Chapter 18: - Rush

  “Money!” Exia cheered.

  “Money!” Ksenija echoed, laughing.

  Navtej threw the zlakta into the air and Exia watched as three thousand worth of paper rained on their hideout.

  “Another perfectly delivered scheme of the great Exia Vanfoster!” He boomed.

  Navtej froze.

  Ksenija laughed harder, sarcastically now. “Oh thank you, your highness!” She did a mock bow. “If it wasn’t for your royal mind, we would have never escaped the hounds.”

  Exia forced a laugh, playing his slip up off as smoothly as he could manage.

  Ksenija began picking up the notes on the ground with a faint smile on her lips. It had been three months now, and they had pulled off more heists than he could keep track of at this point. It had been good—no, it was good with just him and Nav—Ksenija’s knowledge of the district allowed them to hit game-houses that Exia had once thought impossible. It was great. Gods and she was smart too—brilliant really—in a way other kids just weren’t.

  It pissed him off really, because unlike Nav who could also push Exia to his limits in a battle of wits, she didn’t have the decency to be humble about it. She’d call him a stupid, dumb, bovki every time his plans had so much as a single flaw, and he found himself jumping at every opportunity to insult her as well.

  It was infuriating, yes, but it was also…fun.

  But then he’d have to sneak back home when it was done, and spend the day looking forward to seeing her all-over again.

  “Alright, that’s my half picked up, you two can crawl around the floor for yours,” Ksenija sighed, and got to her feet in a groan.

  “You’re a cock,” Exia informed her.

  “You’re a cock,” Ksenija repeated in a nasally voice that did not at all sound like him. “At least one of us has one.”

  “At least one of us has one,” Exia repeated in a perfect, high-pitch impression of her.

  “Really, Exia, mimicry, that’s beneath you.” Ksenija shook her head.

  “Your Mother’s beneath me,” Exia shot back.

  “My Mother’s dead,” she told him.

  “Yes, because she was beneath me.”

  “No, it was because of laughter actually, you see, she’d never seen a eunuch before,” Ksenija grinned.

  “You’re an eunuch!”

  She laughed. “That doesn’t even make any sense!”

  Exia was laughing too now. “Yes it does!”

  Ksenija tried to retort but her laughter caught her words, and Exia found himself facing very much the same problem when he tried to speak as well.

  The two laughed, and laughed, and only after a short moment of catching their breaths did they gather their bearings.

  Ksenija sighed. “I’ll be on the roof if you need me. Don’t touch anything that isn’t yours, or you’ll lose a body part” she told him, and began making her way out.

  Exia watched her head to the corner of the room and disappear up a ladder. He felt a terrible longing and shied away from it.

  “What are you still doing here?” Navtej called out from behind him.

  Exia turned to see his friend with an exasperated look in his eyes. “What?”

  “What?” Navtej repeated, mockingly. “Go after her, I know you want to.”

  Exia felt his cheeks burn. “And what makes you think that?” he shot, accusatorily.

  Navtej frowned at Exia as if he were an idiot. “You stare…a lot. It’s kind of disturbing really.”

  “No I don’t, shut up!” Exia snapped.

  Navtej only grinned now, amused. “Are you scared of girls, Exi?”

  “No. I am not scared of girls. I am a man, I am a King, and I do not see you talking to any girls either!” He hissed.

  Navtej shrugged. “I do not like them.”

  “Well, boys either!”

  “Do not like them either.” Navtej shrugged.

  “What?” Exia asked—the boy just wasn’t making any sense now.

  Navtej shook his head. “Your people—so close minded.”

  He didn’t have time to dwell on that. “Whatever.”

  Navtej was still smiling. “You are still here, and not up there,” he said, pointing upwards.

  “Shut up!” Exia growled, turned, and made his way for the ladder. That’d show Nav and his stupid face. He wasn’t scared of girls; girls were weak, stupid, dumb, and silly.

  Exia emerged into the cold winds of Lyubov. The lower districts' air tasted of shit, piss, vomit, and death—Volkov’s fault—but Exia had soon begun to find himself adjusting to it. It still wasn’t pleasant by any means—gods no—but he didn’t near-hurl when a waft of bad air caught his nose anymore.

  He saw Ksenija sitting by the edge of the roof, overlooking a dark night sky. Thick pillars of smoke rose up into the air like toxins, poisoning, the clouds, stars, and moon. She was in her red scarf, as he’d always come to expect her in by now, and wrapped in thick rags and gloves to protect her against the icy night.

