An Obsidian wind is coming, and according to what I heard Cheon the Black Owl say to her troops, there will be nothing the Golds of Europa can do to stop it. Io is done. Callisto blooms with atomic mushrooms. Ganymede hides behind its orbital shields. Europa’s ships were spent over Io trying to protect the Garter and their liege lords, the Raa. The floating island cities of the sea moon lie vulnerable. Their people wait for doom. Athena does not. She and her Daughters are safe beneath the sea.
Supposedly.
I pass Aurae as she explains the refuge that awaits us to the Pink children. They gathered around her as we traveled from Io to Europa. She warms their hearts with tales of Athena’s goodness and charity, and promises no army can penetrate the Deep.
“The Deep is a collection of cities beneath the seas of Europa, which are the deepest on all the worlds,” she says. “These cities were carved into the solid core of the moon itself. The place began as a mining operation, you see. And like all things, it evolved. It became a place for industry, research, and, yes, weapons manufacturing. But Athena has taken all six cities of the Deep. If she did that, it means she has an army that will protect us all, and weapons too. We will be safe down there even if the Obsidians huff and puff on the surface.”
The Pink children smile at Aurae’s claim. One, a boy no older than eleven, with hair like a sunset, sets his small palm in my hand.
“You’ll be safe too,” he says. “You don’t have to look so sad.”
I kiss his hand and leave him to story time.
I wish I was that young again. Nothing feels safe anymore. Not even my memories. Not even my friends. Could Volga really be a war commander of Fá’s?
I head for a viewport to watch the waves.
The hold is dim and echoes with the sound of the rain and the roar of the ocean. Weapons crates creak against their fastenings. Most of the Black Owls—those who ain’t crammed in the medBay pumped full of painkillers—snore right through it all. They are scary, and I’m proud of how scary Reds can be, but at the same time I saw what the Obsidians did to them. Tore them apart like paper dolls when they got ahold of them. If I didn’t show up with the Archi, it woulda gone bad, fast-like, that’s what Cassius said after we’d gotten off the moon. He kissed me on the head and we toasted with Sevro’s moonshine.
Still, I feel like an idiot. Cheon could pound me to paste, an Obsidian could pound Cheon to paste, and here I was thinking I’d go amongst them and have a chance of rescuing Volga. Bloody idiot is what I am. Doesn’t sound like Volga much wants to be rescued. I scratch the surgery scars on my head. They’re covered now with an inch of curly hair.
The Archimedes shakes with turbulence. If it weren’t for the magboots sealing me to the deck, I’d be on my ass. Cassius’s voice comes from the wall speakers, admonishing anyone not in a crash seat. But I’ll be damned if I strap in like the rest.
“Lyria, come back and join us,” Aurae calls. I wave her off. She may be happy to play the matron, but that boy’s palm in my hand made me think of Liam.
How many little boys like Liam did Volga kill on Callisto?
I try not to imagine. I try only to see what’s out the viewport. I have to remember the sights, so I can tell my little nephew what Europa looked like when we’re together again on Mars. Not that I can see much of the cities or Europa.
Beyond the viewport, Europa hides behind a shroud of rain and fog. Whips of green lightning flay the sky. Waves wander in the gloom like tired miners coming home from shift. I miss waiting at the top of the tunnel for my da to come home. I miss my ma. My sister the most. I think of my brothers lost at war.
I shouldn’t be here.
I press my nose to the window. The water seems to grow closer. The sea itself rises up toward us. No. Something in the sea is rising. My heart beats faster. A massive fin breaks the waterline, followed by an oil-black bulk with pale pink stripes, surging up, up, up with horrible massiveness. And then it sinks down, down, down into the churning dark.
I’m left in awe. And here I thought the volcanoes on Io were the most manic thing I’d see in the Rim. I know magic isn’t real. I know it’s all science. But if I don’t know the science, it might as well be magic. Far as I know, whatever flitted up from the black depths was here long before Europa’s ice-layer was terraformed into the Discordia Sea. I shiver a little.
“Ragnar always wanted to ride one of those.”
I turn. Sevro’s staring at me from a pace away. How did he sneak up on me? I check his feet, presuming he’ll have on magboots to steady himself. Of course not. The man’s feet are bare, the long toenails curled into the grate floor. He sways with a jar of sunflower butter in his hand, a bottle of syrup in his back pocket, and a knife in his mouth.
“Sunbutter?” he offers the knife laden with thick brown goo.
“Not hungry.”
“Talking to an Obsidian will do that,” he says.
’Course he knows. He’s always lurking. I search the water. “What was that?”
“Leviathan. Biggest carveling this side of Titan,” he says.
“There’s bigger things?”
“Always. You see any gold stripes on its top fin?”
I shake my head. He looks disappointed. “Why?”
“Leviathans are the sigil beast of gens Kalibar. The ruling house of Europa. Cyaxares is their pride and joy. Three-hundred-year-old bull. Twice as big as any other. That one down there was probably middling size. Always wanted to see Cyaxares.”
“And the Kalibar, they ride those things?” I ask.
He nods. “With pressurized suits you can take them a couple dozen clicks down. Not the healthiest hobby, or kindliest mount. Leviathans ain’t loyal creatures. Sometimes they eat their owners. Hungry bastards. Each with five stomachs to fill. I’d prefer a sun drake or a white griffin, me.” He pauses. “Or a unicorn. What would you ride?”
I consider his strange question. “Not a leviathan. A Pegasus maybe. Something nice.”
“Have you met a pegasus?”
“Well, no. But me brothers grew up pretending they were in Pegasus Legions.”
“They ain’t nice, Pegasuses. Carthii breed carnivorous ones too.”
“Is anything nice?” I mutter. He stares at me, taking the question too philosophically. “Why are you talking to me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You never talk to me. As a rule.”
“My rule is I don’t talk to dead weight.”
I would smile if I hadn’t just learned that Volga might now be a bloodthirsty warlord. What would Ephraim say to that? “You’re a real bastard,” I say. “You know that, right? Leaving Darrow and Cassius hanging out to dry.”
“They went off mission. I saved their asses in the end.”
I glance at the Pink children. “Yeah? Well, I have a new rule. I don’t talk to bastards.”
I turn back to the window.
He doesn’t say anything for several minutes but he stays there behind me, chewing the inside of his cheek, riding some really mad turbulence without so much as stumbling. “I want to know something,” he says. I don’t answer him, but he’s going to ask me whether I let him or not.