Simban Read online

  She studied him. “It almost feels like . . . a missed connection. It must be incredibly painful sometimes. Do you feel pain in your nerves?”

  He nodded jerkily, wondering why his movements were getting worse. It was because he was trying to impress her. Stress always made it worse.

  “Don’t worry,” she chuckled sadly, “I have pain, too. In my lungs. And I’m not even that old.”

  “How old?”

  “Me?” She paused. “I had two hundred and twenty-one years at my last birthday celebration. But another passed while I was imprisoned. So I suppose I’m two hundred twenty-two.” Then Irielle started to cough. It was a series of long coughing fits, and each one got slightly longer.

  A bad feeling settled heavily in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn’t from the Ardak wounds. He stood, putting a hand on her back, grabbing water.

  After the fifth series of rolling coughs, she struggled to inhale. Would he have to force air into her lungs? He had no doubt he could do it, but it would be painful for her. Then he remembered the red sky. And the white powder.

  She has the Red Death!

  A flash of elation went through him. Tordan had given him the cure.

  I can make her better!

  But then his chip caught up with his mind, and he remembered the Ardak stole his bag in their fight.

  He switched his focus back to her. Tears streamed down her face from coughing and her face was pale blue from lack of air. He knelt beside her, and she swayed against his chest. He held her there for several minutes.

  Maybe there is still some left in the snow!

  He needed only a tiny bit to cure her.

  Then he found words. “My bag. Ardak stole.”

  “Bag?” She shook her head. “What bag?”

  “Small bag. Blue. Ardak stole.” He moaned and grabbed his head, rocking back and forth for a moment. “Powder. Gone.”

  “What powder?” Her eyes searched his.

  “White powder. Cure the Red Death.” He smacked his forehead. “Gone. Stupid, stupid Simban!”

  He had only one damn mission in the whole world, and that was to bring the cure to beings who needed it.

  Her reddened eyes widened in dismay. “You aren’t stupid! But what are you talking about?”

  “White powder. Cure you. Kill Ardak.”

  “You’re saying you had a cure in your bag?” Her eyes widened, and she rose.

  “Small.” He held his hands up in roughly the size of the bag.

  She pushed against his chest and turned toward the entrance. “Let’s check outside. Maybe it’s still in the snow.”

  Simban’s hope rose.

  Maybe we can find it.

  Irielle waved a hand, and the entrance opened, startling him almost as much as it had the first time she’d done it. Although he noted that it opened more slowly than before.

  Is her magic weaker from the sickness?

  He stuck his head out first, searching the area for the Ardak. He wished he had heat vision like the others. But many of the typical cyborg enhancements didn’t work for him. Only night vision and extra strength seemed to be consistent.

  The area appeared clear, so he emerged, his eyes urgently searching the snow-covered ground.

  Pink snow. White powder. Easy to see.

  Besides, the pouch was blue, so it should have been readily visible. “You didn’t see bag?”

  “When I dragged you in?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I wasn’t looking for it, either.”

  He examined the marks in the snow where he had fought the Ardak. “Right. No new snow after the fight. Ardak stole bag from me.” He clenched his fists angrily. The powder was the cure for her illness, but he used it to try to kill the Ardak.

  The Ardak was still alive, probably dying extremely slowly, and it had stolen the cure.

  Simban wanted to hit something. To scream with rage.

  I had the cure! And I lost it! Why did I wear that powder out with me? I should have hidden it in the cave.

  Actually, he should have used it on the Ardak last night with the device Tordan had given him, but the Ardak had startled him when he was returning to the cave. He had no time to use it.

  He searched the area in widening circles, but eventually, even he had to accept defeat.

  That powder was the answer to everything. Her sickness. The Ardak.

  But there was no help for it.

  The powder was gone.

  And Simban, the broken cyborg, had to figure out what to do about it.

  Chapter Ten

  Irielle

  Irielle couldn’t believe he knew what her illness was and that there was a cure. “Can you get more white powder?”

  For long moments, Simban didn’t say anything. Then he exploded. Pacing over the snowy ground, he hit his forehead with his hands.

  “Shit,” he replied. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  She tried to run after him, but coughs racked her body. She fell into the snow, red drops of blood falling from her lips onto the pink sludge beneath her.

  Simban was by her side in an instant, lifting her into his arms.

  She wanted to fall back against his chest, to snuggle against him, but his ice-blue eyes were frosty with anger.

  “Calm down,” she said to him through her labored breaths. “Just breathe.”

  “You breathe!” he ordered back harshly.

  Their eyes met and held, and she could see his concern. It was evident in every line of his face, the way the outer edges of his mouth turned down.

  “Must go to Renwyn,” he bit out, carrying her as he crossed the pink snow back toward her tree den. The sentence sounded harsh, but she realized from the way his jaw was working that he was forcing his mouth to string the words together.

  “Then Renwyn still stands?”

  He started. “Of course. War over.”

  “What?” she cried, distracted from her illness by the news. “The war is over?”

  An expression of dismay crossed his face. “Should have told you.”