  Exia needed to think of something to open up the conversation with. He’d read books, lots of books, but never romance books—that was the stuff of women and dominated men. But he could imagine one, yes? He could imagine what heart catching drivel was written within those pages. How would a handsome Military-Mage open up a line with a fair maiden? “Hello Ksenija,” Exia nearly died inside. ‘Hello?’ ‘Hello?’ Who fucking says hello?

  Ksenija turned to him and raised an amused eyebrow. “Hello to you too,” she said in a mockery of his accent.

  He walked up on heavy feet and stood next to her—all while her eyes followed him with that amused smile of hers. Gods his heart was racing—actually fucking racing—he wasn’t being attacked was he? He was just standing, standing next to a girl. He hated this feeling—hated it with a passion. There was silence between them, just silence. Say something, say something, say something! “So…You are staring at the sky?”

  “Yes. Yes I am staring at the sky, Exia.” Ksenija’s grin widened. It was a beautiful smile, but also a brain-stopping smile.

  “That is good.”

  She burst out laughing, then shook her head and sighed. “Oh Zcig,” she exclaimed, then stretched out a hand and took his in hers. Her palm was warm, felt through layers of fabric, and thin. Ksenija squeezed and Exia felt his breath catch and his heart skip a beat. She set soft eyes upon him now, looking just a hint uncertain. “How’s that?” she asked.

  “G-good.”

  Ksenija smiled, cheeks reddening now. “It’s good to me as well.”

  Exia nodded dumbly, and saw her laugh harder. He couldn’t help but laugh back, and then he realised something that made his jaw tense. “You knew!” he growled. “You fucking knew I liked you, and you let me come up here, and talk about fucking staring at skies and saying hello, and—fuck you!”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Ksenija was laughing harder now. “Everyone knew, Exia, you stare… a lot…it’s kind of disturbing really!”

  “Why didn’t you say anything!” He snapped, feeling his cheeks burn hotter.

  “Because I wanted to see if you’d have the balls to make the first move—you clearly didn’t, so I did,” she said, raising their hands and showing their locked fingers.

  Exia huffed, hissed, but didn’t let go. He never wanted to let go.

  There was silence again, but this one good, this one pleasant and calm, and sweet. They just gazed calmly into the open night, and Exia wished, oh, he dearly, dearly, wished that day would never come, and he could stand here—stand here with her.

  There was a crashing noise downstairs, the sound of Nav screaming, and the rhythm of a struggle. Exia moved before Ksenija did; he climbed down and saw a scene that sunk icy talons into his heart. The shop had been turned on its head—mannequins, racks, and chairs, laying wrongly on the floor.

  There were three other people in the room: Nav and the two men who had him held up against a wall—Torgovyye men. How they got in, how many more there were, how angry they were—none of that mattered to Exia right now. All that mattered was that they had Nav.

  “Run!” Navtej screamed.

  The two bastards turned to Exia and Ksenija at that, their grins widened, and one of them began walking towards the pair—one big, furious, scarred, and vindictive of them. “You three rats have had this coming a long time.”

  ###

  Snegovetska greeted Exia, and Exia barely had time to greet it back. He and the Captain were moving, and moving quickly at that—gloves on and racing through the city and towards its edge.

  They had chosen the high roofs to be their best method of transportation—the ground was filled with citizens that could die at one wrong move from a Mage.

  So there Exia and the Captain were, leaping from building to building in a city at the edge of a nation. There were few words exchanged between the pair—few were needed. What would come of them after this mission? Exia didn’t know; he didn’t care—he couldn’t care.

  Their good news was that the ice had only recently been declared safe enough for travel; the bad news was that Nvatej would have already begun his journey by now.

  That didn't mean they couldn’t catch up to him, they just had to make sure they got there on time, and that meant—

  Something raced through the air—bright golden, and radiating hot death—the fireball struck Exia, shifting his footing, making him slip, and fall off the roof. He landed on his feet, and saw the attackers coming—Mages—five from either side of the street.

  Nav hired reinforcements to slow me down. Well, Exia couldn’t afford being slowed down.

  He readied to attack the group in front of him, and saw fire rain down upon them from above—the Captain’s fire. Captain Sasha Osin descended upon them like skyward death—burning lives and scything souls with great arcs of flame that reminded Exia that there were Military-Grade-Mages, and there were Elite-Military-Grade-Mages.

