Page 11

CHAPTER 11

SUNHO

West of the Haebaek Mountains

Occupied Territories

SUNHO WOKE TO a loud boom that shook the carriage. Overhead, the lantern dangling from the ceiling swayed. He remembered slipping back inside the luggage car, where he’d found a space between crates to wait out the rest of the journey. Slowly he rose to his feet, listening carefully. The roar he’d mistaken for the train’s wheels barreling along the track was in fact rainfall, the sound that had woken him—thunder.

His heart started to beat faster in his chest. He’d never experienced rain; weather in the Under World didn’t exist. He had the sudden urge to know what it felt like. Leaving his spot between the crates, he started to make his way to the door at the back of the car.

He was passing a crate when he noticed a symbol etched onto the surface, significant only because he’d seen it before, on the map Yurhee had taken from the ninth ward mithril factory—one half of a black wing. As he stared, he realized that a sound, almost imperceptible, was coming from within the crate.

Scratching, like fingernails upon wood.

A loud crash, followed by high-pitched screams, came from the direction of the passenger cars.

Sunho pivoted, moving swiftly back through the carriage. He wrenched open the door, wincing at the lash of rain against his face. He didn’t have time to fully register the sensation before the next door opened and a dead mercenary fell through, the train lurching as the body tumbled onto the track.

His gaze swung back to the car just as another mercenary rushed at him, wielding an axe. He darted to the side, toppling over a crate. The back of his head hit the wall and pain shot up his neck, his vision blurring from the sudden impact. Above him, the mercenary leered triumphantly with feral, bloodshot eyes before, suddenly, they widened. He fell forward, a blade in his back.

Sunho pushed the man off him. Rising to his feet, he shook his head to clear his vision.

He returned to the passenger car to see that the mercenaries were embroiled in a deadly free-for-all. Apparently the bounty was a big enough incentive to risk taking out the competition in close quarters.

A screeching wind blasted through the car where a blade had punctured the wall. The light bulbs flickered erratically over dozens of prone bodies. A few were hired killers, like the one who’d attacked him with the axe, but most were civilians caught in the middle of a bloodbath. Many had died violently. In the corner, a woman curled over a smaller body—neither moved.

Sunho felt the Demon turn over inside him. A tremor ran up his arm.

Spotting him, the mercenary who’d thrown the dagger leaped toward him. Sunho drew his sword, sliding a step back as their weapons collided. Sunho’s arm rippled, and he caught the man’s wrist in his. He snapped it and the man screamed; then, jamming his sword into his abdomen, he ran him into the wall. Sunho stepped back as the mercenary slid to the floor.

He clutched at his arm until it stopped shaking, taking deep breaths to quiet his pounding heart.

It wasn’t bloodlust that fed the Demon, but his emotions. His anger. His fear. His guilt.

It would stay dormant as long as Sunho kept a cool head, though that was already proving to be a challenge.

He moved on to the next car. He didn’t have a plan, so much as he knew there’d be fewer killers in the pricey first-class passenger cars at the front of the train.

In the sixth car, he found Claw and Dagger gleefully knee-deep in the fray, bashing their opponents with studded clubs. He felt a blade sweep toward him from behind and moved aside at the last millisecond. It slashed past, inches from his ear. The blade was attached to a chain that the woman who wielded it drew back, swinging it around her wrist before catching the blade in her hand.

“Oh?” The assassin blinked rapidly, seeming mildly surprised. “I missed.” Then a slow smile spread across her features. “How exciting.”

Loosing the chain, she began to swing the attached blade in a circle around her head. When she released it, the blade sliced the air, whipping toward him so fast that he hardly had time to dodge. She pulled it back, only to hurl it forward once more.

He wasn’t fast enough the second time.

Blood gushed from a wound in his side. It was deep, the blade having severed both his armor and the robes he wore beneath.

The assassin pouted. “Don’t tell me it’s over already?” She tapped her boot on the floor.

Sunho held one hand to his wound to stem the bleeding; with the other, he gripped his sword. He needed to figure out a strategy, or she’d finish him off with her next attack. Her chain whip was difficult to defend against; she could strike quickly and from a distance. And he’d lost his chance to close the gap between them, his speed now greatly reduced by his wound.

As she readied another throw, his eyes caught on a dagger lying by the foot of a bench several feet from him.

Letting go of his wound, he brought his blooded hand to join the other on the hilt of his sword.

“You’re quite handsome, aren’t you?” the assassin said. “I’ll send you to the goddess tonight. Tell her you’re a gift from me.”

She launched the chain. The jagged-edged blade flew toward him. At the last second, he moved his sword, and it wrapped around the blade. Then, jamming it into the floorboards, he sprinted to the bench, sliding the last few feet to the dagger. Grabbing it, he flung it at the assassin.

She screamed as the dagger connected with her shoulder, and she dropped the chain.

The car jolted, and it began listing to the side. Sunho grabbed on to the leg of a bench as the entire carriage tilted almost ninety degrees, people sweeping out the broken windows—including the assassin—before righting itself once more.

Sunho stood, sensing a shift in speed, as if the conductor was aware of the disturbance in the back-end cars and thought he could outpace the carnage.

A loud clanking noise started ahead. Sunho wrested his sword from the floor, the assassin’s chain falling loose around it, before pushing forward.

The last car that separated the first- and second-class passenger cars was packed with mercenaries scrambling to breach a doorway.

He stepped onto a seat to get a better view and immediately spotted the source of the clanking sound. A large man wielding a hammer was bringing the head down hard upon the couplings that held the cars together. A man attempted to jump across the breach but was shot with a crossbow bolt. Sunho caught sight of Dagger and Claw among the group blocking the rest from escape.

