Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) (34 page)

“Miss Singh?” His eyes searched her face.

Iris trembled. There was still time to run, to avoid the scene from her nocturnal terrors. Couldn’t Rachel and the others defeat the remaining forces on their own? Perhaps it was her own presence that guaranteed the horrific visions.

She shook herself and scowled at the entrance. These were the thoughts of a coward. Her oldest friend in the world was in the next room with the greatest evil Iris ever felt. If there was a time to act, it was now.

At that moment, Jiao skidded through the passageway behind Iris. The girl looked an absolute wreck. Her normally sleek hair flew out at odd angles from the high bun on her head and dirt and scorch marks marred her long tunic. Although she panted from the extended period of exertion, her eyes were clear and bright. She lowered her weapons when she saw Iris, Eddie, and the five other men standing there. The girl opened her mouth to speak, but her look of excitement morphed into a mixture of disgust and fear as she looked around them at the doors.

“What…” She recoiled a step. “What is this place?”

“The enemy and its weapon lie just beyond these doors. What you sense is only a fraction of what is in store.” She approached the girl and pulled her aside. Iris lowered her voice. “This is not your fight. It would be better for you to retreat while you can.”

“While I appreciate your concern, I do not hide from
yáoxiè
,” Jiao spat out the Chinese word. “I am not too young to see the importance of this battle. Today, I do not fight because I do not like to lose: I fight because there is more at stake than my own pride. I hear your warning, but I will not leave fate in the hands of others when I can help guide it.”

Iris straightened, regarding Jiao thoughtfully. If the girl was to get hurt in any way and the rest of them somehow managed to survive, Yong Wu’s revenge would be swift and painful. For a moment, she debated having the girl bound and forced back to the safety of the
Antigone’s Wrath
. However, she would likely escape, appearing again at the most inopportune moment possible. And, truth be told, she had very valid reasons for wanting to stay. If the situation were reversed, Iris would feel the same way. She gave a nod. “In that case, I suggest you take a moment to prepare yourself. You will need all of your strength to face this.”

As she turned away, more men poured from one end of the passageway. Danton emerged from a hall on the right, assisting a wounded man. Iris approached and helped prop him against a wall off to one side.

“Casualties?” Iris asked as she examined the injury in the man’s thigh. He was lucky and the bullet missed the large artery.

“Two of ten,” he answered. “Few losses compared to my personal body count of fifty-eight.”

Iris gave him a quizzical look, then realized he directed the comment to Jiao.

“You are behind, old man,” she grinned. “Sixty-three.”

Iris scowled. “Death is nothing to celebrate.”

Jiao looked slightly ashamed, but Danton only shrugged. “Ridding the world of these types is cause for celebration,” he said.

She sighed and shook her head. “We need to regroup. There are many inside, and no telling what else we’ll encounter.” She stood. “Gather the men. Reload all weapons. We will need them.”

No one moved.

No one wanted to disturb the precarious moment, teetering on the edge of impending disaster. Rachel’s heart kept time with the dull pulse of the Machine.

At last, the hooded man on the center throne stood. His black cloak obscured the motion of his feet, and he appeared to float down the steps of the dais. Even when he passed within three paces of her, she could not see his face. He moved past her, entering the star and advancing on the thing at its center. Slowly, as if he were either very old or the air was thicker, he bent and reached a shrouded arm down one side of the box. Half a foot from its base, the arm stopped, appeared to grasp at something, and wrestled with the object for a moment. The arm retracted and he straightened. Without turning, he backed away from the Machine, its hum suddenly changing in pitch. When he did turn, it was to point a crooked finger at Silas.

“What have you done?” The voice was cold and cracked. Even if his words were kind, they would have filled Rachel’s veins with an icy terror. “Fool! Answer me! What have you done?”

There was sweat on his forehead, but Silas did not back away. “I did what you bade me. I built your contraption. I never said I built it to be useful to you.”

The man stood there for a moment, silent and unmoving, before a strange sound bubbled up from his ancient throat. His ominous laughter was worse than his words, and she was glad when it ended. “In your valiant effort to thwart us, you will bring more suffering than you can fathom.” He laughed again. “The ring controls the Machine. When none control the ring… what then?”

