Bringer of Chaos Page 4

Six held his hands flat, waist high. "The pond."

  Pietas ducked as if to submerse himself, then rose, throwing back his head. "My body submits to my will. No pain defeats me. No fear touches me." He brushed his hands down the length of his body. "My will is absolute. I am bigger than any fear. I prevail in every circumstance. I face every foe. I vanquish every enemy. I overcome. I am indomitable. I am invincible."

  "Black face paint for the mask." Six held out his hands.

  The ceremonial mask represented a splash of blood he'd received across the face during battle. Dipping two fingers of each hand into the bowl, Pietas outlined a bandit's mask up over his dark eyebrows to the area beneath his eyes. He brushed his fingertips over his eyelids and met Six's gaze.

  Finding a mixture of awe and respect threw him out of the moment. He faltered, unable to recall what came next.

  Six offered the knife, hilt first.

  The man had seen the ritual performed once, from a distance, yet he'd remembered each step. Six wouldn't have known the next part was performed by Dessy if no trusted partner or friend was at hand. The time Six had seen it done, Pietas had not yet considered him either one.

  How wrong he had been. The man was more than both.

  On his open palms, Pietas offered the dagger back. "Put your hand over the blade and ask who offers the weapon. When I answer, take it."

  A confused look passed over Six, but he spoke the words as asked.

  Pietas answered, "First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras." He motioned to him. "Now ask, 'For whom are you willing to suffer?'"

  Six repeated it.

  "I suffer for my people." Pietas turned his cheek. "Draw the blade down my face from cheekbone to chin, not deep, but drawing blood."

  "Pietas, this-- This wasn't in the ritual."

  "It should have been. I hadn't recovered enough last time." When nothing happened, Pietas met his gaze. "What's wrong?"

  "If the others see me cut you, they'll cut me."

  "Awww... Is him scared?"

  Dark eyes narrowed. "Real smart, Ultra. Mouth off at the guy holding the knife."

  "How I tremble." He turned his cheek. "Do it."

  Pressing blade against skin, Six slid it downward. No one else had ever been so steady, or so gentle. "You heal as fast as I cut."

  "Shh. I must focus, ghost."

  "Sorry."

  "Now ask, 'For whom do you bleed?'"

  When he had, Pietas replied, "I bleed for my people."

  "Pi, I know the next part. It's when I stepped in because you-- Um, you know, when you..."

  "When I needed help. You aided me and I've been in your debt since. If you know what to say, ask it."

  "What sacrifice do you offer as proof of devotion?"

  "You remembered correctly." Pietas went to his knees. "I surrender my pride."

  To bow before a human was outrageous. To allow one to cut him--unthinkable, a few months ago. Until he and Six had met in battle, no human had ever laid hands on him in a fight. Now, in addition to submitting to a ritualistic wound, he had no concern in turning his back while the man held a weapon.

  Six gathered the long hair in his fist. "There's so much static, this knife is going to send shocks down to your scalp. It'll hurt."

  "Did you not hear me proclaim myself invincible? Do it."

  The knife sawed through in one clean motion but the mortal had been right about the pain and it was worse than expected. Or perhaps Pietas had not healed as well as he'd hoped.

  No matter. An Ultra did not seek to escape pain. It was his ally.

  Pietas stood and inclined his head. "Thank you."

  "More than welcome." He tucked away the knife and held up the tail of white hair. "What about this?"

  "I usually burn it, but today, scatter it to the wind."

  "Can do." Pinching a small hank at a time, Six tossed the strands into the air. They floated away in the breeze. He brushed off his hands. "Is that what's in the brooch your sister wears?"

  "It is. She stole it last time she did the ritual with me."

  Six whistled. "She's got spunk, that one."

  "To quote you, '¡Ai!'"

  They shared a laugh.

  "All right, Six. I'm ready, thanks to you. Let's go."

  "Wait. Aren't you forgetting something?"

  Pietas cast about in his mind for what he might have skipped. "Such as?"

  "You're naked."

  "How gauche of me." He made a zipping motion.

