he laughed at me. There is no honor, he said, in fighting an Old Man with one hand. The Bone Flayers I had escaped were long dead. They would not grant me an end worthy of the Goddess. Instead, I was taken and paraded among their people. Spit on, beaten, and at last … ignored. And then one day Chief returned. A girl had escaped him. He wanted her badly.”

“And you agreed to hand her over. For what? Your freedom?” Robinson asked.

“A month of sacrifices and seven Aserra. Surely you see the honor in that.”

Robinson shook his head. “I don’t pretend to know the ways of the Aserra, but I know right from wrong. And I know you don’t sell out your own people for any cost. When we first met, I thought you were a hard but fair man. But now I see it’s only your heart that’s hard. You speak of honor as if it could be bartered or given freely, but even I know honor can only be earned. The truth is, you didn’t sell the woman I love for a month of sacrifices and seven Aserra. You sold her for your soul.”

Robinson turned and walked toward the central stairs.

“The Goddess will forgive me,” the Old Man said shakily.

Robinson scoffed as he set down the stairs. “Old Man, from what I hear, she’s not the type.”

The moment he stepped out of the library with his tomahawks in hand, a dozen weapons were trained on him.

“I want the girl,” he said.

“We both know that’s not going to happen, son,” Vardan Saah responded. “So why don’t you put your weapons down? Let’s talk.”

“Call me ‘son’ again and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

“He’s telling the truth, Robinson,” Jaras said. “He doesn’t want you dead. He has a proposition for you—”

Vardan glared at Jaras.

“Tell your men to lower their weapons,” Robinson said.

“No. You will lower yours.”

Savage Chief grew pensive and barked at his men. They tightened their hands around their spears and bows, but Vardan waved them back.

“You’re making Arga’Zul nervous,” Vardan said.

“I’ll give you to the count of three,” Robinson responded.

“You can’t kill us all,” Jaras said incredulously. “You’re outnumbered fifteen to one!”

“I don’t need to kill everyone. Only that big bastard and you. After that, it won’t matter who’s armed and who’s not, because Friday will finish the lot of you off.”

“Robinson,” Vardan warned.

“One,” he said.

“I told you, he’s crazy,” Jaras swore.

“Two,” he said.

Half a dozen rifles zeroed in. Spittle flew from Arga’Zul’s mouth as he shouted. Robinson’s eyes flicked to Friday and he saw her trying to shake her head, but it was too late. He tightened his hands on his tomahawks, deciding which of the three targets he would kill first before he died, when suddenly, all eyes flew up.

A shadow fell out of the sky and slammed into the road a dozen paces away. It hit with a sickening splat. Blood sprayed everywhere. Jaras gasped and covered his mouth. Everyone else stood stunned.

The Old Man was dead.

Before Robinson knew it, the tomahawks were ripped from his hands and several savages tackled him to the ground. They clouted him mercilessly until Vardan Saah called them off. Two Iron Fists came over and stood him up.

“Why did he do that?” Vardan asked of the Old Man’s suicide.

Robinson smirked. “For honor. Something you know nothing about.”

“You see, Father,” Jaras sneered. “I told you I hadn’t imagined him.”

Vardan looked Robinson over and shook his head.

“Indeed. Apprentice Crusoe, you surprise me, surviving out here all this time by yourself. I didn’t think you had it in you. And my, how you’ve grown. I believe you’re even taller than your father now.”

“Let’s get to the part where you tell me what you want.”

“I seek an artifact. Something the ancients created in the days before the Great Rendering. It is called the FENIX, after the mythological bird that rises from the ashes. Your mother came here to find it. Now I want you to take me to it.”

“You want more weapons?” he scoffed.

Jaras threw a lazy punch that hit Robinson on the mouth. It barely turned his head. “This is the listening portion of the conversation.”

Robinson spit blood but never looked at him.

“You’ll have to forgive Jaras. These excursions get him terribly worked up. He has such zeal for his new position. But to answer your query, it is not a weapon.”

“Then why do you want it?” Robinson asked.

Jaras threw another punch, but this one Robinson slipped.

“Touch me again and I’ll kill you.”

Robinson’s voice was soft but firm, leaving no question to the truth of his statement. When Jaras stepped back, he had the look Robinson had waited a lifetime to see: uncertainty mixed with fear.