There was silence as everyone formed their own answers. Without offering any further information, the mysterious man floated back onto the platform. The silver-haired, younger man gave the other cloaked man a worried look.

A grinding noise emanated from the Machine. Rachel took a step backwards as she felt another breeze stirring, pulling the air into the center of the star. Silas joined her as their guards shifted nervously. The piles of spare parts on the far side of the room rattled and quivered. More than wind was drawn to the Machine now. The sound of shoes skidding on the polished tiles made her look to her left and right. Brotherhood men dropped their weapons in confusion as they were dragged forward. Their eyes widened in fear as they turned and searched for something to grab on to. What started as a gentle tug, now turned into an insistent pull. One man lost his footing entirely; the sound of his fingernails against the flooring churning Rachel’s stomach. And then, the screaming started.

Bits of metal flew through the air, halting over the Machine, then rocketing down at the first victim. Screeches of pain assaulted her ears as the gears and rods embedded themselves into the man’s body. Panic spread through the guards and the rest of the Brotherhood men. As the bowler hats stampeded towards the door, Rachel noticed the three cloaked figures were already gone, likely escaped through a back passageway.

She clutched at Silas’s arm and dragged him back, behind the temporary shelter of a pillar. “How do we stop it?”

He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I… I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” she yelled, the din of the Machine’s workings becoming hard to hear over. “You built it! You’re the only one that
could
know!”

“I modified the design very slightly,” he shouted back. “The change was supposed to result in massive friction between the gears, heating it until it either threw a gear and stopped or…” Silas trailed off.

“Or what?”

“Exploded.”

She closed her eyes and thumped the back of her head against the column. “Magnificent. Tell me, what was your plan for when that happened?”

He shrugged. “Honestly, I thought I’d be dead by then and it would be of no consequence.”

New sounds interrupted their conversation. Gunfire. More screams as men trying to flee the Machine reversed course to escape a hail of bullets. Rachel risked a glance behind the pillar. To her horror, more bodies were bombarded with shrapnel, but not to an immediately fatal end. What was happening to them? What twisted goal did the Machine have?

Rachel grabbed his face and stared into his eyes. “Silas, what gruesome purpose does this invention serve?”

He sucked in a breath. “I didn’t want to believe it, but after this I cannot deny it. This infernal contraption…” He swallowed. “It fuses man with machine, creating the ultimate servant… or soldier.”

Rachel felt sick. Looking over at the doorway, she saw the fighting. The Brotherhood were wildly swinging and slicing and firing at the attacking party. Some of these were familiar men. Her crew! Her protective instincts surged. She had to get them out of here. The rescue was appreciated, but if they didn’t leave now…

“Find the other way out.” She spun on Silas and pointed him the other direction.

“Other way?” He looked over his shoulder at her. “What other—”

“Whatever way those three cloaks went!” She cut him off. There was no time for this. “They didn’t use that door, ergo there’s another way. Find it! Now!” She gave him a shove and he started off, breaking free from the momentary grasp of the Machine. She let out a relieved breath as Silas disappeared into the shadows behind the dais.

Setting her sights back on the bottleneck of death at the door, she crept forward. Oddly, she did not feel the tug of the Machine’s magic when she broke cover. When she stood two pillars from the throng, a Brotherhood man went down, his billy club clattering towards her as he was yanked across the floor, howling like an animal crying out for death. Another look behind her told her why. Mutilated bodies lay in heaps, half steel and brass, half flesh and bone. The transformations were failed trials, each one unique in its monstrosity. The Machine appeared to be experimenting with configurations, determining which parts to keep and which to replace in each victim. It was unclear if it was any closer to success than when it began. Rachel was absolutely certain she did not want to see a functional hybrid. She scrambled for the club and charged forward, swinging at the closest bowler hat within reach.

The smell rolled out of the room, over the heads of the scrambling men, and Iris nearly vomited when it hit her. The odor of grease and scorched flesh knocked her back a pace. She barely fired a shot in time to fell a charging wild man. The look in his eye said it plainly enough if she did not already know it; madness lay beyond this doorway.