  Amidst a street of fleeing citizens, and melted stone, she turned to him with eyes as hard as steel. “Focus on the one’s behind!” she roared.

  And Exia acted.

  Deathly blue limbs erupted from his chest and blocked a storm of racing projectiles. He barely even felt them as they panged harmlessly off the tentacles—these Mages were weak, too weak to stand as an obstacle; too weak slow them down. Nav wasn’t dumb enough to send common Mages up against him. So he waited for the trap.

  Exia ripped one of the Mages apart, set another on fire, and when two truly powerful Mages leapt out of a corner with the lightning crackling in their palm, he had no problem ducking their electrifying projectiles—though it was a near thing.

  They came at him without even a moment of hesitation—both masked, both from opposite directions. Close quarters was something most mages preferred to avoid—these ones embraced it.

  With lighting-coated palms, they struck at Exia, and he dodged their blows when he could and blocked those he could not. There were far more blocks than he would have preferred in the exchange, but the pair were simply too in sync for Exia to effectively counter without taking blows.

  Each one jostled him, each one made him groan, and gasp, and grit his teeth. Twins perhaps, trained from birth in [Mage]. Well, it didn’t matter, Exia had grown sick of this fight.

  Shadow of Zcigmagus.

  Thick black smoke oozed out around him, enveloping not just himself, but the pair as well.

  Drain.

  The smoke crackled with blue energy, and the masked twins stumbled back—as if struck harsh by lightning. There was some irony there, but Exia had no time for irony.

  They backed up in tandem—likely feeling the drain on their body and trying to retreat from the smoke—they would have no luck.

  Burst!

  He dashed at the closest first, catching him with a flamed fist to the face, and watching his head snap back—he fell to his knees, but wasn’t downed. Exia readied another strike to fix that, but his brother caught Exia’s arm with a crackling whip of lightning. Jolts surged through Exia—igniting his sleeve, and hissing into his flesh. He set his eyes on the man responsible, and began pulling on the crackling rope he’d wrapped around Exia.

  Exia felt panic through the mask as his enemy slid closer and closer towards him. At first his resistance was strong, but it weakened, and weakened as the black fog sapped away his energy.

  By the time he was in front of Exia, he was a panting, heaving thing, and Exia downed him with an elbow to the face.

  His brother was out of the fog already, and brought down a storm of lightning from above.

  Exia weathered it, covering his vitals and gritting his teeth as crackling bolts hissed into his skin. The agony it induced paled in comparison to the frustration that gnawed at his mind. Powerful, these Mages. In all likelihood more powerful than any others in the whole city.

  This was becoming quite the distraction.

  I relinquish your shadow, he thought, and the fog dissipated, and the world raced around him once more.

  With his brother gone, the Lightning Mage wanted to keep the engagement at a distance—that was fine with Exia.

  Crackling scythes of energy raced at him, and Exia broke them apart with a jet of fire. Before the debris in the air cleared, he shot forth a tentacle. And it caught the annoyance by the ankle, lifting him high into the air.

  “No, no, wait!” The man screamed—but Exia was not listening.

  He slammed him into every flat surface he could find, doing about a hundred thousand zlatka’s worth of public property damage, and only when he’d stopped screaming did Exia toss the obstacle aside.

  Something struck him in the face—near painless—he turned as saw three lesser Mages at the side of the road. They looked pale as ghosts, shivering with terror.

  He frowned, and they jumped.

  Exia took a step forwards, and saw them scatter like rats, fleeing in all directions.

  He had no reason to chase them down.

  Exia turned to the Captain, and saw her unconscious form on the ground. He looked for a standing opponent but found none–she’d won, but been downed somehow, by someone—someone whom Exia hadn’t yet seen.

  Footsteps caught his ear, Exia whipped his head around and saw the enemy standing before him. Flames danced around his palms, Zcigmagus thirsted for blood, and he wanted desperately to carve through anything that stood between him and Navtej. Yet he did not move. “Ksenija…” he said—the name old on his tongue, her features changed but the same.

  She grinned at him—beautifully, perfectly, flawlessly. “Hey, Exi,” she said, lifted a hand, and then something red and deadly erupted from them.

  Exia could have moved—he could have tried to move. But he didn’t. He just stared, stared, and stared, and stared, and the magic hit him square in the head, and the world went dark.