53.

  Santi’s eyes cracked open and light flooded in. For the first time in what felt forever the pressure of the curse wasn’t there waiting for him. The hunger that had gnawed and hollowed him out over the last week finally no longer there. The pleasure from the release of the strain was mind numbing, his senses weren't as razor sharp as normal.

  It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t alone in the safety of his home. Nor was his companion a trusted friend or family member. The only one he could see through his still bleary eyes was the Apostate who had arrived at the end of the fight with Alan Murtaugh. Naomi Weaver.

  His heart suddenly thudded in his chest, shooting a pulse of panic through his body as he straightened up. The morph weapon on his arm went from a lazy noodle to a rigid sword in the space of a heartbeat and he met the Apostate’s calm eyes. She smiled slowly, full of real warmth and kindness and Santi relaxed by the smallest iota.

  She let her smile fade slightly and the rasp of a whetstone along the edge of steel filled the air. Naomi was sitting with her sword across her knee, her weapon kit sprawled out around her, as she worked any nicks or burrs out of the edge of her sword.

  Santi took a second to look over the blade as his heart rate slowed down and fell back into its regular slow beat. He blinked a few times to clear the last of the sleep out of his eyes and glanced about. There was no one nearby, the two of them isolated from both their factions.

  “It’s fine. If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you in your sleep,” Naomi said. There was a true warmth in her voice even with the grim subject, a hint of humor as she finished cleaning her sword. She sheathed the blade, setting it down on the dry ground next to her, pommel in easy reach.

  “Your companion used to say things like that,” Santi said. The death of Duncan brought no amount of relief to him. He was glad he had met the mage-killer while he was only an Acolyte. Duncan had been a hard counter to his build and having him planted and in the dirt was a relief.

  “Duncan was an asshole. A true believer and a skilled killer, but not someone who you invited over to dinner with the family,” Naomi said.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to speak ill of the dead,” Santi said. He was beginning to mentally ready himself for a fight if it came down to it. Mr. Murtaugh being allied with her made that difficult, but Santi had to hope Alan would hesitate to intervene long enough for Santi to kill the Apostate and her people if it came down to it.

  Santi didn’t want that fight. He was wrung out, body shaky and depleted from the battle and exorcism. More than that, he was tired. Tired of the killing, the slaughter of fellow humans, of constantly standing over still corpses of people who should be rallying behind him to move forward.

  “I won’t. I will speak honestly, though. Something that I have always tried to impart to my daughters. That speaking honestly of someone, whether good or ill, is something to strive for.”

  “You’re telling me that you and Duncan weren’t close and that you aren’t enraged that I killed one of your allies?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said he was an asshole. Regardless of that quirk of his personality, he was a companion, a brother in arms.” Her face had a hint of sadness at that, of years of companionship cut away.

  “I will also say that his bloodthirst was becoming a problem. He wasn’t so far removed from that curse bearer as he would have liked. He would say that he was cold and calculating, that he only killed those he had to, but he was a liar. He enjoyed it, the power of life and death over others and it corrupted him.”

  “So, you’re not going to swear an oath of vengeance and cause us to disrupt this temporary peace?” Santi asked.

  “No. I will bury him and give him his honors as he deserved. But, what I want is to have an honest conversation with an adversary.”

  “Adversary? Not enemy?”

  “When you intruded on our ritual, you were a skilled member of our enemies. But you weren’t anything more than a thin file and some basic reconnaissance work for our spies. You had burned out your potential and had little to no desire to be a true warrior. It actually surprised me that you were the first in the breach, surprised Becky too.”

  There it was, that name. The one that kept twisting and changing in his mind. But for the first time, his conscious mind clung to the fact. That the walls of mist that rose up to consume his thoughts were battered back, held at bay as his conscious mind realized that Becky wasn’t her real name, that the woman he knew was an Apostate and that she had done something to his mind.

  The mist faded away from his conscious mind and Santi was able to think about the revelations. His willpower had crept up high enough, and now that the curse was gone, he could fight against whatever magic or skill had been used on his memories.

  Naomi continued to talk and took the conversation away from his sudden clarity.

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  “Seven of us were supposed to go back. To change the past to create a better future. We all had our own goals, all unified only under one condition. The furthering of the Patron’s goals. You’d be surprised by how much infighting that caused, all of us trying to decipher what exactly the Patron wanted from us. Our minds were too weak to hear his words directly, they would have broken us and maybe this reality itself if he truly paid attention.” Naomi paused and reached over to take a sip of her canteen before slowly leaning back, arms behind her as she cocked her head to the side. The move took years off of her, turning her from early middle aged to looking like a young woman again.

  “And I messed it all up? By keeping Silas away from his position.”