Unfortunately, so did Rachel. It seemed impossible, but she knew the captain was still alive, still fighting beyond all reasons for giving up. Another man broke through the defenses, this time faster than Iris. Her pistol clicked uselessly as she squeezed the trigger. She was out of ammunition.

A blast of air and a charge of electricity threw her to one side. As she scrambled to her feet, she looked up in astonishment. The discharge came from where she’d been a moment ago: where Edison Maclaren now stood, blinking in shock.
 

He turned and met her confused stare with a sheepish grin. “Told you I could help.”

“Thank you, Mr. Maclaren.” She tossed her singed hair over her shoulder. “But next time, perhaps you needn’t be quite so close to my side, hm?”

He saluted briefly and stepped away from her. “Yes, ma’am!”

A sudden explosion jettisoned smoke from inside the gathering hall and rocked the corridor. Men spilled out of the doorway, over and on top of one another. It was becoming difficult to tell the living from the dead in the mass of bodies. The fight seemed to be more outside the doorway than in the room on the other side now. As she slashed at another charging madman, she thought she heard a familiar voice over all the other shouts of battle.

She shook her head to clear her confusion. That was Rachel’s voice, but was she yelling at them to fall back? That couldn’t be right. Unless…

Cold comprehension dawned on her. “Pull back!” she shouted over the raging battle. “Let them come out to us! Do not move past the doors!”

Gradually, the fight migrated outwards as the Brotherhood men were given some ground. This new position held less advantage, however, and the odd escapee fled down one of the branching corridors. They seemed to have no interest in their attackers, save for getting past them. Iris could imagine the horror they were running from. She’d seen as much in her dreams.

A few moments more and the melee was mobile. Men ran off in all directions, some fleeing, some pursuing. As a pair of burly figures rushed past her, Iris caught her first glimpse of Rachel since their separation at the monastery. Tears stung her eyes as relief washed over her. Even though the captain was currently embattled with several men in bowler hats and smudged with soot and blood, it was comforting to know she was relatively safe. It had been years since she and Rachel were apart for such an extended period of time.

Another blast from Eddie’s weapon jarred her out of reflection. The tingle of electricity hung in the air as she watched the target drop, twitching with residual shock. Iris stepped over the prone figure and continued her forward progress, her own reloaded pistols firing at enemies who passed too closely. Her singular goal pushed her forward. Another shot. As the man fell, another at his back doubled over. Rachel savagely swung a billy club at his head and his skull splintered with a sickening crack. The two women faced each other, weapons still at the ready, panting from the rush of the brawl. Smaller fights continued around them, but the noise was reduced to a faint background as their eyes met and held. With a rush of emotion, Rachel and Iris flung themselves into a tight embrace. Iris could no longer hide her tears and they cascaded down her cheeks.

Rachel pulled back and held her friend out at arms’ length, grasping her by the shoulders. “Better late than never?” she asked with a sly smile.

Iris wiped the back of her hand across her face. “Nice to see you too. How was your holiday?”

Rachel barked a laugh. “Ha! The service was dreadful, the accommodations sub par, and the porter misplaced my luggage. To top it off, now it seems there’s an angry metal box out to destroy the world.” Another Brotherhood lackey strayed too near them in his flight and Rachel felled him with a swift swing of the club. “Not really one for the scrapbook.”

Iris smiled briefly, then frowned as Rachel pulled her to one side, out of the doorway. “What’s happened?”

“Silas built their Machine, but changed the design slightly. It’s working for the moment, but there’s no way of knowing how long it will continue.” Rachel craned her neck back into the grand hall, unable to disguise her trepidation. As the captain surveyed the interior, one of Yong Wu’s men charged inside. Her mouth opened to call out a warning, but it was too late. The man’s feet went out from under him and he was pulled, screaming, out of Iris’s sight.

Rachel turned away as the screams turned into garbled howls of pain. Iris dropped her pistols and covered her mouth with her hands. She was shaking. The smell of burning flesh assaulted her senses. She grabbed Rachel, pleading with her. “We must leave. Now!”