  She waved that away. “You haven’t had time.” Her heart began to lift. She parted the trees to enter her den and then quickly turned to him with questions. “What happened? How did we win? Did the princess return?” As quickly as her spirits had lifted, they fell again. “It was my job to free her.”

  Simban was quiet for long moments. Then he spoke haltingly. “Many elves died. Many of Siirti died. We stopped crystal. All cyborgs go free. Princess returned with cyborg king.” He took a deep breath. “Then Red Death came. Found white powder. It cures people, kills cats.”

  She sank down onto her fur blanket, shaking her head slightly. “I can’t believe it.” The war was finished. Everyone was all right. And she hadn’t known because she’d spent all this time up here in the mountains. “All the Ardaks are gone?”

  “Yes. Except a few. Like this one.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Not long. No more questions. You pack. Now.” His voice was determined. “White powder cure in Renwyn.”

  Her eyes widened. “Can you bring it here?”

  He studied her fingers, and she followed his eyes to her hands. Her fingertips were slightly blue from lack of air. He slowly shook his head.

  “Why not?” Her voice quivered the question.

  “No time. You come, too.”

  The corners of her mouth began to quiver. “No. It’s too cold. Look at what the cold air does to me. I don’t think I’ll make the trip. Plus there’s an Ardak out there.”

  He shook his head. “Ardak might kill you. Red Death will kill you.”

  At that moment, she realized that he meant them to leave immediately. Within the next few minutes. She began to tremble with fear. “Maybe I should wait until tomorrow . . . until the sun is out and it’s warmer.”

  “No. We must go. Now.”

  “You almost died a few hours ago. You’re in no condition to go anywhere.”

  He snorted. “No matter.”

  From his expression, she knew that he realized the seriousness of her illness. A frigid tear slipped down her cheek.

  It’s now or never, Irielle.

  “All right. I will go. But there’s something else you have to know. It’s—” Her words cut off in a cough again.

  He waited, his hands twitching.

  She forced herself not to cry. “I get blackouts sometimes when I feel stress. I think it’s from the red poison in the sky. It happened when I heard the Ardak before and again when I first saw you. I can’t imagine what will happen if I see one alive.”

  “Blackouts?”

  “Yes. I fall over . . . unconscious. Sometimes, I get visions of what happened to me in the past,” she admitted, unable to look him in the eyes.

  Simban was silent for long moments, and she watched the small fire crackle in the hearth. Until finally he was quiet for so long she summoned the courage to look at him.

  He had a strange expression on his face.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “Irielle . . . brain . . . broken,” he choked out.

  And then she understood. “Yes. My brain is broken, too. We are the same.”

  She watched his slowly changing expressions as he processed the information. Confusion, anger, worry, and finally, acceptance.

  But then she remembered the others. “Simban, it isn’t just me up here. There is a village on the other side of the mountain, although I’ve tried to avoid it. If the Red Death is a poison, the others must be sick, as well.”

  “Village? Others . . . sick?” His face darkened.

  “Yes. I’ve only spied on the village. I haven’t interacted with them. They are elves . . . but different. If we go back for more of this cure, we should bring some back fo
r them.”

  “Agree,” he said simply, stopping just before her domicile. “Trip dangerous. Ardak now more angry. And no white powder.”

  She hesitated. The Ardak could kill both of them. “I’m going to slow you down. You have more of a chance to make it without me.” She tied back her hair, looking for something to pack.

  “Not leaving you.”

  A glance at his face told her that option was closed. “Then maybe we should go there first. If some of them are sick, they might send warriors with us.” She paused. “And they might have a healer who can help us or heal me enough to get to Renwyn.”

  Simban’s voice broke into her revelation. “Renwyn. Quickly.”

  As much as she wanted to run toward Renwyn, she knew she had to check on the people in the village. “I know. But I can’t go without checking on the village. What if some of them need medicine, too?”

  “Can only carry one,” he said stubbornly.

  “Yes, but if they really need medicine, they might send others with us. In fact, they might be able to help fight the Ardak.”

  Simban paused. His hand began to twitch, and she could tell he was considering that option. “How far is village?”

  “Over the rise of the mountain behind me. About an hour’s walk if we hurry.”

  Simban’s hand stopped twitching, and he eyed her carefully. “I go alone.”

  “No. You need me. I’m not letting you go alone, either. They’re . . . different.”

  He cocked his head to the side in question. “Elves?”

  “Yes,” she said and then paused, searching for how to describe them. They were unlike anything she’d seen before. “But different. That’s why I’ve avoided them.”

  His brow creased. “Different how?”

  “It’s hard to describe. Closer to nature, maybe? I’ve only seen them a couple of times. When I observed them, their magic seemed older. Maybe even stronger. I should come with you.”

  Simban crossed his arms over his muscular chest. It was obvious he didn’t want her to go. “Hour in snow long time.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Fuck!” Simban shouted angrily. “Dangerous! Sick! No time! Ardak!” He numbered each of the things off on his fingers as he paced her tiny den.