  “You did. I’m glad you did. Silas was a monster. I saw one of his labs once, where he practiced his alchemy. It was horrifying. But he was following what he thought the Patron’s goals were and the rest of the council agreed enough to let it continue.”

  “So, they’re all monsters but you?”

  Naomi laughed at that, a rich sonorous sound that was out of place only feet from a bloody battle. It was full of humor and goodwill, pleasing to the ear as her shoulders shook from mirth.

  “No…no…we’re all monsters. I led armies onto the battlefield and left nothing behind but graveyards. I broke through city walls, plundered, looted, and killed with the most blood drenched of them all. I slaughtered invaders in their sleep, lured them in with false peace deals, and killed them wherever they could be found. Did worse to my human enemies too.” She paused as Santi realized who she was.

  Each of the Apostates had specialized in something. Silas had apparently been the alchemist. The father of abominations and tortures that were impossible to understand. Duncan had been the silent blade, who left nothing behind but corpses and terror. Naomi was their general. The leader of their conventional forces, the forces he was most accustomed to seeing.

  “I see the realization. You didn’t know who did what. But, yes, I was the enemy general who you most likely know. From what Becky told me, you’ve skirmished with my scouts before, stayed ahead of my vanguard and were instrumental in foiling several ambushes I prepared.”

  “Was it you in Austin?” Santi asked.

  “Austin, Texas? Yes. Three dead Champions at the end of a two month siege and two destroyed incursion forces. It was good work.”

  “I nearly died there. Got hit by an electrical array that you had on the far perimeter,” Santi said.

  “Saze. He was a good scout, careful and cautious. He was killed the next year outside of Jersey. Monster hunt that went wrong.”

  “We don’t have all the time in the world to be passing war stories to each other. You obviously wanted to talk to me about something,” Santi said as he changed tracks. He didn’t want to get caught up in the past, not while he had so many things to do.

  “Yes, I want a truce. Hopefully a peace, but I want a truce for now.”

  “Why?” Santi asked, trying to buy time to think it out.

  “You’re strong. You’ve built a community that you should be proud of, managed to defeat a powerful threat, and you’re not a monster. Not like the others. The invaders are coming soon and humanity will need to stand together, not be fighting each other.”

  “That’s rich coming from you,” Santi said, snorting softly.

  “We failed the last time. Our wars for dominance left us broken. Our world shattered. I have no doubts that if the final battle had occurred the way it was supposed to, that all my fellows would be dead. Along with plenty of the Champions you had brought to bear. We pacified North America, yes, but what about the rest of the world? We were weak and broken people, ripe for the taking. I don’t want that future.”

  Santi was tired. The iron scent of blood filled his nose and the still corpses were only a few feet away. He was tired of the bloodshed, of burying friends. Of burying family. But, could he trust her? Could he afford not to?

  “I’m amiable to a truce.” Santi said quietly. He looked over to see Alan Murtaugh working his way toward them, Cam right next to him with Bianca trailing a few feet behind them with a smile on her face. She had rescued Alan, saved him from the insanity that had driven him in the future.

  “Good. Because I need help. I have built a strong community, but you have fighters. Good fighters and in higher numbers than I do. Fighters who don’t mind killing other humans, either.”

  “I thought you just said you don’t want to be fighting against other humans,” Santi asked, exasperated.

  “I don’t. I wish to kill monsters in human flesh. I wish to rescue those who are even now being enslaved, and I don’t have the strength now to do it. Together we could do something to stop it. Can you imagine a fight that ends not with death, but freedom?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The Blackheart rift in Vegas.”

  Santi opened his mouth to retort, but the geas reacted as Alan and the others got too close for them to keep talking about being regressors.

  “Is it not annoying? Anyways, we are tired and I want to say thank you for offering your hospitality for us to rest before we all head back to my base of operations,” Naomi said, loud enough for the others to hear.

  “Good that you got that all worked out. Santiago, Bianca told me about Vicente. You have my deepest condolences, he was a damn fine man,” Alan said with sincerity. Alan and Dad hadn’t been the closest, but they had shared beers during backyard barbecues and had always made small talk while the boys had sports events.

  “Thank you, Alan. It’s good to see you back and here with us. Back with family,” Santi said as he got to his feet. Alan folded him into a hug instantly and Santi relished the feeling. Another tragedy averted.

  “Have you had time to check out the alerts, Santi? I got a ton of levels, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling,” Bianca said as she walked around to their side. Santi had glimpsed at the long list, but realized he needed to open them up. He glanced at Naomi sitting there, comfortable to remain on the ground even as they all towered above her.

  “No, not yet. Let’s get this place cleaned up and get the dead buried first. Would feel wrong to be celebrating personal gains when there’s so many dead friends here,” Santi said. That brought a pall over the group as they slowly broke up and got to the business of cleaning the fight.