  Six cupped his hands and tipped them, making a hissing sound. "As dry as this brush is, even with rain coming, those embers could start a wildfire. Had to put them out."

  The ground around them held nothing but yellowing grass.

  Pietas groaned. "Are we safe from the pretend fire, now?"

  "Yeah. I got it." With an exaggerated swagger, Six hoisted his pack. "I'm good at that."

  Laughing, Pietas helped orient the heavy load. "Yes, my friend. Yes, you are. Let's go."

  With Six at his side, Pietas advanced. They were further away than he expected. He zeroed in on the others, standing inside the shadows.

  Six kept glancing over at him.

  "What?"

  "You do that ritual naked every time."

  "Yes."

  "Sorry, but I gotta ask this."

  They kept walking. "Well?"

  "With your sister."

  Pietas pressed fingers and thumb against eyelids, rubbed them and then pinched the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat and focused on the others, far ahead. Heat rose in his face. "Ultras have no issue with nudity."

  "Oh, yeah. I see that." A suppressed snicker escaped. When Pietas leveled his gaze on him, Six mimed zipping his lips.

  A modicum of rain passed with no real threat except to usher in its more dangerous sibling. The oncoming bigger brother darkened the sun. The electricity he'd felt in his hair returned, this time across his entire body.

  Six spoke just as a thunderous boom hit. It washed out the sound, but Pietas read his lips and had no doubt what he meant.

  A blinding flash washed everything from his vision. Not even a second had passed. The storm roared overhead.

  Six started for the trees but Pietas grabbed him. "No! Down!"

  They squatted in the grass. The worst place to be in a lightning storm was under trees. Taproots drew bolts into the ground beneath them, frying anyone in the vicinity.

  It ran counter to every instinct, but he stayed in the open and made himself less of a target.

  Six copied his movement, safely out of reach.

  It was easy to spot the blond Joss. Armand had an arm around her waist, holding her back as she struggled to reach them. Though Armand likely assumed he was keeping her safe, truth was, they would all be safer on a level field.

  The sky blackened.

  Thunder hit so hard the sound almost toppled him. Before the deafening boom ended, a bolt of lightning imprinted an after-image on his retinas. The blackness of the forest, the white entryway, black figures huddled inside it.

  Another crack of lightning hit before the first roll of thunder ended. No rain yet.

  A droning hum escalated into a whistle, and then the storm screamed its final warning. Off to one side, rain rampaged its way over the field, flattening grass. The stinging, electrified goose bumps ceased. On this world, it meant the wall of lightning had passed, bringing an even more life-threatening storm.

  "Now!" Pietas leaped up and with Six at his side, broke into a run.

  The safety of the forest beckoned, out of reach. He picked up his feet and put them down in slow motion, his much celebrated speed giving him no advantage. Why could he not move faster?

  Beside him, Six stumbled.

  Pietas caught him, kept him upright and moving. The pack slid off Six's shoulders but Pietas righted it as they ran.

  From the trees, Joss motioned to them in slow motion, using both hands. Hurry! Run! Run!

  Cool darkness enveloped them seconds before the rain struck
. He and Six ran past Joss as the rain slapped the treetops in frustration at having missed them. Wind howled above the trees, a hungry animal denied prey. Under the thick canopy, they had respite.

  He wiped rain from his face and arms, panting. He and Six grinned at one another.

  The twins congratulated them.

  Joss hugged him, pressing her mouth next to his ear. "I didn't know you still did that." She pulled back and met his gaze.

  "Did what?"

  She tapped his nose. "The ritual."

  Admit he'd been pretending? Playing? Never. Not even for something so serious as his ritual. He narrowed his eyes. "That looked like my ritual?"

  She laughed in his face, but then, keeping her arms around his neck, kissed him, lingering far longer than a friend ever would.

  The warmth of her drove out every thought but her. Hard to remember, now, why they hadn't stayed together.

  She touched the dent in his chin, a habit she'd begun at their first meeting. "If you ever need a ritual partner, call me."

  His cheeks flamed. "You"-- He lowered his voice and avoided looking at the others --"want an excuse to see me naked."

