Muse 9 (ONC 2020)

Chapter 6

For a half second, when I was dangling over the two feet of space between me and the Drain, my life flashed before my eyes. The first thing I saw was Luktor.

My Muse 5 rested across my lap as I sat cross legged in the chair. Rubbing my hand across the worn siding of the rifle, a gift from Eurykhan, I looked up at my brother.

Years had passed since that day in the Drain where the hunter had promised to take care of us. Instead of children, Luktor and I were nearing adulthood, still training in the crafts we had chosen for ourselves.

Luktor was tall and lean, his hair shorn close to his scalp. A bandanna was tied around his neck, loosely, the triangle of fabric resting on the left shoulder of his tunic. Unlike mine, his tunic was multi-layered because he could afford a little extra warmth and comfort. His craft didn't require the amount of movement that mine did, and hence the looser and thicker tunic wasn't an impediment to him as it would be to me.

"So you've got your first solo operation," I remarked, uncrossing my legs and standing. Luktor, his beloved scalpel in his hand, nodded.

"Yes. Eurykhan has faith in me."

"I have faith in both of you," Eurykhan's deep voice grumbled as he ducked into the room. He tugged my hair as he passed by me. "Too long, Sable. I told you keep it short, keep it scarce."

I self-consciously flicked my rather uneven hair over my shoulder and nodded. "I'll take a chop at it later."

Eurykhan grunted approvingly and stopped before Luktor. "As long as you remember why you're doing this, and what I taught you, you'll do fine."

Luktor nodded. "I know. I can do this."

"You better," Eurykhan said, a slight threat running below his words. "As soon as that blade touches his neck, this becomes your life. If you don't ace it, you're done. And I can't help you then, boy."

"Understood," Luktor replied, keeping his voice steady and his face impassive.

But as Luktor stepped toward the door, Eurykhan held out his arm to stop him. "Luktor, Sable," he said. "Allow me to speak before you leave."

Gesturing me to stand beside Luktor, Eurykhan studied us for a moment, my brother dressed as an operator, me as a copyist. Although our individual trades were so different, he had ensured we would be connected by the fact that my business relied on Luktor's, and vice versa.

Ours should be a symbiotic relationship.

"I didn't want to raise you two," he said, his voice low. "I did it because your parents were good people. They did right by me, despite everything, so I had to do the same for them."

I knew this. So did Luktor. Both of us could see it in Eurykhan's eyes, on day one. We didn't resent him for it. Having two kids that needed you for their survival was a drag for those of Eurykhan's kind. We had been a burden; we knew that.

"But you two...you've turned out good. Better than I could have thought. Perhaps you don't meet whatever your parents wanted you to be, but you beat what I imagined."

Dead, I know I was thinking; I bet the same word flashed through Luktor's mind as well.

"But you did it. You survived. You learned your trades, and learned them well. As long as you keep your heads down and your wits about you, you'll survive.

"I'm heading out, and I'm not coming back. By Grid terms, you're both adults and I need not stick around anymore. Take care of yourselves and look out for each other."

"You taught us both to be self-sufficient," Luktor spoke up.

"Yeah, I did. But I also taught you trades that depend on each other. Without you, Luktor, to install the drive needed to upload memories into the mind, Sable couldn't sell. Without you, Sable, to copy the memories of Kycenans and digitize them, Luktor wouldn't have customers. So remember that. Keep yourselves alive, but there is no shame in looking out for each other. You're blood."

"Blood means nothing," I said.

Eurykhan sighed. "Blood means everything, little girl. I only took care of you because you shared blood with your parents. You two can be lucky. You can have someone watching your back that you know won't stick a knife in it, but you got to have trust for that."

When he turned and walked out the door, neither one of us ever saw him again.

Looking back, I wonder if Eurykhan was aware of the rift that would later divide Luktor and I.

My boots hit stonecrete as my legs buckled. I rolled forward, coming up with a dagger in one hand and reaching back for my rifle with the other.

I could hear the roar of the gutterfalls behind me, but before me there was nothing but darkness. Moving my hand away from my rifle and tapping the backs of my wrist gauntlets, the illuminators embedded in them started up, sending forth a glow that thinned out the darkness.

As my eyes adjusted to the lessened dark, I put my back to the wall and slid into a crouch. Pulling my pack out from behind me, I rummaged inside until I found Eurykhan's book. For a moment, I just stared at the book before removing the band holding it shut and flipping the cover open.

The first page brought me up cold. A rough sketch of the gutterfalls with a depiction of the crossing sided one of Eurykhan's favorite sayings. Every time either I or Luktor questioned him about our parents, his response always ended with "There are no good hunters, just living ones."

That saying was written beside the gutterfalls sketch. With a scowl, I turned the page and began to scan for useful information.

Eurykhan had stored everything he knew about the Drain in this old, worn book, and for some reason, had left it behind when he had returned down here. The prey he chased, a map, detailed notes on the maze of tunnels. But what I needed was any knowledge of the texts. I needed to know where to find them, or at least where to start looking.

Turning one page, I stopped, the book falling from my hands into my lap. Two names were written on the left hand page, written with such force their names were engraved into the page.

Herc Huntris. Megana Huntris.

I almost wanted to close the book, but I forced myself to keep my eyes on the page, tracking down and away from the names. What was written underneath was almost worse, however.

We were hunting....

Abruptly, I grasped a chunk of pages and flipped them, not wanting to read what came next. The past tense of the sentence had hit me in a way I hadn't expected it to.

They're dead, I told myself fiercely. They died a long time ago. You know that. You knew that a long time ago.

Taking a deep breath, I leaned my head back against the tunnel wall and closed my eyes. I allowed myself just a second to steel my nerves before I glanced down again at the book.

And there it was.

Despite everyone's belief, the original texts for the last memory rifle do exist down here. They are kept in the Library, a building that houses more than just texts. There is no easy entrance to this place; no, its guardians keep the way...interesting. Make sure you watch the Shadows.