There was a loud crack as the first of the three links broke apart.

The civilians in the car screamed as the car jolted backward. The man continued hammering.

At this speed, if all three should break, the cars would go careening off the track.

Sunho turned back the way he came. In one of the cars, he came across the bodies of the mercenaries who’d been hired alongside him; there was no sign of the bounty hunter or the scarred man.

He was almost to the luggage car when he heard a soft cry. In the shadows beneath a bench, the boy from earlier trembled, the wooden train clutched between his fingers.

“Are you…?” Sunho began, trailing off. If his guardians were alive, they weren’t with him now.

Sunho cursed inwardly. He didn’t have time—the second and third links would break any second. Still, he found himself offering his hand to the boy, who, after a moment’s hesitation, took it.

As they hurried toward the luggage car, he became aware of a terrible heat. Even before he slid back the door, he knew what he’d find.

The crates were on fire.

The lantern that had been dangling from the ceiling must have fallen atop them, igniting flames that were quickly spreading throughout the confined space.

The boy started coughing. Sunho unwound his scarf, wrapping it around the boy’s neck and pulling it up so that it covered his nose and mouth. He then grabbed his hand again.

It was no longer a straight path to the back door. Most of the crates had fallen during the tumult. Fire licked at their skin as they clambered through.

Reaching the door, Sunho flung it open. Rain slashed against his face, cold and violent. He sheathed his sword, then crouched down, turning his back to the boy. “Climb on,” he said. “Hurry.”

The boy wrapped his arms around Sunho’s neck. Sunho hoped he had a strong grip, as Sunho would need both his hands to climb. He held tight to the side of the train, using whatever he could as a foothold. Luckily the iron was cooled by the rain, though slippery.

Grabbing the edge, he pulled himself onto the roof, crouching to keep his balance. The wind whipped by him in powerful gusts that threatened to uproot him. Carefully he started to walk forward, fighting to keep his balance.

When he got to the break between the cars, he braced himself, then leaped across the space, holding the boy to his back as he landed lightly, skidding along the slick surface.

A loud crack jolted the car and Sunho almost slid off the edge, grabbing on to a protrusion on the side of the train.

The second link had broken.

“Hold on!” he shouted to the boy—hoping he had the strength to hang on—as he let go to pump his arms, sprinting across the top of the train and leaping over the gaps between cars without stopping.

With a loud clank , the final coupling link broke apart.

The train lurched to the side. Sunho hurled himself forward at the last second as the car careened off the track.

He landed, hard, on the roof of the first-class car as it pulled away from the rest.

The boy rolled off his back with a scream, the scarf whipping out behind him to disappear into the storm. Sunho grabbed the boy’s hand before he could get swept away, too, pulling him to his chest.

They crouched together as the rain continued to lash downward, the boy’s heartbeat featherlight against his own. They needed to get off the roof.

Standing, Sunho made his way farther up the train until he spotted the smokestack of the locomotive only a few cars away. Opening a hatch on the roof, he jumped down into a carpeted hallway lined with private rooms.

Sunho tried the handle of the closest. Finding it locked, he jammed it open with his shoulder. Inside, two men cowered, clutching their young daughter.

Sunho thrust the boy forward. “His guardian was in one of the cars that went off the track. Will you take him?” Sunho knew he must’ve appeared frightening—soaked to the bone, his clothing ripped in places, and blood gushing from the wound at his side.

After a moment’s hesitation, the older of the men nodded. “Yes, yes of course. Come here, child.”

The boy at first resisted, clinging to Sunho. Again, he was reminded of Haru. Sunho got down on one knee, his hands on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe with them,” he said gently. The couple was well dressed. More than that, their daughter was rosy cheeked, well cared for. She was already reaching out toward the boy’s hand.

An odd ache settled in Sunho’s chest, and so he stood. “Block the door when I leave,” he told the couple, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

In the hallway, several heads peeked out from the private rooms. Upon sighting him, they all drew back, slamming doors. Sunho heard the clinks of bolts sliding into place.

He entered the next car to find it empty, though not unscathed. It was a dining car. Tables were overturned and broken glass glinted from the thick carpets. It appeared that the remaining mercenaries hadn’t yet ventured this far up the train. He caught his breath, grateful for the moment’s reprieve. If he didn’t bandage his wound, he’d bleed out before the train even made it to Seorawon. His eyes landed on a cloth napkin hanging off one of the tables and he stumbled toward it.

Across the room came a loud thump , and the sound of something heavy being hauled, accompanied by a low clicking, like claws against wooden floorboards.

A searing pain ripped through his head. It was agonizing, as if his mind were being split in two. A memory took hold—of a boy, not much older than himself.

“Sunho,” his brother said, his face bloody, tears in his eyes. “You’ll survive this. You’re the best of us.”

It was his memory, the single memory he’d woken with two years ago.

His blood began to burn. He looked down at his hands to see the veins pulsating, the blue thickening, brightening .

A black-robed figure filled the doorway across the room, its face hidden by a cowl. It was massive, inhuman in shape, with hunched shoulders from which sprouted huge, burdensome wings. The sound came from the protrusions as they dragged across the floor.

Demon , his mind supplied.

There was a roaring in his ears, his heart racing fiercely.

Then the monster was rushing toward him. He could neither move nor shout.

He caught a glimpse of black feathers. For a moment, he felt the gentle brush of a bird’s wing, like a caress. Then it swiped one of its great arms, throwing him to the side.

He crashed through a window and into the night.