  "Oh, honey." Joss patted his chest and then smoothed one hand down his front. "You bet your sweet--"

  "Joss!" He set a finger against her mouth.

  She kissed it. "I'm glad you're safe."

  "You know," Six interjected, "I was in danger too."

  She gave him an appraising look. "And now you're not." She patted his head and walked away.

  Six sighed. "Was worth a try. Man, does she ever have a thing for you."

  Dessy entered Pietas's personal space as if they were still equals. As if she'd forgotten why they'd spent centuries apart. Perhaps she had. Or she didn't care and wanted him to know it.

  "Excuse me, brother." She reached up toward his face.

  He held himself motionless.

  Chapter Six

  Dessy slid one fingertip across an area below one of his eyes. "There." She dusted off her hands. "That's better."

  "What did you do?"

  "Since you didn't have a real partner for your ritual, I fixed your mask." She shot him a humorless, sneering smile. "You missed a spot."

  Ire flooded Pietas. He gripped Dessy's wrist and yanked her to him.

  The shock on her face gave way to indignation. "Let go!" She jerked her arm but he held her fast. She shoved him.

  He didn't budge, refusing to let her win.

  She bombarded him with her empathic senses. The melee of anger and rage stung worse than an ice storm, but pain had never stopped him. "I'm warning you, Pietas. Let go of me!"

  "Or what?" He shot back his own and added a trickle of Wilt, a demand for surrender. "You'll tell Daddy?"

  Her inborn Ultra gift of Compulsion pushed at his mind, willing Pietas to release her. His sister had mastered the ability as a toddler. He'd been four before he grasped the concept. Seven before he'd mastered it.

  But he'd been born immune.

  She blasted him with a wall of outrage. Again, it hurt. A human would crumple before such attack. His sister had once knocked half a squad unconscious without so much as one weapon.

  Pietas continued to grip her wrist. It was an effort. She used every trick soldiers knew, but failed to free herself. Though she could resist Beguile by others, she never knew when he used it.

  To Dessy and the others, he stood there, passive, gripping her wrist with one hand. In reality, he gripped her with both and barely held her.

  She could have gained her freedom without difficulty, but she believed otherwise. Hardly fair of him, but Dessy never fought fair unless forced. Winning is everything. That was her motto. His was Honor. Always.

  Neither of them counted telepathy among their gifts, though he had affinity with Six. He didn't need it to sense she'd sent Compulsion outward.

  Armand and Philippe jolted into action.

  Pietas tempered her demand with his own, altering what she'd requested.

  They flanked him and his sister. "Pietas, what's--" Armand began.

  "--wrong?" Philippe finished.

  As always, the twins mirrored one another's speech. Armand spoke first and Philippe finished the sentence. Neither twin could speak at all unless the other was present.

  "Do you--" Armand began.

  "--need assistance?" Philippe finished.

  "No, but thanks, guys. I can handle this." Pietas gave his sister the same droll sneer she'd afforded him. "It's just Dessy."

  Another wave of outrage pummeled him, but it did no more good than the first.

  In unison, the twins took one step back and turned away.

  Joss didn't speak, but she scanned him, her mental touch gentle as a whispered memory. The non-sound of a thousand butterflies fluttering all at once signaled her withdrawal.

  Six, who'd been standing to one side, waited without comment.

  "Pietas!" Dessy stamped her foot. "Let go or so help me--" She threw her other hand up, fingers spread.

  The world tilted, disorienting him, no longer than it took to blink.

  "Did you throw Chaos at me?" He patted his chest. "They call me Bringer of Chaos because it's my strongest gift." He yanked her up hard and brought his face close to hers. "Shall I show you?"

  "No! No, Pietas, don't." She quit fighting. "Let me go."

  "I will not play games with you, sister." He loosened his grip, allowing her freedom. Even as furious as she'd made him, he refused to hurt her. "Did you think I wouldn't know what you were doing? Telling me I 'missed a spot' was a play for power."

