39. Carol

39

Carol

"You don't understand. The Soul-Eater isn't going to help you. He's a killer."

The bird-woman looked at her strangely, one eyebrow raised. It was such a modern expression. Had she learned it from Fairchild and the other people who'd dug her people out of their enchanted sleep, or did people stare at people they thought were idiots in whatever era she came from, too?

It wasn't helping, either way.

Carol pushed down her frustration. She was getting better at communicating with the Stymphalians, though it still felt like fumbling her way through a Braille text with kitchen mitts on her hands.

Somehow, none of what she was saying to them now was getting through.

"Look—okay, let's start again. I'm Carol. Fairchild sent you to kidnap me and almost kill my friends, because he thinks people like us shouldn't exist. And if this ship gets where it's headed, we won't exist anymore. We need to stop him." She took a deep breath, calming her mind enough to get the images and impressions she wanted to communicate in order. "What's your name? What should I call you?"

The bird-woman tipped her head to one side, considering. "You don't want to see the Soul-Eater?"

"No!"

"Why?"

"Because he'll take away my shark! And because—" She thought back to what Moss had told her. "He's a killer. A murderer. And—look, I don't know how long ago you went into your magical sleep, but he's been locked up in there for hundreds of years. He must be insane by now. You say you've already been betrayed so much, well, how can you trust him?"

"I do not trust him. I slept for hundreds of years also," the bird-woman mused. "And a name? You can call me Quick-killer."

Carol hesitated. She glanced around at the others. Multiple pairs of eyes stared back at her—human eyes, bird eyes.

"Quick-killer?" she asked, giving the name the same psychic impression of speed and sharpness.

Quick-killer looked down at her feathered arms. "For now. And for a very long time. The one you call the Soul-Eater is the only way for me to change that."

"He'll kill you!"

"No." Quick-killer's smile was as slick as her name. "You say he is imprisoned. I remember how to fight him. I will bring my clan to him, and he will take away their blades, and then I will kill him."

"But then you'll still be—"

"Yes."

Carol sagged.

So that was their plan. The reason they let themselves be chained by Fairchild. They were using him to reach the Soul-Eater. And Quick-killer would sacrifice her own future without deadly blades all over her body to save her clan, and kill their ancient enemy.

"But…" Then it all starts again. He'll reincarnate. This terrifying power will still be out there, somewhere. Hidden. In a child!

"I will not lose any more children," Quick-killer hissed. Grief stretched dark wings from her mind: a young woman, too fast to take up the gift offered by their god, and now lost forever. Left behind as the storm they'd beaten into life with their wings had carried them away from the sky-ship.

Wings so fiercely sharp they caught the sun in their snare and cut the blinded enemy down like dried grass.

And a face that Carol recognized.

"She's still alive," Carol burst out. "She's with my friends. She's okay. She's—" Despairing. Hurt. Lost in whatever terror and pain makes her want to lose her razor-winged form so badly. "—but she's okay."

"She lives?"

"Yes! So we can all escape together—find my friends, find her, and—figure out some other way so we can all get what we want—if you go after the Soul-Eater first, you won't be able to help her!"

The door clanged open.

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. "I believe," said Adrian Fairchild, a mirthless smile splitting his face, "that we had better move up our schedule. I can see now that you need the Soul-Eater's blessing even more than I thought."