  She stood, bringing the blanket with her. “We have to try! I could never live with myself if I returned and some were dead because I didn’t help them.”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fuck!”

  She knew he was livid, but somehow, she wasn’t afraid. She knew Simban was only angry because he was worried about her, and somehow, it made her feel stronger. She glanced around. “I have nothing to pack. Let’s take a few of these vegetables to eat if we’re hungry.” She handed them to him, and he put them into a pouch in his armor. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  “Let’s go?” His brows drew together. Then he shrugged and began to mutter to himself, turning away to face the wall. “Yes. Let’s go. Why not? Crazy plan. Crazy little elf.” He turned and spied her out of the corner of his eye.

  She knew he was angry about going to the village, but his fit almost made her want to smile. She raised her chin, wrapped the blanket around herself, and asked the trees to part before she stepped outside.

  After a moment, he followed her, huffing. He cut a strip from the back of his shirt with a knife. “Here.”

  “You’ll be cold!” she protested as he approached her.

  “Not cold,” he said, indicating her fur blanket. Holding up the sleeve, he said, “Over your face. Stop cold.”

  She allowed him to wrap it around her face, covering her mouth and nose. It wouldn’t keep the cold out completely, but it was better than nothing.

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “Trust me. We will get to Renwyn.”

  She gripped his hands tightly. “I believe you.”

  But whether I will be dead or alive, I have no idea.

  She took one last look around her domicile. It had been her home for many months. Her safety. If the powder didn’t work, she’d never see it again. And if it did, she still may never see it again. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned away.

  He gestured for her to lead, and she brushed against him as she passed. Her arm tingled where they touched, startling her again.

  For the first time in a long time, a flash of hope went through her. She knew it was a silly emotion. She was facing almost certain death. If not from the illness, then from the Ardak. If it hadn’t died, it would almost certainly be tracking them.

  But if I have to die, at least it will be with Simban.

  Chapter Eleven

  Simban

  Simban couldn’t believe he was following his elf in the opposite direction of Renwyn. Maybe the elves weren’t even sick. But in the back of his mind, he knew they probably were.

  The Red Death kills everything with a large prefrontal cortex.

  That was what Aria had told him when she had seen the red poison that darkened the sky. Why he and a few other cyborgs had traveled with her to Baihu, the Ardak homeworld, to find a cure.

  But it wasn’t the main reason he had relented. The main reason was that he was hoping a healer would give her the strength to get to Renwyn. And a close second was that they might send warriors with them in case the Ardak attacked them again.

  Just as they hit the top of the rise, the wind became bitterly cold. It swept the opposite side of the mountain, the landscape before them looking bleaker and more forbidding than ever.

  The snow blew in heavy gusts almost parallel to the ground. Simban searched the landscape before them, but there was nothing except snow and barren terrain in every direction.

  “Where is village?” he shouted in Irielle’s ear so she could hear him.

  “It’s not far now,” she shouted back.

  “Not far?” he shouted, obviously in disbelief.

  She simply nodded and continued on until suddenly, she stopped. “Wait.”

  But Simban couldn’t stop his feet in time. He walked into her, knocking her forward, and found himself completely immobilized, trapped in an energy field. He tried to struggle, to shout. But he was completely incapable of any movement. Even his eyeballs were frozen.

  He had never experienced anything like it before.

  He focused on the scene in front of him. Just at the corner of his vision, an elf stood with his hand raised toward Simban, an expression of concentration on his face.

  He’s the one paralyzing me.

  Two more elves stood farther back, facing Irielle. At least, he thought they were elves. He perused the warriors in front of them. Their ears were pointed, but they looked nothing like the elves in Renwyn. These elves were tall, willowy, and seemed to blend in with the forest behind them. Their skin was a color he hadn’t seen before, a kind of golden brown that melted into the shadows. Their hair was long, pulled back on the sides with braids that fell behind their ears.

  And they have magic that can paralyze their opponents. We can’t fight against this!

  He tried to control his frustration and then his anger as the seconds stretched on.

  Irielle was speaking to the elves in a language he didn’t understand. The words were soft, and the language lilted and rolled gently from her tongue.

  It must be Elvish.

  The reply from the lead warrior was low, his deep voice rolling the syllables as hers had. It was almost like music, something he hadn’t heard in a long time. Since before the Ardaks.

  Once upon a time, he used to play the five-stringed songbird, and he and his brother would make up crazy tales of foreign lands and imaginary heroes. But those days were gone, and he was paralyzed by reclusive, ancient elves in a strange forest far from home.

  Just like a song. But there are no five-stringed instruments here. And I’m no hero.

  He came back to himself, grateful for the brief reminiscence to take his mind off his current situation. Because he was still paralyzed, and the back of his head was starting to itch.

  He tried to ignore it, but the more he tried to ignore it, the stronger it grew.

  The minutes passed slowly, and he could feel himself starting to sweat.

  By the time he was finally released, all he could think about was the back of his head. He fell forward to his knees, both hands going to the back of his head. “Argh,” he said as he scratched, feeling as though every molecule of his body was focused on the sensation.