  "Power?" Dessy's eyes flashed, their deep-winter-ice darkening to sooty gray. She settled herself and lifted her chin, regarding him with all the cold calculation of a paid temptress seeking whatever customer held the most cash. "I'm your sister. How can you say that to me?"

  "How? Because two thousand years of attitude. Because you haven't changed one bit. You're more manipulative than ever."

  She rubbed her wrist, softening her expression. Tears welled. She folded her hands as if in prayer and placed them along her cheek. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong. Don't be angry with me."

  "Save it. That hasn't worked on me since I was a boy."

  Six's been-there-done-that expression meant he hadn't fallen for her wiles either.

  "Oh, Pietas." She sniffed. "I'm sorry. Didn't you realize I was playing? I've missed you. I wanted to be part of your ritual, that's all." Her voice broke on the last.

  Armand and Philippe whipped toward her faster than trained puppies.

  Pietas threw the compulsion to stop.

  They halted, their wills frozen by the conflicting demands.

  Dessy reverted to her temptress self, glaring at him with a dare. "You're the one who hasn't changed. You countermand everything. You're the same pain in the--"

  "Dessy!" Pietas bent down to her. "You've been the queen of fake tears since you were two and discovered they got you out of punishment. They might have worked on our father but they will not work on me. Save it."

  "You let him do the ritual with you! There's nothing worth less than a human." She sent a snarling glance Six's way. "Except a dead one." She spat.

  Six gave no reaction on the outside, but Pietas, sensitive to the man's emotions, stung with the same rejection. Would he ever find a place among these people? Was the vexation Six's, or his own?

  "I see." Pietas rubbed his chin, feigning indifference. "So you're jealous."

  If looks could kill. The cliché was not lost on him. Not for the first time, he gave thanks their father hadn't equipped her with the same level of telepathy Joss held. Weaponized, the ability to project her anger would have let his sister carve a tornado-worthy path of destruction.

  She called him a vile name in their native language and then drew herself up, a sovereign of ice. "How witless. Jealous? Of a dead creature? You sicken me. You accuse me of usurping power. No one has power here. We don't even have a roof over our heads, Pietas. No one has influence
. You're out of control and your love for that stinking ghost has blinded you to the truth. You're--"

  He grabbed her and yanked her off her feet.

  This time, real fear showed.

  With Dessy distracted, the twins escaped her compulsion. They backed away and Pietas let them go.

  He set his sister back on her feet. "How could I have ever missed you? You poison everything you touch."

  "We're twins. Like it or not, we're part of each other."

  "No, we're not. You will never be part of my life. I'm not sure you ever were." The lie of those words stung. Only betrayal by someone you adored could inflict such pain. He would never admit it to her, nor would he speak a mistruth. He amended his words. "Not since I was sixteen."

  "I wanted to be part of the ritual."

  "No, you didn't. You wanted me to know you held control." If he didn't walk away, she would badger him until she'd worn him down.

  The moment he turned his back, she touched his arm. "Pietas! Don't be like this."

  He withdrew from her. "Stay away."

  "But Tas--"

  He whirled back toward her.

  She retreated, chin quivering.

  "Are you afraid of me, little sister?"

  She swallowed. "Yes, you big bully!"

  "Good. You should be. Stay. Away. I did not invite you. I don't want you. Is that clear?" When she continued her mulish, silent pout, he stuck a finger in her face. "I said, is that clear? Answer me!"

  "Yes." She tacked on a coarse insult.

  "Good. I'm glad we understand each other. Do not touch me again." He took one big step, bent and set his mouth next to her ear.

  Chapter Seven

  "Dessy. I swear to you." Pietas lowered his voice, slowing his speech, adding emphasis to each word. "If you do anything to Six, no one in this universe will be able to shield you from me. Do you hear me? No one."

  He righted himself.

  With an imperious glare, his sister raised her chin.

  The woman had been created to nettle him, sting him worse than wasps and harass him into exhaustion. What other possible reason did Dessy have to exist? She did nothing except irritate him. Neck tight, Pietas took ten quick steps away from his sister. He'd been in her presence less than two days and she'd managed to goad him into senseless arguments for no other reason than to prove him wrong.