The Kingfisher

XXXII : Arden

"I can't say I'm impressed."

The boy's head whipped around. Zhao Koroka leaned against a tree, his hands folded tightly against his chest, his tranquil posture just a bit more frigid. He had guts to come here. Too bad Arden would have to spill them if this was about the artifact.

He lowered the shovel, slowly rising to his feet. "There is a case of money in the house on the highest hill of Karahi," he said as calmly as his raging heart allowed him to. "It's worth more than a couple of beach houses."

A strained laugh left Zhao's throat. His gaze bore no amusement or humor like it usually did; it was acute, piercing through Arden's skin with the sharpness of a thousand needles. "It took you longer than I thought," he resumed talking, ignoring Arden's remark. "Were there any distractions?"

Arden's shoulders tensed. He knew where this was going. Somehow, in his shock, he allowed the man to continue.

"What does impress me is that those distractions still exist. Because last time they were there you disposed of them, remember?" Zhao pushed his body off the stone and took a few steps towards the boy. He hadn't bothered to hide the imperfections in his scowling face, the paleness of his skin. He wanted Arden to see that he didn't burn a bag of flesh to ashes; he killed a human.

Luckily, he had achieved a kind of numbness that left him detached on the matter. With controlled breaths, he squeezed the wooden hilt of the shovel between his palms, already bleeding from splinters. "So this is what this is about, then? An apology you never got? A few words won't bring her back."

"I don't think you have the luxury of being sarcastic right now, Vera," he snapped, pulling a long pistol from the pocket of his sturdy coat. It carried ornate swirls, gleaming designs that didn't fit the ugly death that they would likely accompany. "You have ten minutes to dig that cursed bird up. The rest of my men stayed behind in Fuka Ishik, and if I don't walk out of this cemetery fully intact until then you can consider your crew gone."

Arden was almost surprised. His brows twitched as he examined the man's face. "You want the Kingfisher?" You can have it, he almost added, but he knew Zhao hadn't come all this way to claim an artifact useless to him.

He breathed a dry snicker. "I want you to suffer, Arden. And as much as I'd like to kill you right now, I'd rather see your head drop from your shoulders publicly."

So he did as Zhao told. Ten minutes to remove half an hour worth of dirt was ludicrous for someone as exhausted as him, yet he forced his limbs to move. Plans brewed in his head, yet their impossibility taunted him relentlessly. He couldn't kill Zhao. What else was there to do? Arden hadn't stayed to hear the overly complicated plan the Resistance had forced on them, and therefore had no idea where the rest were and for how long.

After a few minutes of shoveling, he slowly came to terms with his fate. It didn't matter if he died. One soul before three — and possibly another dozen from the Resistance that would perish — couldn't compare. He would be slightly inconvenienced by the futility of all of his struggles in the afterlife, was Kage to lay his hands on such power after everything they did to prevent that. Yet even as he started to regret every step he took after a certain point, his heart was strangely tranquil and his mind clear. Was this how it felt to be doomed to death? Was it not as bad as he thought it was?

Bryn flew through his thoughts for a brief second. The disappointment in her gaze as held his obituary in her delicate hands — if he was even granted the honor of one. What would she say to his vanished parents? Would she say anything at all? Would she even know he was gone — or anyone, for that matter, apart from the solemn man overseeing his excavation project?